Title: Of English Dogs and Madmen

Author: Leah

Of English Dogs and Madmen
by Leah

"So, there we were, me an' Archer, crawlin' around on the floor of the living room-"

Commander Trip Tucker broke his story off to glance at Ensign Travis Mayweather, who had just come up to them and was hovering near his right shoulder with a tray. The young helmsman's brown eyes had gone large with confusion. "Uh... What were you doing with the captain? Sir?"

"Don't worry, Travis," Lieutenant Malcolm Reed chuckled. He was sitting across from Trip, toying with a half-empty cup of tea. "The commander is not regaling us with tales of past sexual conquests." He smiled evilly. "Apparently several Christmases ago he and the captain almost killed Porthos."

"What?" Travis asked, horrified.

"HEY!" Trip shouted at the same time, "Ah said no such thing, Lootenant!" His accent grew stronger with his indignation, Y'know darn well that the Cap'n..." His outburst faded as he watched Malcolm's smile grow into an even eviler grin. Trip exhaled, glaring at him. "Jerk."

Malcolm kept grinning as he took another sip of tea. "All too easy."

"Eat my shorts," Trip muttered.

Malcolm looked at him innocently. "What?" He asked, "*now*?"

Trip sighed and put his head in his hands. "Y'can sit down, Travis," he said to him, "we ain't gonna bite ya."

Travis looked like he was none to sure about that, but he sat down anyway. "So what was this about Porthos?" He asked, as he picked up his spoon.

Malcolm blinked at the frozen mass in Travis' bowl. "What on Earth are you eating?"

Travis grinned at him, scooping a large spoonful. "Re-sequenced ice cream."

Malcolm looked pained. "That is absolutely disgusting."

Travis just grinned even wider, making a show of licking the ice cream off his spoon. "Re-sequenced chocolate ice cream," he elaborated happily. "Want some?"

Malcolm made a face and looked at Trip. "Yes, Trip?" He began in an obvious effort to change the subject, "you were saying?"

"Oh, I dunno, Malc," Trip said sweetly, "are you sure you don't wanna try some of Travis' ice cream? I hear that re-sequenced stuff is meant to be real good for you--since it's pre-digested and all..."

"Commander," Malcolm's voice was low and deadly. He looked faintly green.

"*Anyway*," Trip continued breezily, "We're in Archer's place in San Francisco, and it's Christmas time and he decides that he really needs a tree."

Travis ate another spoonful of the ice cream, nodding to show that he was listening.

"So we go out and get ourselves a tree--one of those specially-grown hydroponics kind. You know those ones?"

Travis cocked his head for a moment, thinking, then he nodded.

"They only get to be about so high," Trip held his palm out at slightly above the height of the table-top, "and you can keep 'em in a little pot for twenty years."

"I've seen those," Travis said, "They're pretty cute. Very soft needles."

"That's right," Trip nodded. "So, we get this tree, and set it up in his living room--"

"--And have a few beers," Malcolm added helpfully.

"--And have a few beers," Trip admitted, though he cast a sour glance in Malcolm's direction. "And I'll tell ya: Archer's bought *boxes* of decorations, y'know? Like, enough for at least three trees. I think he was feelin' a little homesick or something."

Travis speared another quivering mass of re-sequenced ice cream. "Maybe he just likes decorations?"

"Maybe," Trip shrugged. "*Anyway*, we choose the best stuff out of all this, includin' what must've been about five boxes of tinsel." He looked from Travis to Malcolm. "Y'all know what that is, right?"

Malcolm nodded. Travis paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth. "Tinsel?"

"It's a kind of decoration," Malcolm explained, "like shiny foil, except in very slender strips. It's made of soft plastic. It's meant to look like icicles."

Travis looked dubious. "Does it?"

"Nope," Trip said, "but it's real pretty. Very shiny--this stuff was holographic, even, so that it shone both gold and silver, with little dancin' snowflakes and stuff."

"Sounds lovely," Malcolm said dryly, "so where does the poor, abused canine come into it?"

"Well, if y'all let me finish," Trip said pointedly, glaring at Malcolm, "I'll tell you." He took a deep breath.

"So *Anyway*," Trip, Malcolm and Travis said at the same time. Trip's eyes narrowed and Travis and Malcolm collapsed to the table, laughing.

"Sorry!" Malcolm gasped, "so sorry! Please do continue!"

Travis just kept chuckling to himself, scooping up more of the ice cream.

"Anyway," Trip said with a great show of patience, "so we start puttin' up the tinsel, throwin' it here and there on the tree. And we get through about four of these boxes--the tree is practically *all* tinsel at this point, but we're kinda' on a roll, y'know? We've got a few beers in us, thinkin' all that fake-icicle stuff is lookin' pretty good... And I reach for the last box, and it's gone."

Travis raised his eyebrows. "Gone?"

"Yep," Trip nodded. "Now, I *know*," and here he leaned closer to the two men with him, getting to the main part of the tale, "that the fifth box was right by my foot. I'd put it there myself, so I
wouldn't have to go huntin' for it."

Travis pulled the spoon out of his mouth. "And?"

"And," Trip shrugged, "there's no box. Nothin'. Me and Archer start crawlin' around, looking for it under the furniture, in the corners, thinkin' it might've ended up behind the tree..." He shook his head mournfully. "No dice. And then we see Porthos."

Travis' eyes widened again. "Uh-oh."

Malcolm nodded sagely. "Uh-oh, indeed."

"The dog *ate* it," Trip confirmed, "Ate the whole damn box. Never even found the cardboard."

"They do that," Malcolm added soberly, "I don't think anyone knows why."

"Oh, no!" Travis said with genuine concern, "was he really sick?"

Trip started shaking his head, laughing. "That's the thing--it didn't bother him a bit. Went through him like beans."

"That's a relief," Travis said. He went to take another scoop of ice cream, paused. "Like *beans*?"

Trip nodded. "Uh-huh. He was shittin' sparkly string for days--gold and silver ones, with snowflakes on them."

"Oh that's gross!" Travis said.

Malcolm just covered his eyes.

"His moment to shine!" Trip was laughing. "God, you shoulda' seen how embarrassed the Cap'n was, walking him. It was so damn funny, I think I pulled my diaphragm from laughing." He glanced over at Travis' almost-empty bowl. "Looked kinda' like that, actually, except for bein' shinier, of course."

"--And sparkly," Malcolm added, sharing Trip's scrutiny of Travis' bowl, "it would have been much more sparkly, I'm sure. With little snowflakes."

Travis lifted up the final spoonful, then let it drop back into the bowl with an ill expression on his face. "I can't believe I ate the whole thing," he said miserably, "just to end up listening to you
guys telling me *that*!"

"Cheer up, Travis!" Trip smiled, patting him amicably on the shoulder, "y'want me to get you another dessert? Re-sequenced chocolate pudding, maybe?"

"I hear the re-sequenced tapioca is nice," Malcolm put in.

Travis pushed his bowl away, groaning. "I hate you guys," he said. "I really, really, really hate you."

Trip and Malcolm didn't answer. They were too busy laughing.

"What's so funny?" Liz Cutler had come up, hand-in-hand with Hoshi Sato. Liz was carrying a cup of coffee. Hoshi had a cookie in her free hand.

Hoshi looked from the still-snickering and grinning Trip and Malcolm to the unhappy features of Travis. "Okay," she sighed. She looked like she would have put her hands on her hips if they weren't otherwise occupied. "What did you guys do to him *this* time?"

"Nothing, nothing at all. I assure you," Malcolm said as blandly as he could between snickers. He gestured at the two free chairs next to him and Trip. "Please--do join us. Have a seat."

"Sure," Trip agreed, still chuckling. "Me an' Malcolm were just discussing Christmas traditions." This sent them both into another spate of laughter.

Liz and Hoshi exchanged glances, then looked at Travis. "Okay," Liz said, "what's so funny already?"

Travis just shook his head wearily. "You don't want to know. Believe me."

Liz shrugged, sat and took a sip of coffee. "You know," she said when she put her cup down, "I miss winter."

Hoshi had sat next to Malcolm. She raised her eyebrows in curiosity, but she had a mouthful of cookie and didn't say anything.

"I know I've lived in San Francisco for a long time, Hoshi," Liz explained, "but I still miss snow sometimes. The holidays don't seem the same without it."

The word 'holidays' seemed to set Trip and Malcolm off again. Liz smacked Malcolm on the arm. "Stop that," she said, "it's rude."

Malcolm looked at her disbelievingly. "*You're* the one who just bloody-well hit *me*--isn't that rude?"

Liz smiled at him sweetly as she took another sip from her mug. "You interrupted our conversation. I was just telling Hoshi how much I miss snow."

"Snow?" Trip asked incredulously. He gave a theatrical shiver. "No thanks. Give me a nice boardwalk by the beach."

Malcolm looked at Trip, eyebrow raised. "Don't you ski?"

"Well, sure!" Trip nodded, "but that's different--that's *fun*. And you're wearing thermal clothing." He smiled at Malcolm. "Remind me the next time we're on Earth to take you skiing."

"I think I'd prefer ice skating, actually," Malcolm said. He took a sip of tea, then made a face when he realized it was cold. "They had the most brilliant arenas when Maddie and I were just little, they seemed to be the size of small cities, perfectly climate-controlled. The ice was almost frictionless." He smiled, remembering. "I used to love playing 'crack the whip' with the other children--could you ever fly!"

"What's 'crack the whip?" Travis asked. He was looking healthier, though he had quietly put the bowl on a nearby table.

"It's a skating game," Malcolm explained, "absolutely excellent: You have a group of children, and they all hold hands and skate together in a line, going as fast as they can. At any given moment the leader will change direction, making all the other children follow after. With the build-up of momentum, the ones at the end get picked up like kites." He grinned. "I always asked to be last. I loved how I'd get swung around by the bigger kids. I broke my arm once, when I lost my grip on Maddie. I must've flown six meters before hitting the barrier."

The other four at the table were just looking at him. "That's your idea of *fun*?" Travis asked.

"You're insane!" Hoshi said.

"That sounds so cool!" Said Liz.

And Trip asked, "Which arm?"

"My right," Malcolm held up his right forearm as if showing it off. "The doctor did a splendid job on it--you'd hardly notice now."

"I wish we had an arena on the ship," Liz sighed into her coffee. "I'd love to try that."

"What?" Travis asked, "breaking your arm?"

"No," Liz said, rolling her eyes. "Just that game. It sounds terrific." She looked over at the helmsman. "Have you ever done any skating, Travis?"

"Roller bladeing, a little," Travis said, "When we were planetside. You weren't allowed them on ship, in case you crashed into anything. But we did have a small basketball court in the gym," he was smiling now too, "And we would play tag a lot--running through the ship like idiots." He shook his head, laughing. "My dad hated that. He always figured we'd accidentally fall out an airlock, or somehow bust the warp core or something."

"Guess it wasn't 'tackle-tag,' then," Trip commented.

"Tackle-tag?" Hoshi asked, "I've never played that one."

"It's like it sounds," Trip explained. "Whomever's 'it' has to tackle the other kids instead o' just touchin' 'em. Makes the game harder."

"And more dangerous," Hoshi said dryly.

"No," Travis agreed happily, "No tackle-tag. Dad would probably have had a fit if he'd seen us playing that."

"British Bulldog!" Liz exclaimed suddenly, "Now *that* was a fun game!"

Malcolm smiled. "It was, wasn't it?"

Liz looked at him. "You've played it? I thought it was just a North American thing."

"With a name like *British Bulldog*?" Malcolm asked incredulously, "Who do you think invented it?"

"What's 'British Bulldog?" Hoshi asked.

Liz looked at her like her ears had turned pointed. "Didn't you go to school?"

"Of course I did!" Hoshi said. "I, uh, just read a lot."

"Hoshi, you poor, dear child," Malcolm said. He took her free hand, staring earnestly into her eyes. "Having had to endure the trials and privations of the Japanese public school system, without enjoying the kinetic glory that is British Bulldog." He shook his head sadly, then hit his closed fist on the table. "Trip, Travis, Liz," he said, looking seriously at each of them, "we'll have to teach her. I think it's our duty as citizens of the galaxy to make sure our linguist has a proper cultural education."

Trip was gaping at him. "You are *not* serious."

"On the contrary," Malcolm said, his impeccable accent making him sound as officious as a Vulcan, "I have never been more serious. We *owe* it to her, to make up for this appalling deficit."

Hoshi pulled back her hand and extracted it from Malcolm's. "If it's anything like 'tackle-tag' or 'crack the whip,' I think I'll stick with my appalling deficit, thanks."

"Oh, boy!" Liz said, her eyes shining, "do you really think we could do that--have a game of British Bulldog on board ship? That would be fantastic!"

"Oh no, Liz!" Hoshi said to her, aghast, "Not you, too!"

"I think some o' my crew would be interested," Trip was saying, "In a little friendly game..." His grin was huge. "I gotta tell ya though, Malc--I was damn good at that game in grade school. An' I've played football too, y'know. I'd say your ass is mine."

Malcolm just smiled. "Is that a threat or a promise?"

Travis rolled his eyes at the two men. "Get a room." He turned to Liz. "I've never played this game either," he said. "Do we play in teams, or what?"

"Tell you what," Trip said before Liz could answer, "let's put the word out, get a group together and have us a game."

"Beautiful!" Liz exclaimed. "Hoshi and me are off tomorrow after Alpha shift."

"Oh, no you don't!" Hoshi exclaimed, "you're not dragging me into this, Liz! I'm not interested in getting beaten up!"

"You won't get beat up!" Liz pouted prettily at Hoshi, "You never want to do anything I want to do."

"What do you mean, 'I never want to do anything you want to do?" Hoshi exclaimed. "Who ended up in decon for eight hours because you wanted to try snorkeling last shore-leave? Or how about--"

"--We'll need a referee," Reed said quickly. He smiled invitingly at Hoshi before she could turn her attention back to Liz. "That way you can avoid the more... active aspects of the game but still learn about it."

"I don't think I like the sound of that," Travis said dubiously, "How 'active' are we talking here, anyway?"

Trip winked at the helmsman. "Remember that tackle-tag we were talkin' about?"

Travis nodded.

"This is worse."

Travis swallowed. "Uh... could I be another referee?"

"Sorry," Hoshi smiled, not sounding the least bit sorry, "That position's taken."

"Great," Travis sighed. He got up from the table. "Just let me know when and where we're playing. I'm going to go write my will." He glanced at the lonely former bowl of re-sequenced ice cream, made a face, and left the mess hall.

"So where should we play?" Liz asked. She had forgotten her coffee, leaning forward with her arms on the table.

"The cargo bay," Malcolm said. "It's the only place with enough room."

Trip nodded, then winced. "Those decks'll be awfully hard to get tackled on."

Malcolm's grin went evil again. "Don't worry Trip--I'll try not to permanently maim you."

"Hey," Liz said, "who says *you* get to be the Bulldog? *I* want to be the Bulldog!"

Malcolm looked surprised. "I *am* British," he said, as if that were reason enough.

Liz scowled. "*I* thought of it!"

"Oh, hell, y'can *both* be the damned Bulldog!" Trip threw up his hands in mock-exasperation. "God knows Malc'll need all the help he can get."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "You're going to eat those words, Commander."

"We'll see."

"Right on!" Liz enthused. She raised her hand, and Malcolm obediently smacked her palm. "We are *so* gonna kick ass."

Hoshi sighed dejectedly. "My girlfriend is a homicidal maniac."

Liz raised her coffee cup in salute. "To homicidal mania." She leaned across the table and gave Hoshi a quick kiss. "I promise, hon, I won't actually kill anybody."

Trip cocked his head. "Y'know, I think you'd better make that promise too, Malc. I don't like that look in your eye."

Malcolm just smiled.

****

"Hold on! Hold on, I'm coming!" Hoshi hollered as she ran across the cargo bay. All the crates and cartons had been neatly stacked as far down one long wall as possible, leaving the main floor wide open. There was already a large group assembled--mostly Trip and Malcolm's teams--with some crew who had come from other departments, like Liz Cutler and Novakovitch. They looked a little out of place with their blue piping among a sea of red. Most of the crew present had just
come off of Alpha shift and were still in their uniforms. The few who weren't wore variations of exercise clothes. Novakovitch looked nervous, and Hoshi wondered what exactly Liz had told him about this 'game.' She saw Kelly and Rostov, and smiled and waved at them.

Trip and Malcolm were already there, standing companionably side-by- side with Trip's arm around Malcolm's shoulders. Travis was there too, looking almost as unhappy as Novakovitch.

British Bulldog sounded much more like a sport than a game, actually, since it was so violent. Liz had explained the rules to Hoshi with great glee the evening before. Apparently it consisted of a large mass of people trying to run from one point to another, all in the same direction, while the 'Bulldog' (in this case, plural), tried to stop as many as possible by whatever means necessary. The 'stopped' runners then joined the group of Bulldogs and the game started again.

It sounded absolutely hellish. Hoshi had rarely seen Liz looking so happy.

"Sorry I'm late," Hoshi said, "T'Pol wanted my help with something right at the end of shift. Did I miss anything?"

"Nope," Trip grinned. "We were just about to get started."

"Good," Hoshi said, wishing she meant it. "So what do I do?"

"Stand over there," Malcolm said, pointing. "You'll be stopping the game any time there's unnecessary roughness."

Hoshi's eyes widened. "Unnecessary roughness?"

"You know," Liz offered, "If anyone starts bleeding... breaks something..."

Hoshi stared at her. "Are you serious?"

"Oh, no," Liz said quickly. She looked at Malcolm then back. "Just kidding, hon. Really." She smiled guiltily. "I'm sure nothing like that will happen at all."

"Well, then!" Malcolm said briskly. He moved away from Trip and clapped his hands together. "Has everyone been briefed as to how this game is played?"

Everyone nodded. Travis shot Hoshi a weak smile.

"Excellent!" Malcolm said. "So, the playing field starts at the far bulkhead there," he pointed at the far wall, "and finishes there." He turned, pointing at the wall behind him. He was standing almost in the middle. "Your job is to get from one end to the other. Liz and my job is to stop you." He smiled. "Is everyone ready?"

There were nods and murmurs and shouts of agreement. Hoshi hurried to stand where Malcolm had indicated, well out of the path the runners would take.

"Line up!" Malcolm gave the order like it was a battle command. Obediently the runners trotted over to the far wall. Trip grinned over his shoulder at him. Only Liz and Malcolm were left, standing slightly crouched, poised as if to fight. Their expressions were happily determined.

They glanced at each other, eyes moving in silent signal. "British Bulldog!" They yelled at once. The words echoed like cannon-shot through the cavernous hold.

At once the cargo bay erupted in pandemonium.

Hoshi pressed back against her assigned wall, eyes wide as she tried to take everything in. The large group of runners was racing pell- mell towards the far bulkhead, Liz and Malcolm the only barrier between them. Trip was among those in the lead, just behind Travis. Trip's mocking smile had been replaced with a look of dark concentration.

Both Liz and Malcolm dove for him at once.

Hoshi clapped her hand over her mouth as the three of them crashed to the metal deck, Malcolm bearing down Trip's shoulders and Liz somehow entangled around his knees. The *whump* noise of Trip's body hitting the floor was horrendously loud, and Hoshi was about to call a halt to the game right there, except that Malcolm was already getting up. Liz bounced to her feet again like a cat.

Malcolm helped Trip up, and Hoshi realized that the commander was laughing. She blinked in astonishment.

The rest of the runners had almost all made it to the safe zone by now, with just a few stragglers coming up behind. Liz tore off after Novakovitch, managing to grab him around the waist. He tried to drag her with him, but she hooked her feet around his shins and they both went crashing to the floor. Hoshi winced on behalf of both of them.

Everyone else was safe, and Trip and Malcolm shook Novakovitch's hand, welcoming him to the growing team of Bulldogs. The runners were panting and laughing and shouting out taunts. No one seemed any the worse for their ordeal. Hoshi began to relax.

Then all four Bulldogs shouted and the game began again.

Lawless went down in a swirl of limbs. Trip tried to grab Travis, but even with Malcolm's help the young helmsman twisted like an eel and escaped. His grin was huge and white as he ran. Kelly, tripped by Novakovitch, hit the deck so hard she had the wind knocked out of her.

Hoshi saw that the engineer didn't get up right away and yelled, "Stop!" as loudly as she could. Instantly everyone went still.

Novakovitch was bending over Kelly, panting. "Are you okay?" He asked. He looked nervous. Hoshi was having a hard time remembering if she'd ever seen him *not* looking nervous.

Malcolm was there immediately, kneeling next to Kelly. He gently helped her sit up, rubbing her back while she gasped. "Are you all right?" He asked, "Can you breathe?" When she finally nodded he helped her to her feet, then looked at Novakovitch. "Take her to Sickbay."

"Yessir," Novakovitch said. He looked like he had just been cashiered. He took Kelly's arm like she was made of glass. "I'm really sorry," he said.

"It's all right," Kelly tried to smile but didn't manage it. She winced when she moved, but let Novakovitch hold her arm.

The silence was painful as everyone waited for the two of them to reach the turbolift. Then Malcolm turned back to the waiting group and clapped his hands again.

"Well, then," he shouted, "shall we get on with it?"

There was an immediate, eager chorus of agreement. Hoshi sighed and went back to her part of the wall.

****

Captain Jonathan Archer walked into sickbay, carrying his dog. Porthos was wagging his tail happily, no doubt pleased at getting to see his friend the doctor again. Archer hoped the little guy would still be so thrilled after his annual vaccinations.

Then he got a good look at Sickbay and stood stock-still, blinking. His free hand was automatically petting Porthos, but he wasn't even aware of it.

"There you are, Ensign," Phlox was saying to a crewwoman with his usual enthusiasm, "this will take the swelling down." He gently smeared some kind of purple ointment on the woman's eye, which was red and swollen like she'd just lost an argument with a Nausican. "A little dab will do you..." There were four other crewmembers in line behind her: one holding his wrist, one limping. The other two were grinning at each other, but moved like most of their bodies were sore. There were two more crew lying on biobeds; one with her ankle taped, the other with an osmotic eel nestled against his temple.

Phlox turned to his next patient, and noticed the captain standing there dumbfounded, carrying his beagle. "Good evening, Captain!" He said brightly, "Ah, I see you've brought Porthos for his annual injections. I'm afraid you'll have to wait a few moments... as you can see, the Sickbay is unusually busy tonight."

"Phlox," Archer said, "why does Sickbay look like we've just returned from a particularly bad away mission?"

Phlox turned from the crewmember he had just begun to examine. "Well," he smiled, "From what I've been able to glean from the conversations, apparently Lieutenant Reed is conducting some kind of training exercise in one of the cargo bays." He paused for a minute, thinking. "Something to do with attacking canines, I believe." He turned his attention back to his newest patient. "Canines?" He asked him, "is that correct? Oh dear, that does appear to be broken."

"I'll, uh... I'll come back later," Archer said. He turned on his heel and left.

He stopped at the nearest comm unit, adjusting the dog so he could press the button. "T'Pol," he spoke into it. When she answered, he said, "tell me where I can find Malcolm Reed?"

****

There were only three runners left who hadn't been tackled by the throng of Bulldogs--or sent to Sickbay: Hess, Rostov and Travis. Everyone except Hoshi was panting. No one spoke. The air was thick with body heat and tense with expectation.

"Ready?" Malcolm asked the room at large. There were nods and quiet words of agreement. There was a great sense of finality. It would be impossible for these three to survive another run through the gauntlet without being tackled. Whomever lasted the longest would be the winner of the game.

"Well then," Malcolm said. He tilted his head back, filling his lungs to shout. As one everyone but Hoshi and the three runners yelled 'British Bulldog!' The words echoed off the bulkheads, deck and ceiling like thunder, and the runners were off.

Lawless caught Rostov almost instantly, single-handedly pulling the other engineer to the deck.

Hess skidded as she tried to dodge around Trip, but her boots slipped and she sat heavily on the floor. She started laughing, and all the commander had to do was put his hand on her head to keep her down.

Travis bobbed around Liz and ducked under Malcolm's arm, barely missing being grabbed by the lieutenant. He stumbled slightly, then regained his balance and was still running.

"What the hell is going *on* here?" Archer said. His voice carried even above the shouts and the footfalls and the thuds of bodies. Everyone froze, then as one turned to look at their captain. Lawless paused fearfully, in the middle of giving Rostov a hand up off the floor.

Trip and Malcolm looked at one another, then at Archer. "I take full responsibility--" they both said at once.

"You damn well better!" Archer said. "You're two of my senior officers! What are you doing--orchestrating a brawl?"

"It's a game, sir," Malcolm said. He was standing at attention, and Hoshi noticed he had a bruise on his face. She wondered how he'd gotten it, and from whom. "British Bulldog. I thought the crew could use a little physical recreation."

Archer looked around at the mass of people looking back at him. "Have you been to Sickbay recently, Lieutenant? It looks like we were attacked by Klingons! Is this your idea of a 'little physical recreation?"

"It was my idea too, Cap'n," Trip said glumly. He edged a little closer to Malcolm, as if he could offer him protection. "I suggested it to my team."

"I suggested it first," Liz said. Everybody looked at her at once. Hoshi cringed on her behalf, but Liz bore up stoically. "It was one of my favorite games from childhood, sir. I thought it would be fun to play."

"Your not a child anymore, Ms. Cutler," Archer said. She seemed to shrink under his scrutiny. The captain let his gaze wander over his crew, coming to rest on Trip and Malcolm. "You're all adults, or at least you're supposed to be. This is not the behavior I expect from Starfleet, people! This is disgraceful!" He shook his head, obviously trying to decide how to handle this. He put his hands on his hips when he looked up again. "I can't discipline all of you because then there'd be a skeleton crew running *Enterprise*. Archer looked like he dearly wished he could discipline all of them. "So I'm willing to pretend none of this happened--provided you're all on duty at your appointed times tomorrow and your work isn't affected."

His words were met with respectful, hopeful silence.

"All right," he said, "You're dismissed. All of you. Don't make me regret letting you off easy."

The crew fled, except for Malcolm, Trip and Liz, still pinned under Archer's gaze.

Hoshi walked up and stood silently next to Liz, head bowed.

"Hoshi?" Archer blinked in surprise, "What are you doing here?"

"I helped, sir," Hoshi said miserably. "I was the referee."

"You did a lousy job," Archer said. He looked back to the other three. "British Bulldog," he sighed. "I don't suppose it occurred to any of you to play the touch version."

"It's ah," Malcolm began, "It's not as much fun, sir."

Archer looked at him incredulously. He shook his head again, then looked at Trip. "Why on Earth didn't you stop him?"

Trip was examining the floor. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Liz just nodded miserably.

Archer turned back to Hoshi. "I thought you'd be the voice of reason here, Hoshi," he said, "what happened?"

"It's my fault, sir," Hoshi said. "They wanted to show me how the game is played."

Archer ran his hand over his face. "I don't believe this," he said. "I really don't believe this. I feel like I should be sending all of you to your rooms." He took a breath. "All right. You're all on double shifts for the rest of the week. Your first job is here, putting this hold back in order." He nodded to Liz. "Except you. You get to help Phlox handle all the new patients your 'game' has caused. You start now."

"Yes, sir!" Liz squeaked. She all but ran out of the cargo hold.

"Shall we start now as well, sir?" Malcolm asked. His tone was so formal Archer had to hide a smile. He sounded like he was making a last request before his execution.

"No," Archer said. "I'm sure you could use some rest after this... physical recreation. Tomorrow is soon enough." He sighed again, shook his head. "You're my bridge crew--I expect better of you. You should be the ones setting a good example."

"Yes sir," they said.

They all looked so wretchedly guilty that he relented. "Who won?"

Malcolm looked at him. "Sir?"

"Who won?" Archer asked again. "Someone won the game, I presume."

"Travis," Hoshi answered. "Travis did. He was the last person standing when you... when, uh..."

"I see," Archer nodded, "Well, I'll be sure and congratulate him. You're dismissed."

He stayed still as the three officers passed him, listening to the murmured 'yes, sir's and 'thank you sir's'. He waited until all three had gotten on to the turbolift, then turned slowly, looking at the expanse of the cargo hold.

"British Bulldog." He chuckled. Part of him was really sorry he hadn't gotten to play.

****

"The next time I feel a sudden urge to re-visit my childhood, you have my permission to shoot me."

Trip grinned at him. "Kill or stun?"

"Whatever works." Malcolm unzipped his uniform, then winced as he shrugged it off his shoulders. "Bloody hell," he said, "I feel like I've been beaten by drunken Vulcans."

Trip laughed, then winced himself, gingerly kneading his stomach. He couldn't *remember* getting kicked there... maybe when he fell on Ensign Cormack's knee? "I'd like to see that."

Malcolm glanced at him sharply.

"Drunken Vulcans," Trip explained, "I'd like to see that--not you gettin' beat on."

"Oh, well, good." Malcolm said. His uniform dropped to the floor and he went to step out of it, then remembered he hadn't taken off his boots. He stared at his feet for a long moment.

"Need me to get that?" Trip asked.

There was a long pause, then, "would you?"

"Wow, you must be in rough shape," Trip said. He knelt with only a bit of pain and unzipped each of Malcolm's boots. "I thought you'd have to be half-dead before you'd let anyone do anythin' for you."

"I'm not entirely sure I'm not," Malcolm said. He was still staring at his feet. With a deep breath and apparently a great deal of effort he lifted one leg and then the other out of the boots and legs of his uniform. Now he was standing in his socks and blues with the black t- shirt over them.

Trip threw his uniform onto Malcolm's couch, then yanked his t-shirt off. His muscles protested a little, but he hadn't thrown himself into the game with quite the same vigor as Liz and Malcolm. He wondered how sore Liz would be the next day, or how sore she was already, then decided he didn't want to know.

He skimmed out of his blues, still facing the couch. "Y'know," he said, as he turned, naked, to face Malcolm, "I was thinkin' we could do our own bit o' 'physical recreation'..." His voice trailed off. Malcolm was still standing there, trying to take his shirt off. His arms seemed stuck with the t-shirt halfway over his head. "Uh, Malc?"

"I can't move," Malcolm said simply. "I think I've pulled every muscle in my body."

"Uh-oh," Trip said. He crossed to Malcolm in two strides and gently helped pull the shirt off him, wincing in unconscious sympathy every time he heard the lieutenant give a tiny hiss of pain. Finally the shirt was on the floor, and Malcolm was standing stiffly, giving him a weak smile.

"You should probably go to sickbay, Malc," Trip said, "get Phlox t'give you something for the pain."

"That would mean putting my uniform back on," Malcolm said. "Right now, I think I'd rather die." He eased himself down onto the bed, mouth twitching at every movement. He flopped backwards with an exhausted sigh. "I'll see him in the morning."

"Want me to go?" Trip asked. He didn't relish the idea of putting his uniform back on either, but he was worried Malcolm wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise.

"Would you?" Malcolm asked again. His eyes were imploring.

"Sure," Trip smiled for him. Then he turned around so Malcolm wouldn't see his silent sigh as he began pulling his blues back on. "So," he said conversationally as he pulled up his uniform, "Travis actually won. D'you think we should give him a prize, or something?"

"Oh, I'm sure he's already had one," Malcolm said. "I saw him leaving with Hess--she seemed quite taken with him."

"Hmm." Trip grunted. "Well, the guy is fast. Surprisingly fast, considering he grew up on a starship."

"Hopefully not *too* fast," Malcolm said dryly, "or Hess might be disappointed."

Trip laughed, then winced as it pulled his abdominal muscles. He glanced longingly at his lover. "Are you sure we couldn't... even with painkillers?"

Malcolm just looked at him.

"Sorry." Trip sighed, "Forget I asked." He looked at his boots, then at his bare feet, then finally relented and slipped his boots back on. "Well, tomorrow *is* another day, I guess."

"Indeed," Malcolm murmured from the bed. He sounded distressingly unenthusiastic. "Trip?" He asked, voice mournful, "If you could manage to get to Sickbay before I expire...?"

"Right," Trip said glumly. "On my way."

He walked out of their quarters, heading in the direction of Sickbay. Hopefully there would be enough painkillers left. He had a feeling they both would need a lot of them.

END