Good Things Require Time (Star Trek: Enterprise)--bonus tarotgal birthday fic

[Wig_Powder]

This is my last fic of the set, posted on tarotgal's actual birthday. I'm labeling it a bonus fic because a) this prompt actually got filled more than once (including by tarotgal herself), and b) it actually doesn't contain that much sneezing. It's still a relatively important part of the fic, though, so I think it should still be posted here.

As for the backstory, I'll be posting the original prompt below as I generally do, but I do need to mention a little of it here. The prompt didn't catch my attention when it was first posted, but by the time I was rereading all the comment memes for ideas for this project, I had become a pretty big Star Trek: Enterprise fan. I came across it again, and something went "click" in my head. Because I'm sure I'm not the only sneeze fetishist who both loves and gets a bit frustrated with certain aspects of the episode "Sleeping Dogs", and this prompt allows me to headcanon a solution to the problem.

All of this is a roundabout way of saying this fic contains SPOILERS for "Sleeping Dogs", complete with underlined dialogue that comes directly from the show. There's also smaller spoilers for later events in the show, though they're relatively vague.

And with that, enjoy the fic! And an official happy birthday, @tarotgal!!

~~~

Malcolm had barely stepped out of Sickbay when the sneeze that had deserted him came back with a vengeance, barely allowing him to bring his arm up towards his face before he was jerked forward. “Et-KSHHH!”

Tempted as he was to groan, he couldn’t afford the luxury of feeling too sorry for himself, especially outside the confines of Sickbay. Instead, he sniffed deeply, straightened up, and cursed himself for not thinking to take some of the tissues with him. Even if the medicine Phlox had given him reduced his symptoms, it would be wise to try to carry some with him just in case. Granted, he probably wouldn’t be able to use them while in the EV suit, but at least he could have a relatively clear nose until then. Not wanting to look like a fool by reentering Sickbay just after leaving it, he decided to put up with the discomfort for the time being. Perhaps he could stop by his quarters and retrieve a few before heading out to the shuttle bay.

He made his way to the turbolift, taking advantage of the empty hallway to rub at his nose with his sleeve. As he waited for the lift to arrive, he tried to decide if he had time to stop by his quarters before going to the armory to give orders to Ensign Burrows, or if it would have to wait until he was on his way to get suited up. Then he was distracted by another itch in his nose, and had to sneeze into his elbow again. “Hip-chh!”

He was just lowering his arm when something struck him in the back of the head.

***

The first thing Malcolm became aware of when he came to was that he was lying on something soft, rather than the cold metal of the hallway. The second thing was that his head was throbbing slightly. The third was that he felt absolutely wretched. And fourth…“Ek-tchh!”

Unable to repress the groan this time, he sat up and immediately whacked his head on something, causing both the front and the back of his head to ache. Rubbing the newly injured area, he opened his eyes to take stock of his surroundings, resigning himself to whatever prison cell he found himself in.

To his surprise, he appeared to be back in his quarters (the item he’d smacked into was the reading lamp over his bed). Furthermore, while he was still in uniform, his shoes had been removed, and someone had taken the time to put the blankets over him, with an extra one for good measure. As he glanced around, he saw that (presumably) the same someone had set a pitcher of water, his sleep clothes, a box of tissues, and a PADD on his coffee table. Getting out of bed (and shivering slightly as he did so), Malcolm made his way over to the items and picked the PADD up first, hoping for some sort of explanation. Well, his mysterious benefactor had left a note, all right, but he couldn’t pretend to make heads or tails of it;

 

Malcolm,

 

First off, you’re an idiot. I understand why, but you’re still an idiot. Secondly, don’t worry about the mission. I’ve taken care of it, and no one will suspect a thing. Just keep your mouth shut, nod, and make non-committal noises if anyone talks about it around you, and you should be fine. Thirdly, I have no idea when you’re going to wake up, but I’d stay in your room for an extra two hours after reading this. Again, don’t worry, you won’t be missed. Get some rest, go to Phlox for more medication, and try not to overwork yourself, and you should be over this in a week. Then everything will return to normal.

 

P.S. This is a ship of good people. It’s safe to trust them. I promise.

 

Baffled, Malcolm reread the message three times, trying to figure out who possibly could have done all this. For one horrifying moment, he thought that perhaps Harris had slipped one of his agents onto Enterprise to keep an eye on him, but managed to dismiss the thought. Surely the operative would have tipped his hand by now, given some of the things Enterprise had encountered out here. But then who was it? It probably wasn’t Phlox, because he would have referred to himself as “me” in the note. And Archer would have ordered him to bed rather than knock him out. Commander Tucker might be bold enough to take matters into his own hands like this, but he and Malcolm weren’t exactly friendly enough that he could believe the engineer cared about his well-being. Then again, Tucker was much more outgoing than Malcolm, and made friends more easily. It was possible that he considered Malcolm a friend, whereas Malcolm thought of him more as an acquaintance. One he’d come to an understanding with after they’d worked on the phase cannons together, but an acquaintance nevertheless.

His nose itched again, interrupting his train of thought, and he grabbed a tissue out of the box. “Eh-pshh!” As he lowered the tissue, he felt himself shiver again, and decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Changing into his sleep clothes (though he forced himself to hang up his uniform and put his underclothes in the proper place; he could at least try to be as organized as the job required), he brought the tissues and water over to his bed for easy access. Then he set an alarm to go off two hours later, climbed back into bed, and pulled the blankets back over himself, unable to keep himself from smiling at how he immediately felt a little warmer. He willed himself to go back to sleep, and it didn’t take long before his body and mind obliged him.

***

 

February 26^th, 2155

 

Malcolm was just leaving Starfleet’s gym when he heard someone call out behind him. “Lieutenant Reed?” Then, quieter, “Lieutenant? Yes, 2155, still a lieutenant.”

Curious, Malcolm turned around and saw a young woman looking at him with a combination of awe and nerves. “Yes?” he asked, giving what he hoped was an approachable smile.

“I, um…look, this is complicated. Can we go somewhere private, ideally somewhere we won’t be disturbed?”

Now even more intrigued, Malcolm nodded, trying to figure out a good place for…whatever this was. His hotel room was the most obvious place, but he didn’t want her to get the wrong impression (unless that was actually what she was here for, which he wouldn’t complain about). For the sake of being above board, he gestured for her to follow, then led the way to one of the smaller briefing rooms, which were unlikely to be being used here in the early evening.

Once the door was closed behind them and Malcolm had made sure they probably couldn’t be seen from the doors or windows, he turned back to the woman. “All right, what’s this all about?”

She grinned sheepishly, then held out her hand. “Lucine Aroa, Temporal Division. Well, prospective agent of the Temporal Division.”

Malcolm was in the process of shaking her hand when her words registered with him. “Temporal Division? Oh, God, did Daniels send you? Is the Temporal Cold War on again?”

“No, no, it’s not!” Aroa lifted her hands placatingly, “And the Temporal Accords have been upheld for a good twenty years now. Your Captain Archer was a huge help with that.”

Malcolm relaxed slightly. “I’m glad to hear that, at least. But if the timelines are stable, why are you here?”

Aroa fiddled with the strap of her bag. “Like I said, it’s complicated. When you join the Temporal Division, you have to make it through training, much like Starfleet. The final step is a series of tests, both written and practical. And one of the practical exams entails fixing a minor timeline discrepancy.”

“I see,” Malcolm said, “And I presume I’m involved in one of these discrepancies.”

She nodded. “It’s a causal loop. My test is to make sure it comes to pass. I figured I’d take you from this period of time to do it, since it’s not too far in the future and you’re here on Earth for the Coalition talks. Makes it much easier to borrow you for a few hours.”

Malcolm arched an eyebrow. “Do I get a say in this?”

“Of course! That’s why I’m talking to you about it!”

“All right then,” Malcolm folded his arms, “What exactly would this entail?”

Aroa looked relieved that he seemed inclined to accept the situation. “I’d take both of us back to the time of the incident, and then we’d work together to figure out what we need to do. Once I deem the timeline sorted out, I bring us back here. With luck, you’d only technically be gone a few minutes, but we have to accept a certain margin of error on that, hence choosing this moment in history to approach you.” She looked at him eagerly. “So what do you say? Will you help me pass?”

Malcolm smiled dryly. “If it’s a causal loop, surely I’d have to say yes at some point, wouldn’t I?”

“True enough,” Aroa said with a chuckle, “Think of it as getting it out of the way so you don’t keep getting pestered about it by other prospective agents.”

“In that case, yes. Let’s get going.”

Aroa beamed at him and withdrew a device from her bag. “Thank you! All right, give me a second…”

She pressed a few buttons, then grabbed Malcolm’s wrist. “Come on.”

“Wait, where are we going? And more importantly, when are we going?” It was only now that it occurred to Malcolm that the event in question could have been something from his time working for Harris, a period of his life he preferred to revisit as little as possible. He’d do it if it was required, but he’d need to have a few minutes to mentally prepare himself.

“We’re just going to walk through the door. If I did this right—and I should have,” she added quickly, “Then we should arrive at the proper place and time. As for when, the loop occurs on October 6^th, 2151.”

Malcolm blinked in surprise, but moved to follow Aroa. What the hell had he been up to on that date? He knew it was in the early days of serving on Enterprise, but he couldn’t remember anything particularly significant from that time. Then again, most of their run-ins with Daniels and the Suliban occurred during that first year, so perhaps it had happened and he hadn’t been made directly privy to it.

The two of them walked through the briefing room door, and sure enough, they found themselves on one of the corridors on Enterprise. Aroa quickly looked over her jumpsuit, and it was only then that Malcolm noticed the patch on her arm designating her as an Enterprise crewman. Mentally chiding himself for not being more observant, he was about to ask where they went from here when Aroa looked over at his jumpsuit. “That’s right; Starfleet changed the color of their jumpsuits slightly in 2152. Let me just...”

As Malcolm was glancing between their two jumpsuits and realizing that yes, her uniform was a little darker than his, she pulled a device from her bag, scanned the sleeve of her jumpsuit, then pointed it at Malcolm. His jumpsuit darkened immediately, matching Aroa’s own. “Transitive color shading,” she explained as he blinked at her, “The effects should last for about six hours. More than enough time for you to do whatever you need to do, hopefully.”

Shaking his head, Malcolm returned to the task at hand. “What happens now?”

“We find the old you and figure out what exactly is going on. Any suggestions of where to look?”

“The armory’s always a safe bet,” Malcolm said with a slight chuckle, “But you should probably pull out one of your devices and try to make me invisible or change my appearance entirely, so we don’t make things more complicated.”

“We’re advanced, but not that advanced,” Aroa said, “I hear someone’s working on personal cloaking devices, but we probably won’t be getting them for at least another decade. And holographic disguises have been driving inventors crazy for years. I’m not expecting that one within my lifetime.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” Malcolm demanded, even as he started moving towards the turbolift, “hide in a corner and hope I don’t get spotted by myself?”

“In this case, yes. The details about the incident are sketchy, but we do know that you don’t meet yourself, so we need to avoid that.”

“Fantastic,” Malcolm grumbled, “And here I was hoping I was mostly done with subterfuge.”

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for a turbolift to arrive, and no one joined them during the ride to the armory. Upon exiting onto F Deck, Aroa grabbed his arm. “There is one thing I can do to minimize the chance of you meeting yourself,” she said, reaching into her bag and taking out another device, “You can use this to listen through the walls and see if you can hear yourself. It might also help us learn more about what’s currently happening on the ship.”

Malcolm couldn’t stop himself from smirking as she activated the device and he got a good look at the design, which was circular at both ends. “Are we just using a more high-tech version of the old ‘glass to the wall’ trick?”

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” Aroa responded, passing the device over, “Or at least, improve it just enough to allow it to keep up with the times.”

Malcolm gave a slight chuckle, then pressed one end to the wall and put his ear to the other. After a few seconds, he heard a murmur of voices, and then shortly after, the words became properly audible.

“…practice in your quarters.” It took a moment for Malcolm to realize he was listening to his own voice, and internally winced. It was always disconcerting to hear his voice come out a pitch higher than he was used to, though at least he could try to pretend that it was the wall or the device causing the change in sound this time.

“With what?” came Hoshi’s voice, sounding frustrated and a bit condescending, “You’re not telling me you’re going to sign out a phase pistol and training module, are you?”

“Of course not,” Malcolm—past Malcolm—said, apparently unperturbed by Hoshi’s tone, “But you can practice aiming and keeping your arm relaxed with anything of a similar size. I’m sure you must have something in your room that will serve.”

“I’ll take a look.” Hoshi said, and Malcolm heard the sound of footsteps. Quickly pulling the device from the wall, Malcolm gestured to Aroa. “We need to move. This way.”

He led her around the corner, closer to the back entrance of the armory, then put the “glass” back to the wall. “How good is the range on this thing?” he asked quietly, to keep Hoshi from overhearing and coming to investigate.

“Pretty good. You should be able to hear anything being said clearly, even if the speaker’s in the furthest corner from you.” Satisfied, Malcolm put his ear back to the device.

There was silence for a moment, making Malcolm wonder if his past self had left the armory as well. Then there was a sharp “Eh-khssh!”, followed by a curse, and suddenly Malcolm knew exactly when they were. He’d suffered a variety of injuries over the past four years, but there had only been one time he’d had a notable illness. And now that the memories were coming back, he realized what had to be done.

Then he heard the captain’s voice, sounding a bit far away due to coming over the comm lines. “Archer to Lieutenant Reed.”

Past Malcolm sniffed so thickly that current Malcolm winced, then finally said “Reed here, Captain.”

“Malcolm, we’ve come across a ship in the gas giant we’ve just found. It looks like it’s run into trouble. I want a team over there to see what’s going on and if we can offer any assistance. But we also want to keep it small so we don’t startle whoever’s down there. Given the circumstances, I thought you’d be the best choice to come along for security.”

“Aye, sir,” past Malcolm said, “Give b…I’ll d…But you’ll hab…” He broke off, and Malcolm remembered his embarrassment and frustration at the congestion creeping into his voice while he tried desperately to find a way to tell Archer he needed a few minutes to talk to Phlox. He’d known that he needed to inform Archer about the illness, so precautions could be taken to avoid infecting the rest of the crew, but that didn’t mean he wanted to appear like he was incapable of working through it.

“Malcolm?” Archer asked, confused and concerned.

Fortunately (though Malcolm hadn’t thought so at the time), his predicament became obvious a second later. “Het-shh!”

“Bless you,” Archer said, “You feeling all right?”

A long-ish pause. Then a deep sigh. “Dot entirely, sir.”

“Are you well enough to go on this…”

“Yes!” past Malcolm responded immediately, “I just deed a little assistance frob Phlox.”

“All right, if you say so. Head down to the launch bay as soon as you can.”

“Aye, sir.” Past Malcolm said again, his tone professional. But Malcolm thought he could hear the shame and relief hiding in his voice, and wondered if Archer had picked up on it too. Stepping away, he handed the “glass” back to Aroa, who looked at him curiously.

“Come on. We’ve got to beat me to Sickbay.”

He filled Aroa in during the turbolift ride, the two of them finding a corner to hide behind while they waited for his past self to show up. “So you’ll be taking his place,” Aroa said with a nod, “Makes sense. One question; do you have any idea what you’re in for?”

“Not really,” Malcolm admitted, “Whatever happened on that ship, it apparently didn’t have much of an impact on our journey. I know there are Klingons involved, but that’s about it.”

“Well, at least not knowing the details means you won’t be tempted to change them. Just be careful, okay?”

Malcolm smiled slightly. “Are you worried about my safety, or the possibility of me fouling up the timeline somehow?”

“Both, if I’m honest. As you’ve probably figured out, timelines aren’t fixed. Having to deal with some sort of temporal snarl in the middle of closing a causal loop is not what I signed up for.”

“Well, I’ll try to…” Malcolm cut himself off when he heard the turbolift door open, and signaled for her to be quiet. As much as Malcolm knew he should stay out of sight and not take any unnecessary risks, curiosity got the better of him, and after a sideways glance at Aroa (she gave a wry smile and mouthed “be careful”) he gingerly peered around the corner to get a look at his past self.

It was simultaneously better and worse than he’d expected. On the one hand, his younger self looked much the same as Malcolm did now, meaning it would be easier to pull off the deception and Malcolm didn’t have to feel too self-conscious about aging. On the other, past Malcolm looked completely haggard. His nose hadn’t turned pink yet, but he definitely looked unhealthy and exhausted, despite the symptoms having only just started. What’s more, his expression was a combination of determined, frustrated, and ashamed, and Malcolm remembered all too clearly why. At the time, he was confused as to how he’d caught this cold in the first place, annoyed that he was the only one suffering, and anxious that this would impact his performance, causing something to go wrong or Archer to think less of him. Still grappling with his father’s disappointment and the weight of his actions while serving under Harris, that thought was always in his mind somewhere, and the cold was just allowing it to come to the fore.

His younger self strode past their hiding place, allowing Malcolm to get a good look at his back. Despite being ill, he was keeping it straight for the sake of appearances. Too straight, really; even from a distance and with his past self moving fairly quickly, Malcolm could see the shoulders pinned back and the tension in his neck from keeping his head high. Seeing it from this perspective, it was a wonder that Malcolm hadn’t developed a pinched nerve.

Past Malcolm entered Sickbay shortly thereafter, and Malcolm looked over at Aroa. “Can I borrow your bag?”

Aroa grabbed the strap hesitantly. “I’m only supposed to use my tools when necessary. And despite what we’ve heard Daniels got up to with you, we’re meant to keep people from the past from seeing our tech as little as possible.”

“I’m not going to root around in it,” Malcolm promised, “I just need the bag for a minute.”

She looked at him warily, then handed it over. Malcolm hefted it a few times, then nodded. “Is it safe to assume that you design 29^th century tech to be durable?”

“Of course. Why…?” then her eyes widened in realization. “You’re not going to…”

“We need to work with what we have,” Malcolm responded, “And I don’t think there’s time to try to find something in an unoccupied room.”

“Isn’t that going to hurt?”

“Not as much as you’d think,” Malcolm responded with a rueful smile, “At least, not if I do it right.”

He spent the next minute or so adjusting the bag to become an adequate blackjack, keeping an ear out for the sound of the Sickbay doors. It turned out that was unnecessary; just seconds after the door closed, both he and Aroa jumped at the sound of a sharp “Et-KSHHH!” Composing themselves, they pressed up against the wall and waited for the sound of footsteps to pass. Then they carefully stepped around the corner, treading lightly on the metal floor so they wouldn’t alert past Malcolm to their presence. Perhaps due to thinking about the mission or dwelling on his cold, he never even seemed aware they were there. Just as they came up behind him, he turned his head slightly and brought his arm up to his face. “Hip-chh!”

Knowing there probably wasn’t going to be a better opportunity, Malcolm lifted the bag and swung it firmly. Past Malcolm collapsed immediately, and Aroa quickly stepped around Malcolm and caught the limp body before it hit the ground. “Nice one. Either you knew exactly where to hit or your younger self was more sick than he looked. What now?”

Malcolm had to consider for a moment, though at least the opening of the (mercifully empty) turbolift doors gave him some time to think while he helped Aroa drag past Malcolm inside. From what little he knew about this incident, he wouldn’t be able to bring Aroa with him, since the team was supposed to be small. So first...

“Did you bring any 29^th century communication devices? Ideally something only I can hear?” When Aroa nodded, he continued, “Then we’ll head to my quarters. You can deposit him...me...that,” Malcolm waved at his unconscious self, “On the bed and make sure he doesn’t wake up before I get back. I’ll head out on the mission and keep you informed whenever I get a chance.”

“Sounds good.” Aroa said, taking a firmer grip on past Malcolm’s body. Malcolm pressed the button for C deck and slung one of his own arms over his shoulder, trying not to think too hard about the surreality of the situation.

Luck continued to be on their side; they made it to Malcolm’s quarters without running into anybody. Once they were inside, they carried past Malcolm to the bed, Malcolm taking the time to draw back the covers (to make things slightly more comfortable to his past self) and remove his shoes (to avoid accidentally ripping or dirtying the sheets). Then he straightened up and looked expectantly at Aroa as he passed her bag back. “The device?”

Aroa dug into her bag and removed a tiny ball. “Stick this in your ear,” she said, handing it over, “It’ll conform to your ear shape and shouldn’t be knocked out. When we’re done, just tap it twice and it will pop out. In the meantime, it’ll allow me to speak to you without anyone hearing, and for me to hear everything that’s being said in the same room as you.”

“And if I need to speak to you?”

“Hopefully that won’t be necessary. But if it is, either whisper as softly as you can, or find an excuse to be alone for a minute.”

Malcolm nodded, inserting the device into his right ear. There was an odd fluttering sensation as it molded itself to his ear, but after that, he didn’t feel anything at all. “All right. I guess this is where we part ways for now.”

“Good luck,” Aroa said, “I’ll keep an eye on your past self. Though based on how he looks and the blow you gave him, I doubt he’ll be waking up any time soon.”

Malcolm winced slightly, vaguely remembering how sore his head had felt when he’d woken up. Hopefully that had been the result of one crack on the head and not several. Composing himself and nodding at Aroa again, he left his room, planning on heading to the armory to give a few instructions before setting off into the unknown.

***

Despite the lingering feeling that he was an interloper, Malcolm was quickly able to snap back into his usual mindset. After delivering some orders to the armory crew, he headed to the launch bay, changed into the EV suit, and flew the shuttlepod down into the gas giant. Despite the dangers of the atmospheric pressure, Malcolm’s first real flicker of concern came when he recognized the design of the shipwreck. While Enterprise’s crew weren’t as familiar with it at this point in time, they’d have enough encounters in future years that he was able to recognize it as a Klingon vessel. Now he’d have to pretend he had no idea until it was made official by his teammates (Hoshi and T’Pol). Fortunately, since he was piloting the shuttle, they couldn’t see his reaction to the sight, and he’d probably be able to compose his expression into something more neutral by the time they got inside.

It was as they were starting docking procedures that something else occurred to him. While he wasn’t sure how quickly word of his illness had spread, he should probably at least keep up the appearance of being sick. The medication Phlox had given him would have reduced most of his symptoms, so it was probably unwise to fake coughing or sneezing. But there was one thing he could fake, even though it was probably going to be difficult, especially given something else they’d come to learn about Klingons. All he could do was try, and hope the situation and the muffling acoustics of the EV helmet speakers would mask any slip-ups.

Shortly after docking the shuttlepod, the group arrived inside the ship, and T’Pol declared that the atmosphere was breathable “You first.” Hoshi said. Bracing himself, Malcolm flipped open the visor on his helmet.

The smell hit him immediately, a combination of sweat, raw meat (fresh and rotting), and metal. Despite the urge to react, Malcolm kept his face neutral, nodding at the other two. They opened their helmets and reacted immediately. “Perhaps we should leave the helmets on.” T’Pol said dryly.

“What is it?” Malcolm asked, pitching his voice a little lower.

“You can’t smell that?” Hoshi said in disbelief.

“No,” Malcolm lied, “This damn cold...”

“Count your blessings.” Hoshi muttered, as the three of them started to move forward again. Relieved that his gambit had worked, Malcolm looked around, subtly taking deep breaths through his nose in the hopes that he could grow accustomed to the smell a little faster. Thankfully, the darkness would mask his watering eyes for the time being.

It didn’t take too long for the others to realize it was a Klingon ship, and shortly after that, they found some of the crew, unconscious and with weak lifesigns. Despite knowing the risks in more ways than one, Malcolm knew he had to argue for helping them, and did so. A brief argument broke out, with T’Pol on one side and Hoshi, Malcolm, and Archer (via the comm until the interference from the gas giant got in the way) on the other. Before they could come to some sort of agreement, a noise attracted their attention, and Malcolm promptly pulled out his phase pistol and went to investigate. He tried to keep himself safe by crouching slightly, peering through archways before entering, and staying close to the walls, but even that wasn’t good enough. A Klingon woman jumped at him (apparently from the ceiling), punched him once in the stomach and once in the face, then threw him to the ground. Before he could recover from that, the Klingon had fled into their shuttlepod and taken off, leaving them stranded on a rapidly sinking vessel. Malcolm couldn’t stop himself from muttering a “Damn.” Even though he’d been taken by surprise, he hated the thought of being caught flat-footed, especially if it ended up putting him and the away team in danger. About the only comfort he could take at the moment was the knowledge that they must have survived this incident, or Aroa wouldn’t have contacted him. And even then, she’d warned that the timeline wasn’t fixed, so he’d still have to make sure he did his utmost to get them out of here.

The three of them returned to the bridge, Hoshi translating the various panels in an attempt to get the ship up and running again. When she found a panel describing “photon torpedoes”, Malcolm hurried over, partly to keep his cover and partly out of genuine interest. In his time, Enterprise had upgraded to photonic torpedoes, and he was curious to see if he could spot any differences between that and what the Klingons had. He didn’t have much time to look, though, since T’Pol steered them back on course. They did find the ship’s helm, but the engines were damaged, and although Enterprise did attempt to fly in and rescue them, the ship wasn’t strong enough to withstand the pressure, returning them to square one.

Eventually, they made their way to the Klingon ship’s equivalent of Engineering, and started trying to get the port fusion injector up and running. They worked in silence for a few minutes, and then Aroa’s voice sounded in his ear, making him jump; he’d been so busy working that he’d completely forgotten about the earpiece. “Lieutenant?”

“Mmm?” Malcolm said quietly, glad he was buried in the inner workings of the console.

“Something’s occurred to me, and I’m going to need your help. Can you get somewhere private?”

Malcolm considered for a moment. He didn’t want to step away from the work and waste valuable time, but he didn’t want to ignore this, either. Then the obvious solution presented itself to him, and he murmured another, affirmative “Mmm.” Dropping the tool he was using, he stood up, glanced around briefly, then staggered over to a nearby post and rested his hand on it. Unfortunately, it was hotter than he expected, and his groan of pain was genuine, which at least guaranteed that he’d attract attention.

“Are you okay?” Hoshi asked, coming over to him.

“Yes,” Malcolm said, blinking and swaying slightly, “I seem to be getting a little light-headed. Must be the heat.”

T’Pol walked over and scanned him. For a moment, he was afraid her scanner would pick up the earpiece, but she merely said “You’re dehydrated. You need some water.” It was probably true; he hadn’t had anything to drink since...well, since he’d met Aroa, and the heat of the place was making him overwarm. With luck, that extra, official diagnosis would lead to the expected result.

“I saw a galley on the schematics,” Hoshi said, “Deck four, blue sector. I’ll see what I can find.”

T’Pol said it before Malcolm could, “You shouldn’t go alone.” she said, moving to accompany Hoshi out of the room.

Relieved, Malcolm called “Watch yourselves.” after them, then returned to the console he’d been working on. Once he was sure the two had left, he murmured “All right. Go ahead.”

“Thanks,” Aroa said, “And nice diversion. Ok, to the point...your past self is still unconscious, which is the good news. The bad news is, given the way we swapped places with him, he’s probably going to want an explanation. If we’re not careful, he’s probably going to think there’s an enemy on board and start asking around, which might draw attention to our involvement. You know yourself; how can we pacify him?”

Malcolm thought back to his memory of waking up after being knocked out. “I remember assuming the worst,” he said, “But the fact that I was still on Enterprise and not in some alien cell helped dispell some of my concern. Then I saw some supplies on the coffee table, along with a note. Maybe it was just the cold dulling my normal instincts, but it was enough to reassure me and send me back to bed.”

“Great,” Aroa said, sounding relieved, “Do you remember what the note said? Or what supplies we left out?”

Malcolm racked his brain, but couldn’t particularly recall the details. “Unfortunately not. We’ll just have to wing it. But I’d lay out some water and tissues, and my sleep clothes. You can find those in the locker at the foot of my bed.”

Things went quiet for a minute, during which time Malcolm continued to try to repair the console. Then Aroa said “Ok, I’ve got the supplies laid out, and a PADD at the ready. How do you want to start it?”

“Address me by my first name,” Malcolm said, “That’ll add a personal touch that might disarm me further.”

“Ok, then what?”

Malcolm considered. As he moved to wipe the sweat off his forehead, it occurred to him that, had he actually gone on this mission while sick, he probably would have been feeling even worse right now. The heat and dehydration might even have combined with his cold to make him pass out entirely, which would have meant T’Pol and Hoshi would have had to deal with a broken engine and an unconscious officer. He still had a tendency to keep working even when injured, but he liked to think he’d become a bit better about that over the years. Maybe he could start convincing his past self to think the same way.

Shaking his head, he said “Begin the note proper with ‘First off, you’re an idiot. I understand why, but you’re still an idiot.’”

Aroa laughed. Malcolm smiled himself and continued “Then add ‘Secondly, don’t worry about the mission. I’ve taken care of it, and no one will suspect a thing. Just keep your mouth shut, nod, and make non-committal noises if anyone talks about it around you, and you should be fine.’”

“Hang on.” Aroa said, presumably transcribing. Malcolm swapped tools and tightened a bolt, waiting for her to finish. “Got it. What now?”

“‘Thirdly, I have no idea when you’re going to wake up, but I’d stay in your room for an extra two hours after reading this. Again, don’t worry, you won’t be missed.’”

“You won’t?” Aroa said, surprised.

“After everything we’ve gone through down on this ship, I suspect Captain Archer will give us some time to recuperate before resuming our duties. If not, I can fill in for my shift. Unless we’ve got an actual time limit to complete this mission of yours.”

“No,” Aroa said, “Though we prefer not to linger once a correction has been completed. It increases the chances of discovery.”

“If it helps, I do indeed fall back asleep for two hours. We’d just have to find a place for you to hide for the duration. Are you ready for the next part?”

“Go ahead.”

“‘Get some rest, go to Phlox for more medication, and try not to overwork yourself, and you should be over this in a week. Then everything will return to normal.’”

“Sounds good,” Aroa said, “Anything else?”

Malcolm thought back. While he couldn’t remember the letter proper, he did remember that there was a postscript, which had been reassuring him about something. What would it have been? A hint that he and Trip were going to become friends? A statement that he didn’t have to be so tense around Captain Archer? Something to assure him that Harris wasn’t keeping an eye on him (for now, at least)? Unsure and not wanting to accidentally reveal too much, Malcolm decided to go for something that kind of encapsulated all three.

“One more thing. ‘P.S. This is a ship of good people. It’s safe to trust them. I promise.’”

Just then, the ship lurched violently. “I have to go.” Malcolm said, standing up and looking around. A quick glance at a nearby monitor, even if it was in Klingon, told him all he needed to know, and when T’Pol called in for a report, he gave her the bad news. “The hull pressure’s approaching critical. This ship’s about to be crushed!”

Fortunately, by the time the two women returned with the water (it tasted slightly stale, but he drank it anyway), he’d formulated a plan; launch and detonate the torpedoes to help them gain some altitude. It was down to the wire (and surprisingly, it was Hoshi who made the decision to fire all the remaining torpedoes at once to generate a bigger shockwave), but it bought them enough time for Archer to arrive in the shuttlepod, bringing back the Klingon woman who’d attacked him. Malcolm was understandably wary around her, but they managed to work together enough to repair the ship, at which point he and the others returned to Enterprise. Though from what he could gather, the Klingons weren’t likely to be very appreciative.

Thanks to only spending a few minutes down there, Archer spent just a few minutes in decon, but the other three had to undergo a full scan. As soon as Malcolm sat down and was bathed in the warmth of the decon lights, his time down in the gas giant caught up to him. The pain from the punches he’d taken, along with general aches from being on alert for so long, came to the fore, though the heat was doing a lot to help soothe them. It felt so good, in fact, that Malcolm actually tried to find an excuse to stay in there even after Phlox commed them and said they’d passed the bioscans. To his slight surprise, Hoshi and T’Pol ended up backing him up, and he had a chance to let his muscles relax a bit more.

As tempting as it was to just sit there and luxuriate in the comforting heat, he knew he needed to get back to Aroa, so when Phlox gave them the all-clear again, he got to his feet, though his reluctant groan was genuine. “I don’t think we can come up with any other excuses. Besides, I’ve been away from the armory for long enough.”

On cue, Archer’s voice came over the comm. “Archer to decon.”

Malcolm activated the button. “Go ahead, Captain.”

“Has Phlox cleared you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I know it was a tough away mission, and I wanted you all to know that you did well down there.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Malcolm said, smiling faintly. If Archer thought the mission was a success, then Aroa probably would feel the same way.

“Given all you’ve been through,” Archer continued, “I don’t think there’s any harm in taking the rest of the day off. If you want to, that is.”

“Thank you, sir,” Malcolm said, “I’ll probably return to the armory later, but...I could do with a little bit of rest.”

Hoshi hesitated, then looked at T’Pol. “Do you think you could give me that lesson you promised?”

“Of course, Ensign,” T’Pol said, before raising her voice so Archer could hear, “I will eventually resume my duties, Captain, but I believe I will also take a few hours to recuperate.”

“Me too.” Hoshi chimed in.

“Whatever you need. Just comm me when you’re going back on duty. Archer out.” As the doors to decon slid open, Malcolm turned and nodded at the other two. They nodded back, and he left to get dressed.

About five minutes later, he was back in his quarters. Aroa sat up from the couch, a round device in her hand and a smile on her face. “I just checked. The causal loop is officially marked as ‘closed’. Nice work.”

Malcolm nodded and smiled encouragingly before turning to look at the bed. “And our patient?”

“Still asleep. I know you were only down there for half-an-hour and in decon for an hour, but I’m still a bit surprised. Are you sure you didn’t hit him too hard?”

Malcolm walked over to the bed, where his past self had rolled over in his sleep and was now facing the wall. From what he could see, there was no obvious blood or a lump on the back of his head, so it seemed unlikely that he’d accidentally given himself a concussion or worse. Then past Malcolm shifted, the blanket falling off his shoulder, and he shuddered audibly. “I think he’s got a fever,” Malcolm said, “And once he...fell asleep, his body decided to take advantage of it. That’s probably why he hasn’t woken up. Either that, or Phlox slipped a bit of a soporific into the medication he gave me.”

“Well, as long as he’s ok.” Aroa said.

“He will be,” Malcolm said with a half-laugh, “I should know.” he glanced back at Aroa. “I think it’s best if we returned to 2155. I don’t know if you heard, but Archer’s given me the afternoon off, so we can leave whenever we like.”

“Right,” Aroa said, holding out her hand, “My earpiece?”

“Oh!” Malcolm said, tapping his right ear twice. There was another brief fluttering sensation, and then the earpiece fell out into his waiting palm. He promptly handed it to Aroa, who slipped it into a small bag before tucking it into her satchel and pulling out the first device he’d seen her use. As she was fiddling with it, he heard his past self make a noise of discomfort, followed by a sniff. Wincing in sympathy, Malcolm retrieved a spare blanket and draped it over him, hoping that would make him at least a little warmer. As he did so, a thought flitted through his head, one that caused him to first blink in surprise, then tense in concern, and finally swallow in what was either sadness or shame.

Aroa, however, didn’t seem to notice. “Ready,” she said, “Just take my hand, and we can walk out the door and back into that Starfleet briefing room.”

Straightening up, Malcolm took one last look at his past self, then moved to Aroa and took her hand. He opened the door for her, though she was the first to walk through.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, he found himself back in the briefing room. Aroa let him go and pulled out yet another device. “Excellent,” she said, “Looks like everything’s still the way it should be, and I brought you back five minutes after we left. That should probably be enough to satisfy Mirsad.”

“I’m happy for you,” Malcolm said, “I hope any other tests you have to pass go just as smoothly.”

“I doubt it,” Aroa said, chuckling, “I mean, I barely had to do anything. You did all the work. Thank you for that, by the way. From what I was hearing, things got pretty intense down there.”

“I’ve been through worse.” Malcolm said, shrugging.

“Even so...” Aroa cocked her head, looking at him curiously. “Is there something wrong, Lieutenant? You look...a bit lost. Is it all this time-hopping?”

Malcolm sighed. “I don’t think so. It’s more...I’ve just had an uncomfortable wake-up call.”

“Oh?”

“It didn’t occur to me until after the job was done, but...while I was down on that ship, I got so caught up in doing my job that I kept forgetting that I was supposed to be sick.”

“I’d noticed,” Aroa said, “But since nobody said anything, I figured it was fine. They probably thought whatever medicine you’d taken was doing its job.”

“Perhaps,” Malcolm said, “But I could have used my cold as an excuse for being weak and dizzy. Instead, I blamed it on the heat. And neither T’Pol or Hoshi suggested that my cold could also have been a factor. In fact, other than when I mentioned it when we first came onboard, it was never brought up at all. The two of them had their own things to be worried about, of course, but even after we were safely back on Enterprise and in decon, they didn’t ask how I was feeling, or tell me to get well soon when I left decon. Hell, Phlox didn’t even say anything about it, or question why I didn’t seem to have a cold in my system. Maybe he figured it was due to the medicine he’d given me, but the lack of reaction from the other two is a lot harder to explain.”

He looked out of the window, feeling that sense of sadness well up again. “I suppose I’m just wondering...was I really that easy to ignore? Did everyone see me as just ‘the armory officer’ and thus didn’t notice when I wasn’t at my best unless it was blatantly obvious? Did I bring that on myself by keeping to myself, spending most of my time at my station or in the armory and seeming reluctant to interact with people?”

He folded his arms, swallowed, and continued. “Which then leads to the question...how much has changed? I’m closer to a lot of the crew now, but I still have trouble opening up to people. And at this point, my reputation as the devoted to duty armory officer has become cemented, making it harder for people to see beyond that façade. I know people like Trip see me differently, and I suspect Archer does as well, but still...it stings that I’m apparently so forgettable.”

Everything was quiet for a long moment, Malcolm taking a deep breath to try to keep the sadness from turning into actual tears. Then Aroa touched his arm. “Listen, I probably shouldn’t say this, but I don’t think I’m giving away any secrets, so the hell with it. Maybe it’ll help.”

Malcolm looked at her curiously. She continued, “Like I said, joining the Temporal Division requires a lot of tests. But while a lot of our practical exams are chosen for us, we do get one or two tests where we get to choose what temporal snarl to untangle. And I chose this one on purpose, specifically because you were involved.”

Malcolm blinked. “You did? Why?”

“You’ve always been one of my heroes. If it hadn’t been for you, humanity’s first real starship would have been lost at least ten times. Everyone on the NX-01 contributed to the world I live in now, but while most of the attention goes to Captain Archer or Ensign Sato, I always thought a lot more of the credit should be aimed at you.”

Malcolm felt another swell of emotion inside him, but while there was still sadness in there, it had morphed more into a sense of melancholy. He felt bad for his past self, remembering the (mostly) well-hidden loneliness he’d carried with him for about six months, before the incident on Shuttlepod One that allowed him to push against his walls and start to make friends. Maybe he could use this realization to help him tear them down a little more. And in the meantime, he could take comfort in the fact that even if he wasn’t making much of an impression in the present, he was apparently doing so in the future.

“I know better than to ask why,” he said at last, smiling faintly, “But thank you. That does give me a little peace of mind.”

Aroa held out her hand. “I need to go. Thanks again for putting up with this. And...it’s been an honor.”

Malcolm shook her hand firmly. “Good luck, Miss Aroa. And if it makes you feel better, from now on I’ll be imagining that you’re watching over me. I’ll do my best to earn the title of ‘hero’.”

She beamed at him. “Thanks for that. That’s going to sustain me through the rest of my finals, if nothing else.”

Letting go of his hand, she nodded at him, then pulled out her first device, pressed a few buttons, and walked through the door. Malcolm waited for a moment, then returned to the main hall. He’d been planning on going straight to his hotel after his workout, but after all this, maybe he should contact Trip or Travis and see if they wanted to go out for a drink instead.

~~~

The original prompt: "A character travels back in time and happens to run into himself. Only his past self is sick. What’s his reaction? "THAT’S what I look like when I sneeze?" or maybe he looks after sick!him/takes care of him or maybe he assumes past-self’s identity for a day and does his job for him (or goes on a date for him or something). The possibilities are endless!”

[ellwren]

It’s been years since I’ve seen this episode, but I love this! 

[Wig_Powder]

@ellwren I'm glad you enjoyed it! And no worries about not fully remembering the episode; that's why I quoted directly from it and summarized elements of it, so people who weren't familiar with the fandom/hadn't watched the show in a while could follow along! Though if you do rewatch the episode, I hope you end up keeping my version in mind while you do so...