Porthos barked.  Loudly.  "All right, all right," Archer said with mock exasperation.  "I'll get you your dinner."  Porthos yapped again, repeating his request.  "You're a regular alarm clock, aren't you?"  The beagle gave another woof; presumably he was agreeing with the Captain's observation.

Trip murmured in his sleep, then turned and awoke.

"Sorry, Trip," Archer said, keeping his voice light.  "But when he wants to eat ... "  He shrugged.

Trip nodded, knuckled the sleep out of his eyes, and watched as Porthos, his tail wagging with pleasure and excitement, leaped off the bed and ran to his supper dish.  A few quick gulps and the beagle's dinner was gone.  He looked up at Archer and wagged his tail in contentment.

"Did he even taste that?" Trip asked wonderingly.

"I doubt it."

Trip nodded, then lay back and looked at the ceiling.  Archer sighed inwardly.  It was all so damned difficult.  The two of them were still tip-toeing around each other.  Each was acutely aware what had transpired on the Tasumi homeworld, and the memory of those events hung between them like a barrier.  Their conversation, once easy and relaxed, was now formal, awkward and stilted.  When they did speak, that is.  Most of the time Trip slept, or pretended he was sleeping, when Archer was around.  As for his part, Archer would spend the evening reading.  Or pretending to read. 

However, a short and extremely to the point conversation that the Captain had had with the ship's doctor earlier in the day had made it quite clear that this was not to continue.  So, mentally gritting his teeth, Archer plowed on.  It would be so much easier to pretend to read, just as he was sure Trip would prefer to pretend he was asleep.  But Phlox was right; to do so would simply prolong the misery.

He went over to Trip's bedside.  "Hey," he said lightly.  "Got something for you, too."

When Trip didn't reply, the Captain was tempted to just forget about it tonight.  But remembering what Phlox had said, he continued, difficult as it was.  "Think you're up to sitting up for a while?  On the couch?"

Trip thought about it.  "Guess so."  He sounded anything but enthusiastic at the idea, but Archer didn't let that stop him.  He held out his hand.  "Come on, then."

Slowly, Trip sat up, took his hand.  The Captain had a momentary flashback of leading Trip by the hand into that wretched room downplanet.  He was tempted to ignore, but decided not to, and prayed he was making the right decision.  "Sorry, Trip."  At the questioning look he received, he explained.  "I just remembered.  I took you by the hand down there, too."  He didn't elaborate, but Trip understood.

The younger man thought about this.  "I know."  He looked up.  "Feels strange, doesn't it?"

"It does at that," Archer agreed.  "We've always been close – but we've never been that close."

Trip managed a faint smile at this, and Archer rejoiced inwardly.  It was the first smile he'd seen from his friend since shore leave, which now seemed to be another lifetime ago.

Trip stood, swayed slightly. 

"Dizzy?"

"A little."

"Take it easy," the Captain said.  "One step at a time."  He smothered a smile when he realized that, inadvertently, he was describing their own personal journey as well.

The engineer slowly made his way into the living room.  He allowed his Captain to place a supporting hand on his shoulder.  He wasn't relaxed, but at least he was permitting the touch without flinching away.  It wasn't much, but it was a start, and Archer was not about to ignore any progress, no matter how little.

Trip sank onto the couch with a sigh of relief.  "Put your feet up," Archer told him, "and relax."

Trip obeyed to the extent of putting his feet up, but it was highly doubtful that he was relaxed.  He watched as Archer went to the linen closet, came back with blankets and pillows.  A moment later, Trip had pillows supporting his back, and a blanket covering his thin form.  Porthos jumped up and settled at his feet, obviously intending to remain there.

"Doesn't want to leave you alone," was the Captain's comment.  "Seems to have appointed himself your private nurse."

"Does a good job," Trip agreed.  "I don't mind."

Archer then held up the disk he had received from Forrest.  "Guess what this is," he said.  "Forrest sent it earlier today."

"Water polo."

"Nope."

Trip looked faintly surprised.  "It's not?"

Archer shook his head.  "Take another guess."

"A new movie?"

"Wrong again."

"Sorry, Captain – I'm stumped."

Archer tossed him the disk.  Trip caught it, looked at the label.  "You're kidding!"

"That's three times in a row you've been wrong."

"The Bucs? And the Bears?"

"Right.  Game played last week."

"Wow."

"Think you'd like to find out who won?"

"Do you have to ask?"

"He was in!" Trip said heatedly.

"No way," Archer replied.  "That guy was so far out, he was practically in the parking lot!"

"Both you and the ref need glasses," was Trip's retort.

Archer smiled despite himself.  This was the first glimpse of the old Trip he'd seen in a long, long time.  "I'm not going to argue with you," he told his friend loftily.

"That's because you'd lose."

"It's all moot anyhow," Archer reminded him.  "The game's been over for a week.  At least."

Trip subsided.  "But still," he complained.  "It was a stupid call."

The half-time show started, and right on schedule, his buzzer rang.  Trip looked up, questioning, as the Captain went to the door.  It turned out to be Cunningham, carrying a tray.  "With Chef's compliments, sir."

"Tell Chef thanks." 

The Captain returned, carrying a covered tray, which he then set down in front of Trip.  The engineer looked up at him. "What's this?"

"From Chef."

Trip lifted the lid.  "Milk and cookies?"

"Got a problem with that?"

"No – but what's Phlox going to say?"

Archer shrugged elaborately.  "What he doesn't know won't hurt him."  He wasn't about to spoil Trip's enjoyment by telling him that the cookies had been made to meet specific nutritional standards that Phlox himself had set out.  "Chef baked these himself," he added.  This, at least, was the truth.

"So I guess I'd better eat them, is that what you're saying?" 

Archer simply smiled in response.  Trip reached over, took a cookie.  He chewed.  "Good," he mumbled through a mouthful.  Archer then handed him the glass.  Trip took a sip.  "Milkshake," he said with some surprise.

"Good?"

"Yeah."  He looked at the Captain.  "What about you?"

"It's okay. You go ahead."

"You sure?"

"Chef baked these for you."  And watching as Trip enjoyed his cookies and watched the game, he thought that, for the moment at least, all was well.

Archer sat up with a jerk and fumbled for the light.  Trip was crying in his sleep – great, gasping sobs.  The Captain hurried over to him.  Porthos, curled at the bottom of Trip's bed, looked up at his "daddy" and whined worriedly.  "I know," Archer told the beagle.  "I get scared when he does that, too."

Now Trip was thrashing about in his sleep, crying out in fear.  Archer placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.  Trip, even in sleep, shrank away from the touch.  "Trip!" Archer called softly.  "Trip – it's all right.  You're safe."

The younger man sat up with a start, his eyes wild and afraid.  He looked around, and when he realized that he was indeed safe aboard Enterprise, he exhaled, but still trembled like a rabbit caught in a snare.

Silently, he arose, stumbled into the bathroom.  When he returned a few minutes later, Archer was still waiting for him.  He sat down on his bed, stared straight ahead at nothing.  Carefully, Archer sat down beside him.  "Sounded pretty bad."

Trip simply nodded.

"Want to tell me about it?"

Trip shook his head.  Suppressing a sigh, Archer placed a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder.  Trip flinched, but the Captain did not remove his hand.  "You can't run forever, you know.  Sooner or later, your demons are going to catch up with you."

Trip looked at him.  "I just want you to know," Archer continued, "that I'm here.  And I'll listen to whatever you have to say.  And it will stay between us.  I promise."

Trip looked away again.  Archer tightened his grip on his shoulder.  Then carefully, gently, he pulled Trip to him, until the engineer was leaning up against him.  "It's all right," Archer repeated gently.  He could feel the younger man trembling.  "I'm not going to hurt you.  But I don't think you should be alone right now."

Trip sighed tremulously, closed his eyes.  A single tear leaked down one cheek.

"Oh, God," he said.  "I'm just so tired."

Archer walked down the corridor, carrying the package that Phlox had given him.  He was doubtful, to say the least, that this was going to be of any use.  But when it came to medical matters, Phlox's authority was absolute, and the Captain of the Enterprise was obliged to obey.

He opened the door to his quarters, stepped through, and was pleasantly surprised to find Trip asleep on the couch, with Porthos, as usual, at his feet.

After what had seemed to be a breakthrough of the other night, Trip had shut back down again.  Even though Phlox had warned him that this would happen, Archer had been disappointed.  The younger man had retreated back to his bed, and back into himself.  He was silent, speaking only when spoken to, and even then responded only in monosyllables.  Not that he was awake often enough for conversations; he was back to sleeping 18 hours a day.

"Give him time," Phlox had counseled.  So Archer had found himself spending his evenings watching sports, using headphones so as not to disturb his slumbering roommate.  Or, alternatively, he worked on an interactive computer program Phlox had set up, playing "therapist" to the computer's "patient".  These cyber-sessions were tough going, but Archer continued to grimly slog through them.  Better to practice on a pile of chips and micro-processors than on actual flesh-and-blood.  Phlox was, in his own way, encouraging; he had paid Archer a back-handed compliment by telling the Captain that he was doing far better than the doctor would have expected.  Archer found this to be of limited comfort; he constantly worried that Trip would pay – and dearly – for any missteps on his part.

The engineer had fallen asleep while watching one of the old movies he loved so much.  Archer smiled.  Star Wars.  Escapism plus.  He would have preferred to discover that Trip was starting to take an interest in what was happening aboard Enterprise, but he wasn't about to reject any signs of progress, no matter how slight.

Archer put the package on his desk, and considered his friend.  He hated to disturb him, but Trip's head was at an odd angle, and if he continued to sleep that way, he was going to end up with one hell of a stiff neck.  "Porthos," he said.  The beagle whined, but obediently jumped off the couch.  He did not go to his own little bed, but instead stretched out on the floor beside the couch. 

Archer took his place at the end of the couch.  "Trip," he said.  The younger man shifted and murmured in his sleep.  "Trip," he repeated, slightly louder this time. 

Trip awoke with a start.  He looked around, saw Archer's gaze on him.  He swallowed nervously, and pulled his blanket around him protectively. 

"Sorry to wake you," Archer told him in a gentle tone.  "But I didn't want you to wake up with a sore neck.  The way you were sleeping, you would have."

"Okay," Trip whispered in response.

"Come on," the Captain told him.  "You'll be more comfortable in your own bed."  The engineer allowed Archer to help him to his feet, and lead him to his bed.

Archer looked at the package on his desk.  Well, this was as good a time as any, he supposed.  Trip got into bed, and lay quietly, staring at the ceiling, avoiding Archer's gaze.

The older man went to his desk, undid the package.  He brought out one of the vials Phlox had given him, and considered it.  He found all of this to be disturbingly similar to the events that transpired downplanet.  However, when he had pointed this out to the doctor, Phlox had blandly agreed, but insisted that he follow instructions nonetheless.

Suppressing a sigh, he walked back over to Trip's bedside.  "Trip," he said quietly, "I need you to roll over."

The engineer looked fearfully at him.  "Captain?"

"Doctor's orders."

"I don't understand."

"He wants you to start massage therapy," Archer explained.  He then showed Trip the vial.  "Muscle relaxant," he assured him.  "That's all."

Trip regarded it narrowly.  "Why not just give me a shot?"

Why not indeed, Archer thought.  It was a damned good question.  He'd asked Phlox the same one.  "It's time for the Commander to begin to trust you again, " had been the doctor's reply.  "And non-threatening tactile contact will facilitate that process."

"He wouldn't say," Archer lied.  "You know the medical profession – they love to be mysterious."

He hoped that this would at least coax a smile from the engineer, but no such luck.  Trip continued to study the vial with a mixture of fear and suspicion. 

"Come on," the Captain told him.  "Unless you want Phlox to drag you down to Sickbay and have him do it."

That decided Trip.  "Okay," he sighed.

"All right, " Archer said.  "Take your top off."  Trip froze at this, and despite himself, his eyes were wide and terrified.

Archer cursed his stupidity.  How could he have expected Trip to take that any other way?  He sat on the bedside.  "Sorry," he said, kindly.  "But I can't rub this stuff on you through fabric, you know."

Trip swallowed.

"Here," the Captain said, "let me."  Carefully, he unbuttoned Trip's pajama top.  The younger man lay passively.  He didn't fight Archer, but it was clear that he was tense and frightened.  Archer was tempted to simply give up, but he knew that if he did, Phlox would have his head on a platter.  Trusting that the doctor knew what the hell he was doing, he continued.

He slipped the top off.  Trip was so thin!  Archer could count all the engineer's ribs with no problem.  When he was upset, Trip stopped eating, and right now, he was barely taking in enough calories to stay alive.  Phlox was giving him vitamin/mineral shots, and Archer continued to feed him protein shakes, but that was all.  However, the Captain remained silent.  He knew that saying anything about this would not help right now.  Instead, he said genially, "There.  Over you go."

Slowly, Trip obeyed.  He lay on his stomach, hands clenching the sheets.  Archer undid the top of the vial.   "Okay," he said, remembering Phlox's instructions to talk Trip through the procedure.  "I'm going to put some of the relaxant on now.  I'll start on your neck."  He carefully allowed a few drops to fall on Trip's neck.  "How does that feel?"

"Warm," was the timid response.

"Good," said Archer.  "Now, I'm going to start to rub it into your neck muscles.  I know it's scary for you," he continued, "but try and relax.  All I'm going to do is give you a massage.  That's all.  Okay?"

"All right," Trip whispered.  "I'll try."

"Good." And he began to gently rub the medication into his friend's neck, using the small, circular motions that Phlox had taught him.  "How's that?  You okay?"

Trip nodded.

"Good.  Now I'm going to put some on your shoulders.  Ready?"

Slowly, carefully, he continued, working his way down Trip's back, talking to him, reassuring him the entire time.  He finished up at the engineer's too-thin waist.  "There," he said.  "Finished."  He didn't add, "for today."  Phlox had said that eventually, he hoped that Archer would be able to give Trip a full-body massage.  In time.  But for now, getting the young man to relax to the extent of allowing a backrub would be sufficient.

"Wasn't so bad, now, was it?"

Trip shook his head.

"Did it help?"

Trip thought about it.  "A little," he finally said.

Well, that's a start, Archer thought.  Aloud, he asked, "Think you could sleep now?"

Trip looked slightly surprised.  "Yeah," he admitted.  "Maybe this stuff is really working, after all."

"Good."  Trip rolled onto his back, and Archer helped him back into his pajama top, buttoned it up.  Trip submitted, like a small child being readied for bedtime. 

Archer gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.  "Done.  Now hit the sack."

Trip obeyed, lying back and closing his eyes.  In a very short time, he was fast asleep.  Gently, Archer pulled the blankets up over him.

Sleep well, my friend.  And for tonight – no dreams.

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