When Archer came off duty, he was surprised to find their quarters empty.  He frowned slightly, and looked around.

The past three months had seen changes.  What had once been Trip's area had been transformed, by mutual consent, into working space for both the Captain and the Chief Engineer.  Trip's personal possessions had also migrated, so now his old diving helmet rubbed shoulders (metaphorically speaking) with Archer's small statue of Zefram Cochrane; his books and Archer's shared the same shelf space; and his pictures hung next to Archer's.

The Captain looked over at their bed.  The patchwork quilt that Trip's grandmother had given him was stretched neatly across, its bright colours adding warmth and a touch of home to the rather austere and utilitarian design of ship's quarters. 

All of Trip's possessions were here, but where was their owner?  Porthos trotted forward, gave a small bark in greeting.  "Hey," Archer said, fondly rubbing the beagle's ears.  "Where's Trip?"  Porthos, of course, had no answer to that.

He saw a light blinking on his computer screen, and walked over, reading the message waiting there.  His face cleared.  Of course.  He should have expected this.

Twenty minutes later, he was in his civvies, stretched out on the couch, catching up on the news digest Hoshi had prepared for him.  The door opened, and Trip came in.  Archer looked up.  "Hey."

"Hey yourself," was the reply.

Three months worth of Phlox's therapy, exercise and nutrition regimes, along with what could only be called outrageous pampering and coddling from the Captain had done a great deal for the engineer.  He was finally starting to regain the weight he had lost, and his face no longer had that pinched, hollow, haunted look.  Although he was still troubled by nightmares and tired easily, he was making good progress.

"I thought your shift ended an hour ago," Archer said.  Phlox had authorized light duty for Trip; he was to work four hours a day (in a supervisory capacity only) to start.  This was the first week.

"Yeah," it did, Trip said, heading to the bathroom, undoing his uniform.  Engineering tended to get hot and the work could be dirty, so Trip generally preferred to shower after his shift was over, as opposed to first thing in the morning.

"And?"  Archer asked.

"And Phlox insisted that I stop by Sickbay."

"And?  What did he say?"

Trip sighed, half turned to Archer.  "And he gave me six different kinds of hell.  I tried to tell him that even supervising in Engineering is more hands-on than anywhere else onboard, but he wasn't buying it."

"And?"

"And," Trip continued irritably, "He said that since I (a) worked and (b) worked more hours than the allotted time this week, I have to take tomorrow off."

"And?"

Trip sighed.  "And I have to take it easy."

"And?"

"And he wants me to rest."

"And?"

"Bed rest, dammit."  He glared at Archer.  "Why ask if you already know?"

"Because I want to make sure you know what Phlox told you."

"Can't you talk to him?  I mean, he's – "

"Right," Archer finished.  "Four hours a day, Trip.  Not five, and certainly not eight."

"I couldn't just walk away from the middle of that job," Trip said, restating what he had said the previous evening.

"I'm not having this argument again," Archer replied firmly.  "Plus, you were only supposed to supervise, Trip.  Not climb into the access hatch and do the work yourself."

"But – "

"I don't want to hear it.  The doctor's orders stand."

"You're no damn help at all," Trip said in disgust, and stomped off to the shower.

Archer carefully hid a smile; the fact that Trip was feeling well enough to complain made him very happy.  Even though Trip had broken the rules set out very badly, he was pleased by that fact too.  Although it would not do for Archer to encourage him in this. 

Trip emerged a little while later, clad in his pajamas and headed for his computer.  Archer stood, and crossed over to where he was sitting.  "What's up?"

"Engineering reports," was the reply.  "Got quite a backlog to get through, and – hey!"  Archer had reached over, turned the view screen off.  "I was reading that!"

"You can look at them tomorrow," was the response.  "While you're resting.  Come on."  Archer took Trip by the hand, led him to the couch.  "Tonight, you're watching a movie – with me."

And he sat, pulled Trip down to him, then laid back so that both he and Trip were laying on the couch, Trip resting against him.

"You're one bossy son of a bitch," Trip said with mock annoyance.  "You know that, don't you?"

"Yep."

"Good.  Just so we're clear."  And he settled comfortably into Archer's embrace.  "Still – what if I don't want to watch this movie?"

Archer could feel the younger man lying relaxed against him, and knew he wasn't serious.  Nevertheless, he replied solemnly, "Have I ever made you do something you didn't want to?"

Trip grinned.  "Where do I start?"

"I meant off-duty, you brat."

"A brat?  You're calling me a brat?"

"Oh, so sorry.  I didn't mean to say that.  What I meant to say is that you're a spoiled brat."

"You been talking to my sister again?"

Archer laughed, gave him a hug.  Then he added, very seriously, "I would never force you to do something you didn't want.  You know that, right?"

"Sure I do.  But that still doesn't change the fact that you're one bossy bastard."

"Son of a bitch or bastard?  Make up your mind, friend."

"The operative word in both phrases is 'bossy'.  In case you didn't notice."

"Shut up and watch the movie."

*  *  *

"Wow," Trip said appreciatively.  "Do they even make women like that outside of Hollywood?"

"She's probably not even real.  Computer-generated."

"Still.  Wow."  He was silent for a moment.  Then, "Wouldn't you like a blonde like that?"  

Archer shrugged.  "Not really," he said.  "I'm happy with the blond I've already got."

Trip turned in his embrace to look at him.  "Really?"

"Really."

Trip turned back, and watched the rest of the movie in a thoughtful silence.  He maintained that silence while getting ready for bed, and Archer simply let him be.  He knew by now that when Trip was ready to talk about whatever it was he was contemplating, he would.  In great detail. 

He crawled into bed beside the younger man, and smiled slightly as Trip yawned hugely.  "Tired?"

"Yeah.  Hate to admit it, but I am."

He turned, snuggled up to Archer, and was immediately asleep.

*  *  *

Trip stood, toothbrush in hand.  "Are you kidding me?"

"Nope."

"But I'm already up!"

"So you shaved and brushed your teeth and washed your face.  Good.  You'll be nice and clean.  In bed."

"But – "

"Phlox wasn't joking yesterday and neither am I now.  The doctor ordered bed rest, and that's what it's going to be."

Trip groaned.  "You remember what I called you last night?"

"A bossy son of a bitch?  Yeah.  Why?"

"Just checking," he grumbled in response.

"Bed. Now."

Suppressing another groan, Trip climbed back into bed.  "You happy now?"

"Delirious.  And I expect you to stay there."

Trip muttered something.  Archer was sure it wasn't "Happy Birthday."  He tossed him a padd.  "Your engineering reports.  Read them.  Behave yourself."

Trip muttered something else, and this time Archer was positive it wasn't "Happy Birthday."  He raised a brow.  "What's that, Commander?"

"Nothing."

"I beg your pardon?"

Trip sighed.  "I said, 'yes, sir'."

*  *  *

When Archer came back off-shift, he found Trip sprawled, deeply asleep, across their bed, Porthos at his feet.  The Captain smiled.  Looks like Phlox was right.  Again.

He walked quietly to the side of the bed, reached out, then stopped and stood, uncharacteristically hesitant.  He should really wake Trip up.  Otherwise, he might have problems sleeping the night through.  Still ... He looked down on the younger man, and his expression softened.

What the hell.  Let him sleep.  If he doesn't get enough sleep tonight, I'll keep him off duty tomorrow.  In fact, I think I'm going to do that anyhow.  He still tires too damned easily for my liking.

Having made up his mind, he left to have a late dinner with T'Pol and Phlox.

*  *  *

When he came back, Trip was awake and sitting on the couch, watching a movie.  "Hey."

"Hey yourself."  Archer started to change out of his uniform into his casual wear.  "You eat?"

"Yeah.  Chef sent some dinner over."

"Eat it all?"

"Yep.  And dessert.  And drank all the milk.  I'm stuffed."

"Good.  What are you watching?"

"Cat People.  Val Lewton.  Classic."

Archer shook his head.  Trip loved old horror movies, and for the life of him, he could not figure out why.  Such an interest seemed to be at odds with Trip's open, sunny personality.

"It's a good one," Trip urged.

Archer shook his head again, but before he could say anything, Trip reached up, pulled him down on the couch beside him.

"Hey!"

"Look – I watched yours last night, didn't I?"

*  *  *

The movie was over.  Trip sighed in contentment.  "Didn't I tell you it was a good one?"

"Okay, I admit it.  It was.  But you know, I felt sorry for the main character.  She wasn't bad.  She didn't ask for any of that to happen to her.  Seems unfair."

"Yeah.  She was damned if she did and damned if she didn't.  A no-win situation.  I can sympathize."

"I'll bet," said Archer.

Trip looked at him.  "Fortunately, I'm not quite as bad off as she was."

Archer smiled.  "Good to hear."

Trip did not answer.  Instead, he gave Archer a long, searching look.  The Captain sat, quietly, allowed that even gaze, although he could feel his heart start to beat faster.  The air between them seemed charged, and he could feel the small hairs on his arms suddenly stand up.

Slowly, deliberately, Trip leaned forward and kissed him.  It started out as a chaste, warm kiss; as chaste and gentle as their behavior over the past three months had been.  Even though they had slept together each night in a happy, friendly tangle of arms and legs, Archer had kept his word.  He had not even raised the subject with Trip.  Instead, he had simply waited; waited for the younger man to regain his confidence; waited until Trip was ready; waited until the time was right.

Trip slipped his arms around him without breaking the kiss.  And for the first time, Archer felt the tentative touch of Trip's tongue on his lips.  He opened his mouth, allowed Trip to explore him, while he in turn began to do the same.  He really does have a sweet taste to him, he thought, as he pulled Trip into a tighter embrace.  Trip tensed for a brief second, then relaxed into his arms.

And now the kiss became passionate, intense, urgent.  Archer fell back against the couch, and Trip followed him.  The engineer moaned, deep in his throat, and broke off the kiss.  "Remember what you said?"  At Archer's nod, he smiled and added, "I think I'm ready for dessert now, Jon."

Archer looked up at him.  "I don't want to have sex with you, Trip."

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