Archive of Our Own ^beta

Part 1

He watched as the explosions rocked the huge sphere of the weapon, staring helplessly as the fireball flared in space, taking Malcolm with it.

The fireball kept growing. He was frozen, gazing at the weapon as even in death it managed to accomplish its task, falling into Earth's atmosphere, impacting the surface with a horrific, deadly jolt...

Jonathan Archer woke up, blinking the sweat from his eyes. It took a long moment to remember where he was, to straighten reality out from the nightmare he had been having at least twice a week for months.

He got up and went to the window. Early dawn light illuminated the harsh red landscape of Vulcan. T'Pol believed it would only be a few more days before the Aquatics agreed to the final version of the peace treaty. In a strange twist, the Aquatics and the Vulcans were getting along great. He would have expected the deliberateness of the Aquatics to irritate the Vulcans and their logical outlook, but there seemed to be a meeting of the minds between the two species.

After five months of staring at the red desert he was ready for the negotiations to be over with, although he hadn't been nearly as tense waiting on the whims of the Xindi as he would have expected. Perhaps not having his entire species in imminent danger of extinction had something to do with it.

He was still having nightmares though.

The Vulcan physicians probably could have done something to help him sleep, but he was reluctant to ask for anything. Partly that was skepticism regarding that acupressure thing T'Pol had been teaching Trip. But something else within him held back.

It was almost as if he didn't want the nightmares to stop. Well, nightmare, really, since it was always the same. Could he even call it a nightmare when mostly, it was really just a memory?

The time came to place the explosives. Archer turned to Malcolm, tried to order him to take Hoshi and the two MACOs and go.

Malcolm told him no. "No, Captain. I will set the charges and follow you. No one knows these explosives better than I." No request, no politeness, just his trademark stubborn insistence on dying in the line of duty.

"We don't have time for this-"Archer snapped at him, holding out his hand for the charges.

"Daniels said it. You are important to the future. I'm... not." Daniels had shown him the future of Earth, of the Vulcans, Andorians, Xindi and who knew how many other species. A grand and glorious future, and one dependent on having Jonathan Archer alive and well. Or so Daniels said.

"Malcolm," Archer gritted his teeth, trying for an emotional appeal. "I need you to get Hoshi and the others out of here." Every second was precious. They had to blow this damned weapon up and do it now.

"Sir," Malcolm's face became strangely pleading. "On the other ship... you know what happened to me there."

Archer winced. Malcolm's death on the other Enterprise had come very early, in an accident. A pointless, stupid accident.

Malcolm's eyes burned. "I won't go out that way."

The force of Malcolm's plea made him pause and in that moment of hesitation, Archer lost the argument. "Place the charges and get the hell away from the reactor. We'll transport you out."

Malcolm nodded. He looked down at Hoshi. Malcolm wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and kissed her forehead gently, then turned and started running for the reactor core.

Archer took Hoshi by the arm, wondering how he would live with himself if Malcolm died here in his place. But he kept moving anyway, tugging an unresisting Hoshi towards the upper decks of the weapon.

Archer sighed, his eyes coming back to the red rocks outside the window. They had watched the weapon blow up from Degra's ship. Malcolm hadn't reached the safe distance from the reactor for transport before it blew. They didn't know why.

Unlike in his nightmares, though, the weapon had been far enough from Earth that there had been no damage. One of the Reptilian ships that had been with the weapon was destroyed by Earth's defensive forces. The other one managed to escape into a vortex. Meanwhile, Enterprise had succeeded in destroying the sphere network. The Delphic Expanse was gone, and representatives of a newly formed Xindi council were here on Vulcan working out a treaty with Earth.

Malcolm had gotten his wish. He hadn't died for nothing.

Watching the fireball explode was the last memory he would ever have of Malcolm. It didn't change that he was gone, but Archer wasn't ready to surrender that last link. Not quite yet.

***

Commander Charles Tucker III walked through the corridors of Enterprise, running through a mental checklist of the repairs as he went. Six months of hard work had erased most of the scars the ship bore when she limped back to Earth, battered but not broken. He felt a great surge of pride in his ship, and his crew. Enterprise had withstood far more than any of the lab rats back here on Earth would've said she could take and kept kicking. Captain Archer had said more than once that the ship seemed to share Trip's stubbornness. Trip smiled to himself, trailing his fingertips lightly along the wall panel as he walked.

They were going to be ready to depart on schedule for Vulcan. Archer said he thought the treaty between Earth and the Xindi would be ratified within the next couple weeks. Enterprise was to go to Vulcan and retrieve its missing officers before resuming their mission. Their original mission, of peaceful exploration.

"At least until the next big threat shows up," the cynical voice in his mind observed. That voice had become a lot louder since the Xindi attack. And ever since the destruction of the weapon, it was sounding more and more like Malcolm Reed.

Trip wondered if his friend was haunting him. He wouldn't put it past Malcolm to find a way to come back from beyond the grave to annoy him. After all, he had harassed Trip plenty while he was alive.

Trip's face darkened abruptly. Losing Malcolm had been harder for him than the deaths of the other 24 people who had died on the mission in the Expanse. Part of him, the same part that had been consumed by fury and revenge after Lizzie died, felt guilty. It seemed wrong that he would value one person's life more than another's. But one thing he'd learned from losing his sister was that grief wasn't a logical process, and he couldn't change how he felt. He couldn't, and maybe shouldn't, feel guilty that he was taking the loss of one of his closest friends harder than the deaths of two dozen strangers.

Malcolm had tried to tell him that, right after Lizzie died. Talk about irony.

The turbolift doors opened on to the Bridge, recalling him to the present. Ensign Hall was at the helm. Travis was having a last visit with his sister on Earth, but he would be back in a couple days. Ensign Lee, one of the new crew, was at the science station.

And the tactical station... Lieutenant Giordano looked up and nodded to him briefly. Trip pressed his lips together tightly to keep from smiling. Malcolm had always done that when Trip, T'Pol or the Captain walked onto the Bridge, and his old second in command had evidently picked up the habit.

Trip's eyes cut over to the communications station and he frowned. It wasn't the fault of the young man who was sitting there - Crewman Andrews if Trip remembered correctly. The problem was that he still hadn't heard from Hoshi.

"Anything going on?" Trip asked Giordano.

The young woman shook her head. "All repair teams report their on schedule, sir."

He wondered if, or maybe when, he was going to get used to seeing someone else sitting in Malcolm's chair. "I think I'm going to deliver these reports in person, Lieutenant."

He went back to the turbolift and left the Bridge.

***

Lieutenant Hoshi Sato sat, cross legged, under a tree in Golden Gate park. A padd lay discarded in the grass beside her. She was leaning against the tree trunk, staring up at the bright blue sky.
She had come to the park ostensibly to do some work. The truth was, she needed to think and be free to do it somewhere away from the cold gray walls that dominated Starfleet. She had a decision to make and time was running out.

Should she stay or should she go?

No one but no one could possibly challenge her if she remained on Earth, if she said "Thanks, I got tortured and shot at and I saved the world, so I'm done now." She could stay here, go back to her teaching, or keep researching languages and improving the universal translator for Starfleet from the safe harbor of San Francisco.

But Captain Archer wanted her back. Enterprise was going to resume its original mission of peaceful exploration. Back to making first contacts without the weight of the planet's survival hanging on their every move. There were new languages out there to find, new challenges to be met.

But part of her stubbornly pointed out that surely she'd met her quota of challenges for one lifetime. Wasn't it time to rest?

Rest. She hoped that Malcolm had found rest. Talk about meeting challenges. Well, he'd faced his ultimate challenge and he won, in a way. He died a hero. He would've been happy about that.

She plucked some grass and shredded it in her hands. It was selfish, but she would have preferred Malcolm to be unheroic and still be alive.

What would it be like, to go back to Enterprise, to sit at her station on the bridge and look over and not see Malcolm there? Could she handle it? Did she want to even bother trying? Knowing what she knew now about the universe, about the very real dangers out there, was it worth it? She knew now that no one was ever truly safe. She had been plucked off the Bridge of her own ship effortlessly, and then tortured and forced to give aid to the enemy. The ship's defenses as well as her own had been powerless to stop it.

Which was why Starfleet had held out no condemnation for her actions. Captain Archer had said it himself; she was forced. It wasn't her choice.

Everything had worked out. That was what everyone kept saying, including the psychologists they'd all been required to see after returning. Her actions hadn't lead to the destruction of the entire human race after all. Everything was alright.

Except they weren't. Major Hayes died getting her back from the Xindi. One of the MACOs had died on the weapon as well as the lives lost on the orbiting platform and a couple of defense ships. Hoshi knew logically those lives were not her responsibility, at least not directly. Her helping the Reptilians arm the weapon – under duress but there was no way around her involvement – hadn't caused those deaths.

But it had caused Malcolm's. If the weapon hadn't been armed, he wouldn't have had to stay behind to blow it up.

She leaned back against the tree, thunking her head against the bark hard enough to hurt. She had been chasing these thoughts around in her head for months and predictably, getting nowhere. And now they were leading her away from the issue at hand. She took a deep breath and tried to get some perspective.

A loud booming noise echoed through the park and Hoshi leapt to her feet, adrenaline pouring into her system. She looked around warily until she spotted the construction crew assembling a sound stage. One of the metal rods had obviously fallen from its harness, causing the noise.

Hoshi looked down. Her body had taken on a defensive posture, and her hands were clenched into fists. She had assumed a combat position without even thinking about it.

She would lose this sense of permanent unease eventually, of course. It would probably be faster here at home rather than on a starship, even one on a diplomatic mission. Before the Xindi attack their "peaceful" explorations had gotten them entangled with a number of alien species that were none too hospitable.

It flashed through her mind that the problem wasn't with her attitude. It was that her attitude didn't fit her surroundings. One or the other had to change. She kept asking herself if she wanted to go back to Enterprise, but maybe the real question was could she stand being left behind?

She had developed a harder surface out of necessity, as a Starfleet officer, because it was what she needed to survive. And there was nothing wrong with that.

She grabbed the padd and turned towards her temporary quarters. She had to pack her things.

After all, she suspected Malcolm had been very proud of her progress on Enterprise. She wouldn't want to let him down now.

***

Infinite diversity in infinite combinations.

T'Pol regarded the candle flame silently as she concluded her meditation. The treaty between the Xindi council and Earth had been finalized. In two days time, it would be signed. After which, the Aquatics had indicated a desire to open diplomatic relations with Vulcan.

There was something – what was the human word? Poetic – something poetic about the prospect of relations with the Aquatics, that a race who lived their entire lives in water should find commonality with the Vulcan people, who were born of a planet of deserts and rocks.

Infinite diversity in infinite combinations. It gave her a feeling of contentment, to see the maxim of the Science Directorate illustrated so clearly within the universe. It provided a sense of balance which had been absent too long.

She drew in a deep breath. It had been some time since she had been on her home world, and that also provided a sense of calm. The time here had not been easy, but the familiarity of one's birthplace was something that could not be replicated.

The finest healers on Vulcan had studied her case, and she had made significant progress. However, the damage from the Trellium addiction would never be healed entirely. She would never again have the emotional control she once possessed. Additionally, there was the embarrassment of how deeply her logic had been degraded during recent events.

T'Mun, a healer who was also a highly respected member of the Science Directorate, had come to see her this evening. He expressed concern for her recovery, and the possible consequences of resuming a life lived among those who did not regard emotional control as necessary.

T'Pol was acutely aware of a twinge of annoyance at the healer's arrogant attitude towards humans, although she suppressed it easily.

T'Mun said the Directorate was willing to offer her a place on Vulcan. He pointed out that it would be far easier for her to continue to live a normal life among her own people, where she would not have to waste energy addressing the emotional outbursts of those around her and could instead concentrate on her own logic.

T'Pol had asked, discreetly, what Ambassador Soval's opinion on the matter was. T'Mun indicated, just as discreetly, that Soval's input had not been requested.

She was not surprised. The events which had transpired in the Delphic Expanse, and the fact that the humans had won a tremendous victory without the aid of - and in fact despite the opposition of - their closest allies, would cast doubt on Soval's ability to be logical about the relationship between Vulcan and Earth. She considered it a distinct possibility that Soval would quietly retire and be replaced.

T'Mun's offer placed before her a decision. Enterprise would return the next day. Captain Archer had not mentioned anything specific, but T'Pol believed he would be expecting her to return to duty on board the ship.

As she considered the two options, she became aware that she wanted to return to Enterprise. The wish was not the result of a logical deduction. She was feeling a strong emotional motivation to return.

She took another deep breath. The healers had suggested that when confronted by a strong emotion she could not entirely control, rather than fight it, she should attempt to ascertain what was prompting it.

She pictured Enterprise, allowing the desire to return to well up, and then following it back. Captain Archer had handled her condition with great discretion since their arrival on Vulcan. During the journey from Earth, she had laid before him her actions in the Expanse, her undertaking the experiment to attempt to build up a tolerance to the Trellium. Archer had understood her reasons but appeared disturbed that she had not informed Phlox of her intentions. When she had acknowledged that her logic might already have been impaired when she made the decision, Archer had looked so surprised she had been forced to repress an internal flicker of amusement.

The Captain had displayed loyalty and respect towards her, beyond the ordinary relations of a commander and second officer. T'Pol knew he considered her a trusted friend, and the distinction was an honor.

She thought of her other crewmates, of Phlox and his experiments with his animals and with human foods. She thought of Lieutenant Sato. T'Pol valued the mentoring relationship which had developed with the young human woman.

Her thoughts drifted to Lieutenant Reed. She had lost many colleagues in her life, and she felt grief for them all. She believed Reed would have been gratified to die in service to his ship and his people. However, she knew from long experience that the sense of loss was not for him but for herself, for the gap which his absence would leave. During the last few months in the Expanse, as her own behavior became increasingly unstable along with Captain Archer's, Reed had been a steadying influence among the command structure. Other than his irrational feud with Major Hayes, the leader of the MACOs, Reed had been the most stable - the most logical - member of the bridge staff.

She would miss his input, as well as his sense of humor, which had somehow not seemed nearly as alien to T'Pol as Commander Tucker's.

Thinking of Tucker brought forth another strong emotional reaction, one which was almost powerful enough to overtake her desire to return to Enterprise.

That her addiction to the Trellium had been a grave error on her part and caused her personal embarrassment was something she could accept. However, the thought of the injury her behavior had done to the Commander brought forth a feeling of deep shame which frustrated her. It had been a combination of fortunate circumstances that her actions had not caused any harm to the crew or the ship. Yet she had managed to hurt someone other than herself, and from what she knew of Tucker, hurt him deeply.

She opened her eyes and focused on the candle flame for a few minutes until the turmoil inside of her was under control.

Remaining on Vulcan just to avoid Tucker was not logical. Even if she decided to remain, her conscience would require that she speak to him and attempt to mend some of the damage she had caused.

The other version of herself T'Pol had encountered on the other Enterprise had told her that Tucker could help. Whenever she had attempted to resolve the set of logical paradoxes surrounding the encounter with the other Enterprise, T'Pol found no way of gaining any perspective on the entire event. In the end, she did something she had rarely done in her life. She simply stopped thinking about it. The encounter had happened and no amount of reasoning would undo it.

One logical conclusion she could draw was that the life the alternate T'Pol had lived was, clearly, not her life. What remained unknown was whether the aged Vulcan's advice was sound.

She had reason to think that the Commander considered her a friend, despite what had occurred during the mission in the Expanse. His behavior prior to that period indicated he felt so. She wished to restore that relationship.

Even so, she doubted that Charles Tucker would be capable of helping anyone with control of their emotions.

T'Pol extinguished the candle. Returning to Enterprise would not be without its difficulties for her, but it was her home now. Her place was there, with her crewmates.

*****

It wasn't until Enterprise left for Vulcan that Lieutenant Travis Mayweather really remembered Malcolm was gone.

Not that he ever forgot entirely, but the reality of Malcolm's absence had been easier to put out of his mind while he was home, or on Earth with his sister and her husband and his new niece.

Now, though, Travis went through his old, familiar routine. Duty shifts, lunch, working out, catching up on modifications to the ship's systems, each day went by quickly. But there were a dozen moments in each day where he got a little shock. Moments where he didn't even know he was expecting Malcolm until he realized his friend was no longer there. Like when he walked into the Mess hall, and his eyes automatically scanned the room, looking for familiar faces and seeing not a few new ones. Then he remembered that he wasn't going to find Malcolm hunched over a table, shoving food into his mouth while his eyes were glued to a padd. They would never have lunch or dinner or go to a movie together again.

It had been like this with his father, when he went home to the Horizon that first time. He would be doing the most mundane thing and it would sneak up on him that his father was not where he was supposed to be.

Travis didn't care how many times people said Malcolm would've been glad he died in the line of duty. Travis didn't think Malcolm wanted to be dead. And whatever lip service people paid to honor and glory, it didn't change the fact that Travis missed his friend and wanted him back. And no matter how wrong it might seem, he would rather have Malcolm back than all the other two dozen people they had lost.

Travis sighed and rolled over in his bunk. He'd eaten dinner with Hoshi, and she must have seen something in his face, because before they parted ways for the night, she grabbed his hand and squeezed. "It'll get better," she whispered. He'd merely nodded.

With his father, Travis hadn't lived with this kind of daily reminder. He supposed Hoshi was right. Eventually, the loss would become normal, and it wouldn't hurt so much.

He had a feeling that was going to take a long time.

*****

Jon sat down in the chair in his ready room and sighed. After greeting Ambassador Soval, Admiral Forrest and half a dozen Earth dignitaries on the surface, he had finally been able to transport up to the ship. He spent a good 45 minutes walking around, Trip jabbering on at warp nine about the improvements and modifications he had made, before finally reaching the Bridge. He managed not to do a double take at not seeing Malcolm sitting at the tactical station, and to smile and Hoshi and Travis.

He looked around the ready room. He was ready, he felt. Months of wrangling on Vulcan, coming after the chaotic few months on Earth after the mission in the Expanse, he was ready to put it behind him. The time had come, maybe, to move on.

The door chimed and Phlox came in, with an eager beagle in his arms.

"Captain," Phlox beamed. "I believe this belongs to you."

"Doctor," Jon stood up and gathered Porthos in his arms. The dog stretched up to lick his face and Jon froze. His chest suddenly got tight and his face flushed. Trying to cover up his reaction, he sat down, only to find Phlox gazing at him sympathetically.

"I thought you would appreciate being saved a trip to Sickbay just to pick up Porthos," the doctor said kindly.

He swallowed hard. "Thanks, Phlox."

"Well, I'll be on my way. I'm meeting with some of the Vulcan healers this afternoon. I'm looking forward to hearing the latest developments."

When Phlox was gone, Jon buried his face against Porthos' fur for a moment.

Trip and T'Pol had been waiting at the airlock when they got back from Degra's ship. Trip looked past the Captain and Hoshi expectantly.

"Where's Malcolm?"

Jon felt like a block of ice had formed in his chest. "He didn't make it, Trip. He's gone." There was nothing more to say. No words were going to be sufficient. He pulled his eyes away from his old friend, unable to stand the sight of his grief.

Hoshi leaned against Trip, who reached out and held her automatically. Trip's shoulders shook, but he didn't make a sound. Jon glanced at T'Pol and was stunned to see tears in her eyes. Vulcans didn't cry, he knew that, but T'Pol stared blankly at the wall, blinking rapidly.

Tired and pained as he was, Jon insisted on taking Hoshi to Sickbay himself. Somewhere deep down he was afraid his pushing her so hard to remember might have caused more damage. They had barely gotten through the doors when the clattering of nails on the deck heralded Porthos' running leap into his arms. Phlox was there immediately, leading Hoshi over to a biobed, peppering her with questions about how she felt, leaving Jon alone with his dog.

Porthos wriggled in the full-body way only a dog could, the only way to fully express his ecstasy. As the beagle stretched up to lick his face, Jon was angry to feel the prickling of tears in his eyes. What kind of man was he? Over two dozen people were dead from his crew, and only God knew how many more had died in the battle at Earth and during the destruction of the spheres. The ship was still a wreck, they still weren't home, and Malcolm Reed was gone and here Jon was, crying over his dog.

"Captain?" Phlox walked over, concerned, and saw the tears leaking slowly down Jon's face. Silently the doctor guided him to a biobed in the farthest corner of Sickbay, pushing him onto the padded surface. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to remain, Captain. I want to examine you before I let you return to duty."

Jon nodded without looking up. Phlox briskly pulled the privacy screen around him and left him alone with Porthos for several minutes. By the time Phlox returned, Jon was in control of himself again.

Jon looked out the view port of the ready room. Porthos nosed his hand, and he scratched the dog behind the ears again. He could feel Porthos' tail thumping rhythmically against his leg. The comm. beeped and Jon sighed. The time had come to move forward, but he doubted it would be easy to do so. Too much had been lost, and there were scars that never went away.

***

Part 2

Jonathan Archer had joined Starfleet for a number of reasons. Love of making speeches was not one of them. Long practice prevented him from fidgeting, but he fervently wished he was able to pace back and forth rather than having to stand more or less at attention while Jannar, the arboreal Xindi, spoke – at great length – on behalf of the newly constituted Xindi council.

He was grateful, though, that it was the Arboreals and not the Aquatics who were making speeches. Aquatic Xindi, with their exacting attention to nuance, tended to be immensely long winded.

Once the Xindi finished speaking, it would be his turn. Jon had protested at first, saying that since Ambassador Al-Sayr had done most of the principal negotiating, he should make the speech at the signing of the treaty. Al-Sayr had insisted for political reasons – Jon was captain of the ship which had brought down the sphere network and saved both humans and Xindi, etc.

Jon didn't know who was dreading his speech more, himself or his people. T'Pol, Trip Tucker and Hoshi Sato were ranged behind him. Jon had gotten more than one comment on his public speaking skills from them in the past. Hopefully the presence of the Ambassador and Admiral Forrest would keep them quiet.

The Xindi council and their negotiators were behind Jannar. Jon had become accustomed to it, but Trip and Hoshi had both visibly startled at first sight of Barat, the Reptilian Xindi council member. The Reptilians were taking most of the blame for the attacks on Earth and the conflict of the past year, not entirely without deserving it either. Jon knew that the dangers of the Expanse and the conflict with the Xindi were large and complicated matters. The Xindi had been taken advantage of by another race, at the moment when they were most vulnerable. The Reptilians had been duped as much as the other four species. Jon couldn't blame them for trusting a supposed ally who seemed to offer nothing but help. He couldn't blame the Xindi solely for the loss of 23 of his crew. It was the Reptilian commander Dolim who had pushed the previous council for war, and to develop the weapon. It was Dolim who had tried to detonate the weapon and destroy Earth.

It was Dolim that Jon blamed for Malcolm Reed.

Jannar sounded like he was winding up his speech, and Jon focused on what the Arboreal was saying.

"...The Xindi have rebuilt ourselves before, after great tragedy. We thought then that our races would survive thanks to the help of false protectors. We trusted our fate to others and paid the price. This time, this beginning, belongs to us, and only to us. The Xindi people will build a future of our own, one founded on equality and independence, and whatever fate holds in store for our people, we will be proud, for it is a fate of our own making."

***

Lieutenant Travis Mayweather shifted slightly in his seat on the Bridge of Enterprise. Crewman Andrews had patched an audio feed of the treaty signing into the Bridge so they could listen. Travis was moved by the Xindi speech more than he wanted to admit. It wasn't easy to think of the Xindi as victims, after what they had done, but they were. Not that they weren't still responsible for their actions, but like his history lessons had always said, things were rarely black and white, good guys and bad guys.

A beeping noise from his console caught his attention. At the tactical station, Lieutenant Giordano frowned. "There's an anomaly... a vortex is opening."

He punched up the sensor report on his console. The vortex was how the Xindi traveled through space. The astrophysicists at Starfleet had practically been jumping up and down when they got Enterprise's sensor data from their mission. "Is anything coming through?"

"Affirmative. A small ship," Giordano paused, her face darkening. "Reptilian."

***

Polite applause followed Jannar's speech. Jon was preparing to go to the podium when Kiaphet Amman'sor, the Aquatic delegate whom Jon had met back in the Expanse, turned away from the view screen by which the Aquatics were participating, to speak to another Aquatic which had swum into view.

At the same time Trip's communicator chirped.

Their Vulcan hosts frowned slightly at the interruption. Jon nodded to the commander, who opened the communicator. "This is Tucker, go ahead."

"Commander, a Xindi ship just exited a vortex," Travis' voice came through distantly. "It's Reptilian, and it matches the specs for the ship that was with the weapon."

"The ship that escaped," Jon shared an black look with Trip, feeling anxiety twisting in his gut. Of the two Reptilian ships that had been with the weapon in the battle at Earth, one had been destroyed, but the other had managed to escape. The Xindi had been hunting for the rogue ship ever since with no luck.

T'Pol walked over to the Vulcan council members and began speaking to them quietly, explaining the situation. Meanwhile, Hoshi had her eyes glued to her translator, which was pointed at the Aquatics. "Captain," she called quietly. "The Aquatics' sensors indicate the Reptilian ship has its weapons fully powered.

"And it's heading straight for Enterprise."

***

"Evasive maneuvers, Lieutenant," Giordano snapped, bringing Enterprise's weapons online. The lighting changed as the ship went on tactical alert.

"Aye." It would take a few seconds for the impulse engines to warm up enough to get them moving. Meanwhile, Travis pushed at the maneuvering thrusters, willing the huge mass of the ship to shift out of the way of the oncoming attack.

"They're firing weapons. Polarizing the hull plating. Hang on," Giordano warned. Andrews and Ensign Lee at the science station braced themselves as the Reptilian weapons struck the ship.

On the view screen in front of them, the Aquatic ship appeared, massive even at a distance, and opened fire on the Reptilian ship. The smaller vessel stopped firing but didn't slow down.

Enterprise returned fire as well, and the combined barrage managed to down the shields. But the ship didn't stop.

"They're on a collision course," Giordano yelled over the sirens.

"I see it," Travis yelled back, concentrating all his energy into turning the sluggish ship out of the path of the oncoming enemy.

***

Trip was gripping the communicator so tightly his hand was white. Through the still-open link, they could hear what was happening on the Bridge. There was no time to beam back, and nothing the Enterprise crew could do from the surface.

Nothing they could do.

Jon whipped around, looking towards the Xindi, who were conferring. He glanced at Hoshi, who looked frustrated. "There's too many of them talking at once. They're debating blowing up the ship."

Jon took a couple steps across the room towards the council, intent on convincing them. One of the humanoids, one of Degra's colleagues, was gesturing vehemently towards Kiaphet. The Aquatic turned away from them and nodded. Jannar looked at Jon and nodded once.

Hoshi, eyes still on her communicator, murmured. "The Aquatics are on it, sir."

***

"This is the Bridge. We are under attack. All hands brace for impact." Giordano cut off the ship-wide comm while her other hand kept firing at the approaching ship.

Travis checked the sensor readings. The Reptilian ship had apparently locked in the collision course but no longer had helm control. It wasn't adjusting for Enterprise changing position. Unfortunately, even though the Xindi ship was smaller, Enterprise couldn't get entirely out of the way in time. It was still going to strike one of the nacelles head on.

Bright flashing light on the view screen made him look up. The Aquatic ship had moved closer and was unleashing the full force of its weapons on the Reptilian ship.

For a moment nothing happened. The Reptilian ship came inexorably closer to Enterprise, while energy pulses rained from the distant Xindi vessel. Travis watched, counting down the distance steadily, before the Reptilian ship exploded, barely 200 meters away from Enterprise.

The ship was jolted by the shock wave and they could hear debris bouncing off the hull. But the noise faded, and the sirens shut off.

"Minor damage to the port nacelle, and the warp engine is offline. No casualties," Giordano breathed a sigh of relief.

"Bridge to away team, the Xindi ship has been destroyed. No casualties here." Travis waited, but there was no answer from the surface. "Commander?"

***

Jon waited as the Aquatics issued their orders to destroy the rogue ship. He hoped that their decision hadn't been too late to save Enterprise. A flash of light and a humming sound came from the middle of the chamber to his right. Before his eyes could even adjust, there was a shout of alarm.

A lone figure stood in the middle of the room. One glance was enough to confirm it wasn't a Reptilian. The being was too short, and its skin not dark scales, but a mottled, almost leathery brownish red.

And strapped across its chest was a device that could only be an explosive.

Jon took two quick steps back along with the rest of the room. The Vulcans, with uncharacteristic alarm, called for security teams.

The intruder was humanoid in shape, with dark hair that was long and matted with dirt. Its clothes were similarly filthy; what had once been a black shirt and pants were covered in grime and something that looked like dried blood.

Jon noted that the being was curled over on the left side, arm hanging tightly against its body, as though the limb was useless.

In the right fist was another device. The detonator.

"Bridge to away team," Travis' voice came through the still open comm. channel, providing what should have been welcome news. "The Xindi ship has been destroyed. No casualties here." No one dared break the stalemate in the chamber. "Commander?" Trip was frozen along with the rest of them, staring in shock, unable to answer.

The intruder raised its head and swept the room with the eyes of a rabid animal, baring its teeth at the Xindi council members. It turned and looked at the Enterprise crew... and stopped.

Two armed guards rushed in from the corridor, weapons raised. Jon shouted for them to stop, aware that his heart was racing so fast he could feel it in his bones. "Hold your fire!" The guards paused, weapons at the ready.

Trip took half a step forward. In the complete silence of the room, his whispered question carried to every corner.

"Malcolm?"

***

Part 3

Trip took another step forward, but Malcolm hefted the detonator and everyone froze again. Jon reached over and took the communicator from Trip.

"This is Archer. Tell Phlox to transport down to the surface immediately. But not directly into the council chamber."

"Aye, sir," came Travis' confused-sounding response. "What-"

"Archer out." He closed the communicator. Explanations would have to wait.

Trip was taking another step towards Malcolm, his hands up in the classic defensive posture. "Malcolm, it's me."

Malcolm stared at Trip, his face strangely blank. He was still holding the detonator at the ready. Jon saw that what he had taken for skin was actually scar tissue. Most of the left side of Malcolm's face was covered by it. His left arm and leg were almost crumpled over, folded in against his body, and he made no attempt to walk in any direction.

Jon muttered a string of silent curses. Dolim and the Reptilians. They'd had Malcolm prisoner all this time.

Trip tried again. "Malcolm, can you understand me?"

Jannar now stepped forward. "Captain Archer, what is going on here?"

The interruption caused Malcolm to yell. He pivoted, glaring at the Xindi. The feral look on his face made Jon's blood go cold.

He wasn't sure if this was even Malcolm Reed anymore.

Jannar backed off, but Trip held his ground. "Malcolm, it's alright. No one's going to hurt you." Trip glanced down and Jon knew his engineer was fully aware that their former armory officer was strapped to enough explosive to kill everyone in the room.

T'Pol knew it too. She was still standing near the Vulcan councilors, and thanks to Jannar, Malcolm had turned his back towards them. T'Pol began to carefully move in from behind.

Trip saw the movement as well. "Malcolm, look at me. Do you know who I am?"

Those vacant blue eyes turned back towards Trip. There was no recognition in them. Malcolm bared his teeth again and started to depress the detonator.

"Wait! Just wait! Malcolm, it's me. You've got to remember!" Trip moved right in front of him, stopping just short of reaching out and grabbing Malcolm by the shoulders.

Again Malcolm stopped.

"You're Malcolm Reed. You're a lieutenant in Starfleet. You're the armory officer on a ship called Enterprise." T'Pol was almost directly behind Malcolm now. Trip craned his neck towards Jon. "That's Captain Archer, your commanding officer."

Malcolm's empty gaze fell on Jon. He nodded briefly, playing along with Trip's gambit. "Lieutenant Reed, it's good to see you alive."

Malcolm's head cocked slightly to one side, reminding Jon of Porthos confronting something he didn't recognize. It was a fitting comparison. Malcolm seemed more like a wild animal than a human being.

Unfortunately, when Malcolm looked back at Trip, Trip was looking over Malcolm's shoulder at T'Pol. Malcolm caught the movement of Trip's eyes and seemed to realize he was compromised. Another bellow and he depressed the detonator in his hand.

T'Pol was right there, fingers digging harshly into the juncture of Malcolm's neck and shoulder. His body wilted and he lost consciousness. Meanwhile Trip lunged and grabbed the detonator and Malcolm's hand, squeezing them in a death grip as T'Pol maneuvered the inert body to the floor.

Chaos erupted. Jon and Hoshi both rushed forward, as did the security teams. Trip was shouting for medical help, while the ambassador and the Xindi were herded out of the room along with the Vulcan council, and four more security agents piled into the room. Forrest stood behind Jon, a hand on his shoulder.

Phlox rushed in as soon as the press of bodies was out of his way. "Captain? Oh my..." He stopped at the sight before him.

Trip and T'Pol were kneeling over Malcolm. Trip still had the detonator and Malcolm's fingers crushed in one hand. With the other he was exploring the explosive vest and trying get it off his friend. "I need something to cut this wire with." T'Pol turned away, ordering one of the guards off for tools.

Hoshi, hovering over the three of them, gasped. "Doctor, look." She pointed to the uninjured side of Malcolm's face, near his temple. "The scars on his forehead."

Phlox became grave. "They match the scars Hoshi had from the mind control techniques the Xindi used on her," he said aside to Jon.

It took several long, tense minutes until Trip leaned back and relaxed his grip on the detonator. Nothing happened. He dropped it and started wrestling the explosives off of Malcolm. A team of Vulcan doctors had arrived by that point, and they scooped Malcolm up onto a floating stretcher and departed, with Phlox and Hoshi in tow.

T'Pol and Trip turned to Jon and Admiral Forrest, who was pale. "Where did he come from? The Reptilian ship that attacked Enterprise?"

"They must have transported Lieutenant Reed off of the weapon before it exploded," T'Pol observed.

"Those sons of bitches have had him all this time..." Trip's voice broke with his fury. Jon didn't have the heart to reprimand him.

"It's obvious they attempted to manipulate his mind and turn him into a living weapon."

"Not too successfully," Jon pointed out. "He paused when he saw us, instead of just detonating the explosives."

"So the attack in orbit was a decoy?" Forrest guessed.

"More like an ambush. They wanted to destroy Enterprise while they were at it, meanwhile the ship was too busy with not getting rammed to notice the transporter signature," Trip said, looking at the door restlessly.

"Why don't you go to Medical, Trip. Talk to Hoshi and Phlox. We'll be there in a minute." Trip nodded and hustled away.

T'Pol gave Forrest a brief look. "I should speak to the Vulcan council members and security teams, explain what has occurred." She left as well.

The Admiral and Jon looked at each other for a moment. Forrest seemed to come to a decision. "I'll get the Ambassador and talk to the Xindi." Jon started to say he'd go along but Forrest waved him off. "Go see about your crewman, Jon. We'll talk about the ramifications later."

Forrest walked away and Jon glowered slightly. He pulled out his communicator to check in with Travis. He had a suspicion what "ramifications" Forrest was talking about and he didn't like what he was thinking one bit.

***

Jon heard the noise well before he reached the Vulcan medical bay. Incoherent howls of anger and pain echoed down the stone walls of the Vulcan buildings, howls which could only be coming from one person. He wasn't surprised to find two security officers waiting outside the medical bay.

Hoshi and Trip were standing off to the side of the medical area. Hoshi had her arms folded across her chest, and Trip was just behind her, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Jon walked up beside them and paused.

Phlox had taken control of the situation, which had less to do with his familiarity with human medicine than it did with the Vulcans appearing somewhat at a loss as to what to do with their deranged patient. Malcolm was conscious and strapped to a bed. He was yelling and struggling so fiercely against the restraints that an observer would have thought his life was hanging in the balance. Jon winced, thinking of the kind of pain yanking on the restraints was causing for all that scar tissue.

Phlox and one of the Vulcan doctors were arguing. "Given what his brain has already been though, another dose could be fatal!" Phlox snapped.

"If we cannot sedate him he will injure himself possibly beyond repair," the Vulcan shot back.

Trip glanced at Jon. "They already gave him a dose of the strongest tranquilizers they got. It didn't even slow him down." There were tight lines of worry etched across Trip's face.

Phlox and the Vulcan seemed to have come to some sort of decision. They injected something else into Malcolm and stepped back. After a moment his struggling began to diminish. He still moved restlessly, but the hoarse screaming subsided.

They waited as the doctors ran scans. T'Pol arrived, saying the Vulcan council and the Xindi were going over the sensor logs from the fight in orbit to see if they could discover anything about where the rogue ship had been.

Finally, Phlox came over to them. He looked as angry as Jon had ever seen him. "Lieutenant Reed has suffered second and third degree burns over approximately 15 percent of his body. My guess is that he was still on the Xindi weapon while it was exploding and was transported out in the midst of the fire. The burns caused tissue damage to his arm and his leg, in addition to the scarring on his face. He's malnourished and dehydrated, and he shows signs of physical abuse."

"What about the scars on his forehead?" Hoshi asked.

"My initial guess was correct. The parasite they used on Lieutenant Sato was also used on Lieutenant Reed. However, there is no way of knowing how many times they repeated the procedure on him during the course of six months."

Jon's stomach felt like it was turning inside out. Six months of being a prisoner, six months of being tortured, drugged, starved, and programmed.

And they hadn't even been looking for him.

"Is that why he's..." Trip couldn't finished the question.

Phlox paused, the Denobulan choosing his words carefully. "I'm not an expert on human psychology, but I imagine that the combination of his treatment as well as the mind control caused Lieutenant Reed's conscious mind to close down. He appears to be operating on basic animal instinct at this point. It's likely it was a defensive response to his situation."

They all looked past Phlox into the infirmary. Malcolm had either lost consciousness or fallen asleep, although he was still moving around a lot. The doctors were removing his filthy clothing, and one of them was bringing in water to clean him.

Jon forced himself to ask the question he was sure was on everyone's mind. "Will he recover?"

"I don't know." Phlox looked overwhelmed. "I'm barely familiar with the Xindi mind control techniques, and I have no idea what damage repeated exposure has done to the brain tissue. There's also the issue of psychological trauma from his experience, which combined with the physical ailments may simply be too much to overcome."

Jon looked at Malcolm's face. His scars were not visible from this side. The lieutenant looked haggard and worn, and somehow strangely young and vulnerable.

"No."

Everyone turned. Trip was shaking his head. "He's still in there. He saw us and he stopped. Whatever they programmed him to do, he couldn't do it." His voice was low but strong with conviction. "He may not be able to talk or remember, but he's still in there. We just gotta get through to him." He put a hand on Hoshi's shoulder and squeezed.

The words seemed to bolster Phlox as well. "The Vulcan healers are going to observe him for a few hours while we run tests. We're going to start working on regenerating some of the scarred tissue as well."

"When can he be moved?"

"Not before tomorrow at the earliest, Captain."

Jon nodded, giving T'Pol a look. "We'll let you get back to work, then, Doctor. Keep me informed. Trip, you should go back to the ship, check on the damages. Hoshi, I'd like you to go see Ambassador Al-Sayr and see what's going on with the Xindi."

Two murmured "aye, sir"s and two long looks in Malcolm's direction, and they were gone. T'Pol looked at him expectantly. "I need your help."

***

Trip didn't make it off the transporter pads before Ensign Williams asked him, "Is it true, sir? Lieutenant Reed is alive?"

Trip felt a sudden wash of panic. Given Malcolm's condition, it wouldn't be good for the crew to get their hopes up. But he knew exactly how Williams, a member of the security team, felt. "He's alive, but he's in pretty rough shape. Phlox and the Vulcans are working on him now." He moved away before the young man could ask any further questions.

Two more people stopped him in the corridor to ask the same thing, so Trip avoided eye contact with everyone else as he made his way to the Bridge. He was grateful no one else was in the lift when it arrived. His own emotions were so jumbled he wasn't sure how to cope with a ship full of people all desperate to redeem their grief if only by one.

The image of Malcolm, looking like he'd been flayed to death and then resurrected from hell, floated in front of him. Malcolm's dead eyes staring out at Trip from under the filthy, matted hair, devoid of any recognizable emotion. Trip felt a surge of nausea at what the Reptilians must have done to put Malcolm in that state. Trip couldn't help but wonder if Malcolm would've been better off dying in the explosion. He shoved the thought away ruthlessly.

The lift chimed. Trip took a deep breath. Malcolm would recover from this. He didn't care what Phlox said, his friend was still in there. He had to be. For Malcolm to go through all that and not recover would be a sick joke of cosmic proportions. He'd come back. Whatever it took, doctors, drugs, therapy, they would get Malcolm back.

The conviction lasted until Trip stepped out of the lift onto the Bridge and was confronted by four sets of eager, pleading eyes. His stomach clenched and in spite of himself, he doubted.

***

"How is he?" Admiral Forrest asked Jon immediately.

"They've sedated him. Phlox and the Vulcans are checking him over now." T'Pol assumed her version of an at-ease position behind him. "He's in bad shape."

"The Xindi swear they had no knowledge of the plan to sabotage the treaty, and given that they would've died along with us had it worked, I'm inclined to believe them." Forrest leaned against a table. "There's nothing left of the Reptilian ship. We have no way of knowing where they were, or who they might have been in contact with."

As Forrest spoke, Jon felt all his dread coalescing into his tightening muscles.

"That leaves Lieutenant Reed as our only source of information."

"Lieutenant Reed is unconscious in Sickbay, and it is doubtful that he will have regained the ability to communicate when he wakes," T'Pol stated. Jon doubted Forrest understood the sarcasm in her neutral tone of voice.

"For now," Forrest got up and walked to the window. "Do the doctors know when he can be moved?"

"A couple days, at least." T'Pol glanced Jon's way but didn't contradict him. "You realize we may never find out what happened. Even if Lieutenant Reed recovers enough, he might simply not remember."

"We have to know, Jon." Forrest frowned. "Look, I understand how you feel. But the security of Earth could be depending on this. Your man was in enemy hands for six months. There's no telling what information they extracted from him during that time. Against his will, of course, but the possibility still exists. There could be plans for another attack on Earth already in motion–"

"The new Xindi Council has the full support of the Reptilians," Jon interrupted. "And any Xindi who might still be planning some kind of attack are scattered and without resources."

"But it's still possible, and we have to consider every possibility." Forrest snapped.

"Admiral, Lieutenant Reed has been in the Reptilians hands for 6 months." Forrest turned to T'Pol. "Prior to that time, the Lieutenant had been on Enterprise for nearly 10 months, deep in the Delphic Expanse. Any intelligence he possessed regarding Earth's defenses was hopelessly out of date long before the Xindi weapon was deployed."

"She's right, Admiral. You said yourself when we got back that a lot of things had changed on Earth while we were gone."

Forrest nodded. "I'm not arguing the point, but Starfleet Command still feels it's imperative for Lieutenant Reed to be brought back to Earth as soon as possible. Our doctors can help him, maybe get him to remember what occurred while he was missing. He'll have the best possible care, and he'll be back in familiar surroundings." The Admiral drew himself up slightly straighter. "Enterprise is to bring Lieutenant Reed back to Earth as soon as possible, Captain. That's a direct order."

"Yes, sir," Jon said tightly. Forrest nodded awkwardly and left the room.

Jon started to pace restlessly. T'Pol watched for a moment before speaking. "You don't believe him."

"Forrest? Yes, I do. At least, I believe he believes what he's saying." Jon turned and walked back towards the other wall. "But I don't buy that all Starfleet wants is to make Malcolm all better. If they can't find a way to communicate with him, they'll lock him away in a medical lab and study him for who knows how long."

He could see T'Pol choosing her words. "Phlox said it might not be possible for the Lieutenant to recover psychologically from this experience. Would it not be better for him to go back to Earth?"

"I agree with Trip. Some part of Malcolm is still in there. Some part of him recognized us when he saw us. I have to believe we can get through to him."

"Even though he might be better off?"

Jon rounded on her. "You think it's better for him to stay like this? A half-rabid animal?"

She didn't flinch. "His ordeal at the hands of the Reptilians will be deeply painful, if he should be forced to remember it. If you value his well-being, I do not understand why you are determined to cause him that pain."

Jon backed off. He started pacing again and there was a long silence. Finally he stopped, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "I've been hoping that the treaty signing would help. Help me." He walked over to the window as Forrest had done, not looking at her. "I lost something. Some part of myself that had to give on this mission. The things I did..."

There was an awkward silence, until T'Pol observed, as diplomatically as possible, "You did what you felt was necessary."

He nodded. "The mission was the most important thing. The only important thing. And we succeeded. But I keep wondering what we lost in the process."

T'Pol took a step towards him. "Since destroying the Expanse, you have endeavored to atone for any wrongful actions you took. You arranged for the Aquatics to assist the ship we stole the warp coil from."

"But that doesn't change what I did to begin with. It doesn't change what it did to me." He walked over and sat on the table. "I thought signing the treaty with the Xindi, bringing peace, would give me some sort of closure. But now... now there's a chance to salvage something else out of this mess."

Her head tilted slightly, a sign that she was confronting another illogical human leap of reasoning. "The restoration of Lieutenant Reed will no more change the past than anything else would."

"I know. This isn't a question of logic, T'Pol. If we can get him back, get one person back after all this... I don't know. It won't make up for anything, not really. I know that."

"It would be a loss turned into a victory."

Jon turned to her in surprise. Every once in a while, T'Pol was capable of summing him up with a startling insight. "Exactly." He drew in a deep breath. "Besides all that, Malcolm was out there, for 6 months, and we didn't know. He survived that and he's back. I'm not going to abandon him now. Not without a hell of a fight."

***

He hadn't used his new rank in any real way until now. Travis ordered the ensign who was supposed to fly the shuttle pod with Phlox's inventory of supplies to let him take the assignment. Travis hadn't been told to do this, but he hadn't expressly been told not to do it either, and he needed to see for himself.

Travis arrived at the Vulcan medical center with two boxes of Phlox's remedies in his hands. He delivered them to the physicians and then went to stand with Hoshi, who seemed to be keeping vigil at the far end of the room. She glanced up at him as he stood beside her.

"It's really him." Travis stared at Malcolm's wan face. He was asleep or drugged. His head had been shaved down to a short stubble, and there were regenerative bandages over half his face and part of his scalp.

"Physically, anyway," Hoshi answered. Her forehead was creased by worry and stress.

"Commander Tucker said he was completely out of it. Couldn't talk or really understand anyone."

Hoshi shook her head. "He was like some kind of wild animal. But he also seemed to recognize us, at least for a moment. God, I can't believe he's been alive this whole time."

"I know." Travis felt his stomach lurch at the thought. "We just assumed he was dead."

"The weapon exploded," Hoshi remembered. "We didn't even see his biosign before it blew."

"There was nothing anyone could've done, Hoshi. There was no way for us to know."

Her eyes took on a faraway look. "The first time they gave me the injection? I fought it. I managed to add another layer of encryption instead of helping them break it."

"I know. That was pretty brave."

Her voice dropped lower. "When I realized they were going to inject me again, that they were going to make me help them, I tried to kill myself."

"What?" Travis whispered.

"I ran. I tried to throw myself over the railing into the core. I didn't want to have to live knowing that I'd helped destroy my own planet." She folded her arms across her chest. "I never understood suicide before. I couldn't imagine a situation where I would think I'd be better off dead. Not until then."

Her voice was so matter-of-fact, so disengaged, it made his skin crawl. "What happened?"

"They caught me before I fell. Injected me again."

She was silent, her face dark. Travis fell back on words he'd said to her many times already. "Hoshi, it wasn't your fault. You tried-"

"I know," she cut him off. "But Travis, that was me. If Malcolm was in that same position, knowing he was going to be used to try to kill us all?" She looked at the prone body of the Lieutenant and her eyes hardened. "I'm not even sure it's the right thing to do, making him remember that. I think that might be worse than this, especially for him."

Travis had no answer for her. They stayed still, each lost in their own thoughts, watching Malcolm sleep.

***

Part 4

"How is he?" Jon stood next to Phlox and T'Pol, looking across the room at Malcolm. Jon suspected that neither of them had slept the night before, any more than he had.

"I'm treating the parasitic elements still remaining in his brain tissue. He was injected at least four times, if not five." Phlox was subdued, glancing occasionally at the Vulcan healers who moved about the far side of the room.

"That's twice as many treatments as Lieutenant Sato received," T'Pol observed.

Phlox nodded. "I assume that Starfleet's security section provides at least some rudimentary training on resisting attempts at mind control. Lieutenant Reed would have been more resistant than Lieutenant Sato, requiring more coercion. The good news is that all the treatments were relatively recent. I'd say within the last four weeks."

Jon remained outwardly stoic. He wasn't sure if that was actually good news or not from Malcolm's perspective. It meant Malcolm had been more or less himself for five months of his captivity.

"The parasites require a long period of time to fully reorder the neural pathways in human tissue," Phlox continued. "The physical damage to his brain should be reversible."

T'Pol looked grave as she voiced what Jon was thinking. "What about the psychological damage?"

The doctor blew out a frustrated breath. "Unfortunately, I simply can't tell yet. If his current dissociative state is due only to the parasites, he may begin to come to himself within the next few days. However, I doubt that is likely."

Jon turned to Phlox. "You think something else happened, before they drugged him."

"As I said, Lieutenant Reed was given some training in resisting mind control and torture. But he was held captive for months, and subjected to a great deal of brutalization. Many of the small bones in his hands have been fractured, some repeatedly, and many of them haven't properly healed. It's obvious his injuries from the explosion were never treated. The point of torturing a prisoner is to weaken their mental defenses enough so that they will yield the information sought. In this case..." the Denobulan trailed off.

"You think they broke him," Jon said, his throat so tight it hurt.

T'Pol jumped in. "It is possible, as you said yesterday doctor, that the Lieutenant's conscious mind closed down in order to protect him. Perhaps this occurred in order to prevent any willful act of treason."

Jon flinched at the word, even though it was more or less accurate.

"I won't know either way for a few days. Meanwhile, we're doing all we can to heal the physical damage to his body. His skin is regenerating fairly well, all things considered, and his metabolism seems to be adjusting now that he's properly hydrated."

Jon took a few steps forward, looking at the unconscious man. "How long can you keep him here?"

"One day, perhaps two. Why?"

"Starfleet has ordered us to bring him back to Earth as quickly as possible. They want to question him regarding his captivity."

Phlox started angrily. "The lieutenant is in no state to answer questions-"

Jon held up a hand. "I understand how you feel, doctor. I want to keep Malcolm out of their hands for as long as possible, but I need your help."

Phlox was quiet for a moment. Then he sighed. "Captain, if Lieutenant Reed is indeed suffering from a psychological break and not any physical impairment, he will require extensive therapy to allow his conscious mind to retake control."

"He might not have that kind of time. Starfleet is going to want answers. If they can't force him to remember, they'll lock him away in a lab somewhere for study."

Phlox frowned. "I'm certain the doctors on Earth would do everything in their power to help the Lieutenant recover."

"The doctors on Earth work for Starfleet, and their top priority is the security of the planet, not Malcolm's health." Jon thought about the things he'd done in the name of securing the planet, and the idea of Malcolm being the object of that blind tenacity turned his stomach. "They'll get what they want from him any way they can. Unless we can get it for them first. If it's going to take as long as you say, we need to buy some time."

Phlox considered for a moment. "The best way to assist Lieutenant Reed in recovering is to provide him with a secure location. You saw his reaction to being here yesterday. He needs to be in familiar surroundings."

"You mean Enterprise," Jon looked at Phlox unhappily.

"The ship has been Lieutenant Reed's home for the past three years," T'Pol put in.

"You're saying that keeping him here on Vulcan might harm him even more." Jon paced, as he always did when trying to make a decision.

"I don't know about harm, but it certainly would be better to remove him to Sickbay as quickly as possible."

"The faster we take him to the ship, the sooner we're going to be back on Earth where we can't help him." Phlox shrugged helplessly. It was a catch-22 and Jon knew it. He glanced at Malcolm one more time. "One day. Keep him here for today. I'll try to come up with some way to stall our return to Earth."

***

Later in the morning, after observing the second, successful attempt at signing the treaty between Earth and the Xindi council, T'Pol went to her quarters and began sifting through records. A possibility had occurred to her while speaking with Phlox that morning, however she was unsure of whether it would prove feasible.

The door chime sounded. "Enter."

It was T'Mun. "T'Pol, I hope I'm not disturbing you."

She shook her head. "Please come in."

T'Mun folded his hands in front of him. T'Pol thought he almost appeared to be nervous. "I understand the human recovered from the Xindi is making some progress."

"His physical injuries are responding to treatment." She didn't elaborate and there was a distinctly awkward pause which T'Mun finally broke rather abruptly.

"I gather from recent events that you have decided to return to Enterprise." He gave her a questioning look.

She evaded his question. "I have not reached a final decision. Nor have I discussed it with Captain Archer yet. The events of the past two days have been... distracting."

T'Mun sat down in the chair opposite her. "T'Pol, I hope you will reconsider. Your condition was already fragile due to the P'Nar syndrome. I admit your Doctor Phlox has make remarkable progress in treating it, but compounded with the damage done by the Trellium addiction, you will have great difficulty maintaining a normal life without adding extra obstacles to your path. You would be better off staying here, among your own kind."

"If we were better off staying among our own kind, no Vulcan would ever have gone into space. There would have been no point."

T'Mun backtracked slightly. "I am not suggesting that all Vulcans should remain here at home, but someone in your condition... it will be far too easy for you to be compromised, again."

She forced herself to take a slow breath, keeping a firm grip on her emotions, although the anger flared within her. "I am not an invalid. I did not allow P'Nar syndrome to prevent me from fulfilling my obligations and I will not allow this latest obstacle to do so either."

She detected a hint of annoyance seeping into T'Mun's kindly persona. "You are setting yourself up to face great difficulties which would be easy to avoid. Surely it is not logical to make your life any more difficult than it already is by immersing yourself in a world of people for whom emotions are completely uncontrolled."

"Humans control their emotions in different ways than Vulcans," she snapped back. "If the principles of diversity espoused by the Science Directorate are correct, then it is not for you or I to judge one way better than another."

T'Mun appeared genuinely shocked. "Then you think these human shipmates of yours are a positive example to follow? No Vulcan can afford to live the way they do, making decisions based on irrational feelings, allowing emotion to sway them at any moment. Their influence has already corrupted you."

T'Pol recovered herself. "I did not say their way was better. In fact, I pointed out that neither way is inherently superior." She stood up. "I have no intention of abandoning the teachings of Surak or my way of life, especially not given my experiences. But I must wonder if I would not face less difficulty surrounded by people who would not chastise me for showing the slightest emotion at any opportunity which presented itself, as I would surely endure if I remained on Vulcan permanently."

T'Mun stared at her for a moment, then rose. "I can see your mind is made up, although I do question the logic of your decision. I will endeavor to persuade the Directorate to be willing to accept you back should you choose to return later."

She tilted her head slightly. "Thank you."

T'Mun nodded and left and she sank into the chair, calming her slightly jittering nerves. The strain of the past day had been her first real test since arriving on Vulcan. Despite her words to T'Mun, she was not as confident as she sounded. What would life be like, being confronted with stressful situations such as this over and over? How would she learn to live with the constant presence of her emotions so much closer to the surface? Could she still function as a useful officer?

Her shipmates did. They had been trained their whole lives to live with their emotions and not give in to them. If she was as open minded as she claimed to be, she should be willing to learn from them.

And that could only happen once she resumed her post on Enterprise.

Decision made, she returned to her research.

***

Admiral Forrest came into the Ready Room. His face was fairly neutral, but Jon had known him a long time, long enough to know Forrest wasn't looking forward to this conversation.

"I understand we'll be on our way to Earth tomorrow?" Forrest asked, sitting down.

"Hopefully," Jon hedged. "Phlox thinks it will be safe to move him by then. We'll know in the morning."

Forrest nodded, looking down at his interlocked hands. "I just spoke with Starfleet Command. They wanted an update on our progress."

Jon scowled. "No doubt they're very eager to get their hands on Lieutenant Reed."

"They want the same thing you and I do, Jon. To make sure Earth is safe. And you can't think it would be better for him to stay here on a strange planet than to go home, finally?"

Jon didn't speak. Forrest took his silence for agreement.

"That's not what I came in here to tell you." The Admiral visibly steeled himself. "Starfleet Command has denied your request to have T'Pol instated in Starfleet."

His mouth dropped open in shock. "What? Why?"

Forrest spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Apparently word of your request got out and there was pressure from some of the diplomatic corps. They're afraid that inducting a former Vulcan officer into Starfleet might damage the relationship between Earth and Vulcan."

Jon got up, trying to keep from grinding his teeth. "I would think it would do the opposite. Having a Vulcan serving on an equal footing on a human ship should be a sign that we're finally acting as real allies."

Forrest stood up as well. "Between us, Jon, the situation with the Vulcans is on a hair-trigger. A lot of noise has been made about your comment that we got more help from the Andorians during the Xindi crisis than from our supposed allies. There are plenty of people on Earth who aren't happy with the Vulcans' treatment of us. And now the Vulcans are worried we're going to ally ourselves with the Andorians against them."

"All the more reason to have a Vulcan serving aboard the flagship," Jon argued. "It would show the Vulcans that we don't mean to turn our backs on them. Despite what they did," he couldn't help adding.

Forrest held up a placating hand. "I agree with you. In the long term. But not right now. Wait until the dust settles a little bit, and try again. In the meantime, it's still your ship, and T'Pol is here at your discretion."

Jon nodded. Forrest said goodnight and left. Jon walked to the view port and stared out at the stars. Being the captain of this ship was never easy. After three years he was well aware of that. But he'd expected things to be easier now. After everything they'd been through in the past year, and even before that, everything they had overcome, and now he was left battling just to keep things as they were.

He knew there had to be a way to keep Malcolm on the ship, to give T'Pol the position she deserved, keep them all together, and do it without the universe exploding around him. He only hoped he could find it in time.

***

Hoshi rang the chime to Trip's door. It took a moment before she heard him call, "Come in."

Trip was sitting on his bed. A small pile of datapadds was strewn across the sheets. "Hey Hoshi. How are you?"

She sat down in the desk chair, hands folded nervously in her lap over the blue fabric. "I think I'm still a little shocked." He nodded. "Did you see him today?"

"I went down there this afternoon. He was asleep. Phlox said they were keeping him sedated to help the worst of the burned tissue heal. They're bringing him back to the ship tomorrow."

"I know." She paused, biting her lip. "Did he tell you about the familiar things?"

Trip nodded again, sadly this time. "Yeah. I didn't mention to him that I'm the one responsible for sending all Malcolm's stuff off the ship."

She winced. She and Trip had been the ones to go through Malcolm's belongings, boxing them up to be sent to his next of kin. His former quarters were now occupied by Lieutenant Giordano. "It wasn't your decision, Trip. It was what we were supposed to do."

"Yeah." He picked up a padd. Hoshi noticed all the padds had photographs on them. "I was looking through pictures instead. This is from that planet with that big mountain range Travis was all hyped up about."

She took the padd. On it was a picture of Malcolm and Trip, standing on either side of Travis. All three were in climbing gear, filthy and smiling up at her from the top of a mountain.

"Travis told us after that time we rescued those Denobulan scientists we needed to learn more about climbing so he wouldn't end up with another broken leg."

She grinned, tapping the padd with her thumb. "Didn't he end up with a sprained wrist from this adventure?"

Trip chuckled. "I swear, if there was a way to get hurt lying still, Travis could find it."

She handed the padd back, her smile fading as Trip glanced over the padds. "All I got is photographs. I'm not sure that'll help him much, in his condition. It's not like he can remember any of this."

She paused. What Trip said was true, but she also hoped it wasn't completely true. "He recognized us, Trip. You said so yourself." He didn't look convinced. "I don't think it can hurt."

"Yeah, well, there's that." He looked over at her. "What about you? Do you have anything he might recognize?"

She looked down at her lap. There was a piece of bright blue material, which she unfolded. It was a Starfleet issue t-shirt.

Trip's eyebrows went up. Hoshi felt her cheeks get a little pink. "He loaned this to me. I never got around to giving it back to him. It was kind of a running joke."

Trip coughed a little. "And why, exactly, did you need one of Malcolm's shirts?"

She smirked. "That's for me to know, Commander."

His eyes got even wider, but she just shook her head. That story was between her and Malcolm and she was pleased Malcolm had obviously never mentioned it to Trip.

"Right. OK." He gave up trying to figure out possible shirt-loaning scenarios. "Well, Travis has that old model of a World War II fighter plane Malcolm got him for his birthday that year. Maybe that'll do the trick." Trip paused, rubbing his palms on his thighs nervously. His voice wavered a little. "God, Hoshi. How can there be so little of him left here?"

Her eyes started to fill. "He was dead. We thought he was dead." That's what you do, she thought to herself. When someone dies, you try to put them away, so it won't hurt so much.

"But he wasn't. He was out there…" Trip shook his head, and she could see his eyes were wet as well. "Christ. We weren't even looking for him."

She moved, sitting down on the bed next to him heavily. "I know."

"We failed him. We should of known. We should've made sure..."

I was there, she thought. She remembered the vivid fireball of the weapon's explosion. She remembered, with vicious clarity, the panicked desire to rewind those last few seconds until they managed to save Malcolm, and the horrible pain of realizing he was gone. "There was no way. There was nothing left."

Trip's shoulders slumped. "I know. I just feel like we let him down. He was held prisoner for all those months… what if he was waiting for us to find him? And all that time we never came?"

She winced, putting an arm on his shoulders as Trip tried to get himself under control. The same thought had occurred to her the night before, watching Malcolm sleeping. It was why she had stayed there all night, until her back and feet were aching from standing in one spot, even though she had been on duty all day today.

It was her penance.

Trip reached over and touched the blue shirt still in her lap. "We got him back, though. Right?"

She heard the need in his voice, and knew he was feeling the same thing. Her hand folded over his. "Yes. We will."

***

Part 5

After careful consideration, Phlox decided Malcolm should be conscious for his trip back to Enterprise. He debated keeping the Lieutenant sedated for the journey but concluded that it would be easier on the man if he could see where he was being taken. The shock of waking up in a new place could have caused even further trauma to his already-damaged psyche.

Unfortunately, being conscious had a drawback. Malcolm was awake, lying on the gurney in the shuttlepod. Bound to the gurney, actually, was a better description. He was restrained against the bedding, arms and legs unable to move much. He stared up at Phlox, at T'Pol and Captain Archer, who were on the shuttle pod with them, his eyes cold and wary.

Phlox reflected that in all his years, he'd rarely run into a situation so full of equally bad options.

They docked with Enterprise and the doctor was relieved that only Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Giordano were waiting for them. The Captain and T'Pol held back as the medics lifted the patient from the shuttlepod, then the two of them left with Tucker. Archer gave the Lieutenant one last look before he left.

Phlox watched Giordano. This was the first time she had seen her former commanding officer since his resurrection. He noted that her face went rather pale as she stared at Lieutenant Reed. There was a small pause. Phlox waited, hoping Giordano had received the instructions from Archer to treat Reed as if he was able to understand them all and just couldn't reply. He hoped that a sense of normalcy might help jog Reed's memory. The silence was becoming noticeable, and Phlox was about to speak up when Giordano seemed to come back to herself.

"It's good to see you again, Lieutenant." She nodded towards the medics and lead the way out of the shuttle bay.

Phlox followed, relieved. The corridors were empty. T'Pol had arranged the duty schedule to ensure no one would have a legitimate reason to be near the shuttle bay. Captain Archer had also threatened anyone who was caught "gawking" at the recovered Lieutenant with a court martial. They made their way to Sickbay, passing only a few people. Most of the crew froze for a moment, looking at the little group, but any instinct to stare was cut off by a deathly look from Giordano.

They reached Sickbay without incident.

The two medics automatically placed Reed on a biobed – his "usual" biobed. Lieutenant Mayweather had joked that he was going to have an engraved plaque placed on the end with Reed's name on it. The medics moved the patient onto the bed and then departed.

The container with the personal effects Lieutenant Sato had scrounged up was sitting on the shelf, but he thought that perhaps should wait until Reed became acclimated, or re-acclimated, as the case might be. Phlox fussed with the hyposprays for a minute and then noticed Giordano had placed herself next to the door.

"Lieutenant, I appreciate the escort but there's no need for you to remain."

The young woman shook her head. "Sorry, doctor. He did nearly blow up an entire room full of people. The Admiral wanted him kept under guard at all times."

Phlox made a tiny sound of annoyance, well out of her hearing range. "Very well. But you are not to interfere with my Sickbay, Lieutenant."

He walked over to Lieutenant Reed. The human's eyes were searching the room, and he had a puzzled look on his face. Hopefully it was a sign that he was recognizing his surroundings. Well, the Lieutenant had spent enough time here in the past three years. If any part of the ship was going to feel familiar…

Reed caught sight of Phlox and his eyes widened, going from curiosity to fear in a heartbeat. Too late Phlox realized he was carrying the hyposprays in his hand. Reed began to struggle against his restraints and Phlox stopped.

It wasn't just fear he saw in his patient's eyes. It was abject terror.

Phlox came to a decision. He put the hyposprays down. "Take it easy, Lieutenant. I'm not going to hurt you." He approached, hands held up and clearly visible, and then reached for the restraint on Reed's left leg. Reed watched, body still trembling slightly.

"Doctor?" Giordano queried. In his peripheral vision, Phlox could see her reaching for the phase pistol at her side.

"I will not keep a patient chained to his bed unless it is absolutely necessary. Your job is to keep him from leaving Sickbay, is that understood?"

He resumed unbuckling the leg restraints, half expecting the man to kick out at him as soon as he was free. He glanced up. The fear was still there, although it was now tinged with uncertainty. He removed the wrist restraints and stepped back.

Reed lay still for a moment, as if unsure what to do. Slowly he slithered off the bed, putting it between himself and the doctor. He watched the Denobulan and the woman carefully, feeling his way until his back was against the wall. He started to sidle farther away.

The movement brought him into close proximity to the bat cage. Sensing the presence, Phlox's bat let out a high pitched squeal, rustling around nervously.

Reed jumped, an inarticulate yelp coming from him. He stared at the cage blankly.

Phlox held his breath.

Reed reached out towards the cage and then jerked his hand back as soon as the leaves began to rustle. But he didn't jump, or try to move away. Instead, looking warily over towards Phlox, he settled himself on the floor, near the cage.

Phlox straightened up. "That might be an idea," he muttered to himself.

***

Jon was sitting on the Bridge, attempting to concentrate on a report in his hand and not think about how things were going in Sickbay. He still had no plan to keep Malcolm on the ship, and every hour was bringing them closer to Earth. T'Pol was not at her station. She had made some cryptic mention of finding some possible way, but he still hadn't heard from her.

There was a noise and Hoshi tapped some commands into her station. "Sir? There's an incoming transmission for you. From Earth."

Hoshi looked at him, a troubled frown on her face, and he knew who it had to be. Forcing himself to remain calm, he nodded. "I'll take it in my Ready Room."

Every step from the Bridge to his desk felt like a marathon. Finally he sat down and turned on the console. Two anxious faces were staring at him.

Stuart Reed blew right past any niceties of polite greeting. "Captain, is it true? They're telling us that Malcolm isn't dead. You told me you saw the explosion that killed him. How is it you people can't tell when someone is dead or alive?"

Mary placed a hand on her husband's arm. "Stuart."

"Mr. and Mrs. Reed, we did find Malcolm. He was beamed to the surface of Vulcan during the treaty signing by a rogue group of Xindi." It occurred to Jon that he had no idea how much information Starfleet had deemed acceptable for the Reeds to know. He decided he didn't care. "We believe Malcolm has been held prisoner by these same Xindi since the attempted attack on Earth."

Stuart Reed's red face began to pale. Mary pulled out a tissue and wiped her eyes. "So, he's alive?" she asked.

"Yes," Jon clenched his hands into fists, out of their sight. "But you should know he's not in good shape. There were a lot of injuries that weren't cared for properly. Our doctor is working on fixing the damages, but they were extensive."

He had to give Malcolm's father credit. The man wasn't stupid. "What about his mental state?" Stuart asked sharply.

"He's non-communicative at this point. He can't speak, and he doesn't seem to have any idea who he is, or who we are." He drew in a deep breath. He wasn't going to lie to these people. He'd stood next to them at Malcolm's funeral, watched them scatter white flowers, in lieu of their son's ashes, onto the ocean, as Malcolm had requested in his will. They deserved to know the situation. "I don't want to make this any harder, but you need to be aware that he might not recover fully from the trauma, physically or psychologically."

Mary's fingers clenched on her husband's arm again. "Our son is a strong willed person, Captain, as I know you're aware. He managed to live through… he survived this much. He can come back to us."

I hope so, Jon thought. "We're doing everything in our power to help him. Starfleet will have every medical expert available to us when we get home. I'll make sure someone keeps you informed of when you can see him."

"You tell him, Captain," Stuart said abruptly. "That I expect him to be as stubborn in this as he was with everything else in his life."

Jon looked at the older man for a long moment, recognizing the emotion underlying the message. He thought again that he had been somewhat uncharitable in thinking Stuart Reed was unfeeling towards his only son.

Malcolm was a lot more like his father than he probably would want to know.

He could only nod before the transmission ended. Jon sighed and sat back in his chair. Stuart was right. Malcolm would have to be the most stubborn, obstinate and determined man in the universe to come back from this.

Which meant he had a pretty fair shot at it.

***

During his lunch break, Travis walked towards Sickbay. He nodded to the Security guard standing outside the door and went in. Phlox looked up and smiled. "Ah, Lieutenant. Thank you for bringing him."

"No problem." Travis set Porthos down on the floor. "Do you really think this will help?"

"We'll see." Porthos trotted over to Phlox and wagged his tail. "Hello, my little friend. Did you see who's here?"

Porthos glanced around the room and his tail went up higher. He started to run across the floor towards the corner Malcolm was in. The dog skidded to a halt when Malcolm backed away, staring at him fearfully.

Travis could see that Malcolm had a blanket and a pillow. Obviously he had staked out the space for himself and Phlox wasn't fighting it.

Porthos started forward again, more hesitantly. His head was ducked and his tail lowered. Malcolm watched, head tilted slightly to one side, frowning. The little dog came closer and brushed a paw against Malcolm's leg. The lowered tail gave a tentative wag.

Malcolm didn't move. Travis wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not.

Emboldened, Porthos walked the rest of the way until he could nose Malcolm's hand. A tiny pink tongue licked the skin and Malcolm jerked his hand back in surprise. Porthos shied away.

The man and the dog regarded each other for a minute.

Malcolm reached his hand out uncertainly. Porthos eased forward until Malcolm could pat him on the head.

Travis heard Phlox actually chuckle to himself. "Excellent," the doctor muttered under his breath.

***

Part 6

"You want to what?" Jon stared at T'Pol incredulously.

"Having spoken to Dr. Yuris, I believe I can perform a mind meld with Lieutenant Reed," she repeated with a tinge of annoyance.

It was late in the day, with only a couple days left before they reached Earth. T'Pol had informed him 20 minutes ago that she thought she had a possible solution. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it wasn't this. Jon walked to the other side of the ready room and back as Phlox chimed in, "I thought only Vulcans who possessed the specific gene were capable of initiating a mind meld?"

T'Pol inclined her head. "In the time since we last spoke, Yuris has done a great deal of research. He believes that the information regarding the genetic marker was…" she paused just fractionally. "Promulgated by the High Command and the Science Directorate without being fully investigated. Yuris believes that all Vulcans are capable of initiating a meld, however, Vulcans who possess the gene are more proficient at it than those who do not."

"You don't," Jon said abruptly, his head still spinning.

"No. But Yuris has given me explicit instructions for the procedure."

Jon frowned. "What about the disease? Can P'Nar syndrome be passed from a Vulcan to a human?"

"I see no reason why the syndrome would be contagious," Phlox answered.

"Vulcan neurology is far more complex than human," T'Pol observed, at Jon. "Humans are less susceptible to this kind of disorder."

Jon glared at her. As usual, it had little effect.

"This would be a remarkable event to witness, speaking solely as a physician." Phlox was beginning to get enthused about the idea. "A therapeutic application of direct psychic contact! An opportunity to experience the thoughts and feelings of another person! If it works," he added.

"Indeed," T'Pol said, dryly.

Both of them turned to Archer.

Jon stared out at the stars for a moment, his mind churning slowly. Something about this did not sit right with him. Even given the desperation they were facing, with time ticking away as they got closer to home, he couldn't help but wonder if they were about to skid past the line of acceptable behavior. He turned to T'Pol and spoke slowly. "You realize you're proposing to do to Malcolm the same thing that was done to you. Violate his privacy, his mind, against his will."

Both Phlox and T'Pol were visibly startled. Jon would've been amused under different circumstances.

"The situations are hardly comparable," T'Pol began.

"No, this is even worse," he cut her off. "You were conscious. Malcolm isn't capable of giving any kind of consent or even voicing his objections right now. But you want to invade his mind and see what's going on in there?"

"The difference is one of intention, Captain," T'Pol said, a spark of anger on her face.

Jon made himself calm down. "I know that you only want to help, T'Pol. But I'm not exactly comfortable with the idea of you poking around inside Malcolm's head." Jon wasn't comfortable with the idea of anyone poking around inside anyone's head to be honest. What Malcolm was facing at the hands of the Starfleet doctors was bad enough. The last thing he needed was someone else – an alien to be precise – rooting around in there and uncovering God only knew what details about Malcolm's life.

Phlox intervened. "I agree with T'Pol, Captain. A trauma patient does not ask the physician to surgically invade his body, but it is done to save a life, not harm it. I wouldn't consider surgically examining a patient a violation. Before the development of imaging scanners, I understand Earth doctors would perform 'exploratory surgery' in order to determine if there was internal damage they couldn't see."

Jon tried to phrase his words correctly, "I understand, but what a physician finds in an internal scan of a person's organs isn't likely to get put on a personnel file."

T'Pol gave him a serious look. "Captain?"

"I'm not saying there is anything inside Malcolm's head that would be enough to get him removed from duty, but I think all of us would be in some deep trouble if the inner contents of our minds were exposed for other people's judgments." He sat down at his desk, any number of moments from the past two years flowing through his memory.

"I can assure you that any information about the Lieutenant I may recover that would not be relevant to his recovery or to his interrogation by his captors will never be disclosed."

"It's not your discretion I'm worried about, T'Pol. What if Starfleet finds out about this and orders you to tell them everything you found?"

T'Pol's eyebrows went up. "As I am not a member of Starfleet, I fail to see how they could compel me to give such information. And since I resigned my commission with the High Command, they could hardly bring the Vulcan authorities to bear on a private citizen."

Jon could only have described her expression as a "who me?" face. It almost made him smile to see it, particularly since if he'd had his way, she would be a member of Starfleet by now and subject to court martial.

The universe had a weird sense of humor.

"No, I guess not. But they could order you removed from Enterprise," he pointed out.

She looked back at him calmly. "I would say that is an acceptable risk."

"Captain, if I record this experiment as a medical procedure, doctor-patient confidentiality might apply to anything T'Pol might unearth within the Lieutenant's mind," Phlox pointed out. "That might be enough to protect T'Pol from being removed against your wishes."

Jon rubbed his neck. His head was throbbing. Unfortunately, they only had a few days before they reached Earth and he had no other ideas. This was the only option they had. "I want every precaution taken," he said, unnecessarily, but it made him feel better putting the words out there. "Malcolm's already in bad enough shape. I won't risk him getting hurt any worse."

The eyebrow went up. "Even in order to keep him on Enterprise?"

He swallowed his own pride. "I want him healthy, T'Pol. I'm not about to authorize any plan that would cause harm to Lieutenant Reed, or to my science officer, for that matter."

Her eyes turned away from his. Jon nodded at Phlox. "How soon do you think you can be ready to do this?"

***

He gaped at the Captain in shock. Trip couldn't quite believe what he had just heard. "So, T'Pol is going to read Malcolm's mind?"

"Something like that. Supposedly when done correctly the two minds share information evenly, but Phlox thinks with Malcolm's mental state that won't happen here. T'Pol is spending the evening meditating and preparing so she can do it first thing in the morning."

Trip stared at the plate on the table, his already diminished appetite now totally gone. He started to shake his head as the anger began to build and build. Finally he snapped. "This is insane, and you know it."

"Trip," Jon said tiredly.

"Oh no, don't give me that 'we don't have any other options' speech, Captain." Trip got up. "You're talking about letting T'Pol bust her way into Malcolm's head and see what's going on. Malcolm. Of all people." Trip took a breath, trying to rein in his emotions. "Captain, you know how closed off he is. Can you honestly tell me you don't feel at all guilty about exposing him like this?"

He saw a flash of something cross Archer's face and knew the other man had been thinking the same thing. "Trip, if Malcolm were anywhere near to being in his right mind, I'd agree with you. But he's not. He can hardly give consent to anything right now. And chances are he won't be able to remember it later if…" he coughed. "When he gets better."

Trip scowled. Beyond his concern for Malcolm and his privacy, something about this infuriated him, and he wasn't entirely sure what.

"Look, Trip, I know you and T'Pol have had plenty of issues in the past," Jon looked at him understandingly. Trip bit down on his tongue, not wanting to burst out laughing. "But do you really think that she would betray any kind of embarrassing information about Malcolm? If anyone on board the ship can be discreet, it'd be her."

He sighed, looked at his plate and then got up from the table. "Maybe you're right. But if he does remember this later, you're going to back me up that I tried to stop it."

***

Hoshi stopped in front of T'Pol's quarters, curiosity warring with nervousness. She was certain the unusual request from the Vulcan woman had something to do with Malcolm, but Hoshi couldn't begin to fathom what.

T'Pol stood gracefully when Hoshi entered. Her meditation candles were all lit and she had obviously been sitting on the floor. "If you need me to come back later…" Hoshi said awkwardly.

"No, Lieutenant, please come in." They stood there looking at each other for a moment. Hoshi wondered, not for the first time, why as the only women in Enterprise's command crew, the two of them were not better friends.

T'Pol gestured to the bed behind Hoshi. "Please sit down." When they had both arranged themselves, Hoshi waited. T'Pol looked – for a Vulcan at least – nervous. "I have a favor to ask of you, Lieutenant."

Surprised, Hoshi decided to cut to the chase. "Does this have something to do with Malcolm?"

T'Pol nodded. "It does. Have you heard of a Vulcan mind meld?"

"I think I read something about them in the Vulcan database. It's some sort of telepathic connection, isn't it?"

"Yes. Vulcans have the ability to communicate directly from one mind to another."

Something – in T'Pol's voice or face – made Hoshi frown. "There's something about it, though, isn't there? You don't do this anymore?"

T'Pol shifted. "You are correct. The practice has been... frowned upon for some time. However, in our current situation, Dr. Phlox and the Captain have agreed this may be the only way to reach Lieutenant Reed."

"Oh." Hoshi thought a moment. "Have you done this before?"

Now T'Pol looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I have participated in a meld before, although I have never initiated one."

Hoshi got it. "And you want to practice on me before you try it with Malcolm."

T'Pol nodded. "Other than myself, you are the only member of the crew who has experienced a direct telepathic connection with another being."

The mention of Tarquin made her flinch. She hated herself for it, but the reaction was involuntary, even after all these months.

The other woman's face became solemn. "I am sorry. It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable."

Hoshi shook her head. "No, you're right. No one else has gone through anything quite like that." She made herself breathe slowly. The experience with Tarquin had haunted her for weeks. It was bad enough to be essentially prostituted out to an alien, even if the fate of the world was hanging in the balance. But worse was knowing how close she had come to never escaping. The world he had fabricated, and nearly tricked her into believing, had felt very real, and it took a great deal of time for her to be certain that she wasn't just living on in some fantasy Tarquin had created to pacify her.

Malcolm had opposed her going to see Tarquin. Vehemently. And he'd had several choice profanities that expressed his opinion on Tarquin and what Malcolm would do if the alien telepath was ever unfortunate enough to cross his path. Hoshi remembered at the time she found Malcolm's wrath simultaneously amusing and comforting.

"Doing this will help you with Malcolm?"

"I hope so."

She met T'Pol's eyes evenly. "What do I do?"

***

Phlox watched as T'Pol settled herself on the floor near Lieutenant Reed. His patient had relaxed a tiny bit over the past day. He even played with Porthos a little. However, he was still skittish when another person approached too closely, and right now he was rigid, not moving away from T'Pol but obviously anticipating something bad.

He checked to make sure the biosensors T'Pol was wearing were reading properly. If nothing else, this would be an interesting event to witness from a medical perspective.

They were ready to start when the doors opened and Commander Tucker came in.

"Commander, did you need something?"

Tucker's face was grim and set. "Nope, just here to keep an eye on things."

Phlox glanced at T'Pol, who was glaring in Trip's direction. Lieutenant Reed was looking at Tucker with some confusion while still watching T'Pol warily.

"Commander, I think your presence would only be disruptive to this, er, undertaking-" Phlox began.

Tucker folded his arms over his chest, looking as immoveable as a bulkhead. "This undertaking involves rooting around in my friend's mind without his okay. I'm going to be here for it whether you like it or not."

He looked at T'Pol for a moment and astute observer of people though he was, Phlox could not read everything that passed between them. Phlox sighed.

"You realize I could order security to remove you?" he asked.

Tucker glanced casually at the Sickbay doors, outside of which the guard was still posted. "Yeah, they could try."

T'Pol looked at Phlox, eyebrow raised in the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug, and turned back to Reed. She drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then reached over and carefully touched her fingers to Reed's face.

The Lieutenant was clearly apprehensive but it was anxiety tinged with curiosity. He allowed the contact, and his eyes fluttered closed a moment later.

T'Pol closed her eyes, murmuring to herself.

Phlox looked at the biometric readouts. "It's started."

***

fear cold floor hard ugly smells

small face brown eyes pointed

brown eyes body soft warm

fire hurts

fear fight pain fight kill fury holding

fire pain

laughing girl face blonde hair rain smell

chair uncomfortable back straight china dish

fire pain burning flesh

fear no fight pain no fail no

failure sadness loss water waves salt

stinging eyes burning pain

dying

singing girl blonde hair lightness

singing room faces smell stale drink heat sweat

many faces flesh warm

fire dying pain loss fight kill fight

***

Phlox watched as T'Pol's hand lifted from Reed's face. He stood next to Tucker and watched as Reed and T'Pol both fell over with almost graceful slowness, unconscious.

***

Forrest burst into the Ready Room without bothering to knock. Jon stood up, almost at attention.

"You've pushed too far this time, Captain." Forrest was obviously livid. "I was just informed that you're letting T'Pol perform some crackpot mind trick on Lieutenant Reed. Some procedure that the High Command says is dangerous and illegal? Have you completely lost all of your common sense, Jon?"

Jon reigned in his own anger, fighting to keep his voice tightly controlled. "T'Pol is performing an ancient Vulcan therapy on Lieutenant Reed, under Doctor Phlox's close supervision. There's nothing dangerous about it," he said, quelling his own worries on that score.

"I know you've been determined to keep Reed on the ship, Jon, but this is an insane risk to take," Forrest softened his voice, just slightly.

"This isn't just about keeping him on Enterprise. T'Pol may be able to determine what happened to Lieutenant Reed while he was being held prisoner by the Xindi, which, correct me if I'm wrong, is exactly what Starfleet wants to know."

Forrest looked at him in disbelief. "As I understand it, she'll do that by reading his thoughts. Do you have any idea what Starfleet Command is going to make of that? Having an alien on board who can read minds?"

Jon felt his temper start to slip. "Performing a mind meld requires touch contact. It's not like she can control the entire ship with her thoughts. And if you think for one second that T'Pol would ever invade the mind of anyone on this ship for anything less than a dire emergency-"

The older man held up a placating hand. "That's not what I'm suggesting, and you know that. But even you have to admit, there's a security risk involved here."

"I don't see it that way," Jon subsided a little. "And I don't think you do either. The Vulcans have been our closest allies for decades. If they were going to use this mind meld thing for some kind of purpose, we'd have known about it long ago."

"It's not me you have to worry about convincing right now, Captain. In any case, Starfleet Command is going to want to know everything she sees in Lieutenant Reed's head."

Jon shrugged. "They can ask her, but she won't tell them anything."

Forrest looked stunned. "She won't have a choice!"

"What are they going to do? Court-martial her?" Jon couldn't quite keep the smirk off his face. "T'Pol isn't in Starfleet, Admiral, remember? Starfleet Command can't make her do anything." Forrest seemed at a loss for what to say. Jon kept on, "And as you yourself said, T'Pol is here at my discretion. That means she stays on my ship and if she decides not to answer questions about a confidential medical procedure, I'll back her up on that."

He leaned back, waiting. Forrest sighed. "I hope you know what you're doing, Jon."

Privately, Jon had to agree with him.

***

T'Pol looked up as Captain Archer walked into Sickbay, his face plainly worried. She folded her hands underneath the blanket Phlox had provided, in order to be certain the shaking in her limbs would not be easily visible. Her emotional control was severely weakened by the meld, and would not be restored until she had slept longer, as well as meditated for several hours.

Phlox had called Archer as soon as she awoke, slightly surprised to find herself lying on a biobed. The first thing her eyes had focused on was Commander Tucker, who was standing on the other side of the room with his back to her, anxiously looking at Lieutenant Reed.

Reed was still unconscious. She had no way of knowing if that was a positive or negative outcome to the meld.

Archer stopped near the foot of the bed, Tucker drawing up close to the Captain, his face grim. "How are they?" Archer asked Phlox, who was hovering next to T'Pol.

"Lieutenant Reed appears to be asleep. I think it would be best not to wake him. He's had little sleep of late as it is. T'Pol's neurotransmitters are slightly off from their normal levels but otherwise, she's fine."

Some of the anxiety in Archer's body language eased. He looked at her. "Did you learn anything?"

She nodded. "I believe the Lieutenant's mind is intact," she stated. All three of the men around her visibly relaxed at the news. "But his conscious mind has not been able to reassert itself over the-" she paused, her lips trembling slightly with memories. "The trauma of his near-death and subsequent imprisonment."

"How do you know?"

She tightened her folded hands until her muscles hurt, as everything she'd seen in Reed's mind washed over her again. "I saw flashes of memories that I am certain pre-dated the mission in the Expanse."

Archer looked at her calculatingly. "Such as?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I will not answer that."

He understood that she recognized the test and gave an almost involuntary nod.

She continued, "The Lieutenant's memories as I experienced them were in no apparent order. His mind was rather... chaotic." Chaotic was an understatement. Reed's mind was a maelstrom of information that had nearly swallowed her own thoughts whole. The meld with Sato had in no way prepared her for it. Sato's mind was full of images and sensations, as was Reed's. T'Pol had been surprised to find there were sounds that her Vulcan hearing did not detect but Sato's ears picked up. The multitude of things which had gone through Sato's mind would have made no sense looked at objectively, but T'Pol was able to sense the thought process which connected it all smoothly.

There was no order in Reed's mind, or logic. Except for one thing.

"I would say that's to be expected, given his condition," Phlox observed.

T'Pol concurred. "I am not trained in human psychology but I am left with the impression that the Lieutenant's injuries and his capture have melded together into an obstacle which his mind is attempting to overcome."

"How do you figure that?" Tucker asked, momentarily losing his disapproving scowl in curiosity.

"His thoughts kept returning to the explosion on the weapon." T'Pol was unable to suppress her muscles reacting to the memory of dying; even though the memory was not hers, physically she now knew what it felt like to be burning alive. It was knowledge she never would have wished to live with. "Yet every time his mind arrives at such a point, he seems to pull away from it again." She thought of an eddy in a river current, caught by a heavy stone the water could not get around, swirling in endless circles and always darting away from the block in its path.

"Like he's looking for a way around it?" Archer asked her.

She recognized the hope in his face. She felt it also. "I believe so. Given enough time, perhaps Lieutenant Reed would be able to find his own way."

Phlox was nodding. "As I suspected, the Lieutenant's conscious mind has closed itself off to protect him from what was happening. With proper therapy he may be able to overcome the break and reconnect to his memory and be himself again, though he will require extensive help to address what happened to him."

Tucker looked at Archer. "You don't think Starfleet's going to give him that kind of time, do you?"

Archer looked to Tucker and then back to T'Pol. "I don't know. I'm not sure what they can do to treat this kind of mental break down. But I do know they want to learn everything they can about his captivity as quickly as possible."

Phlox grew upset. "The worst course of action at this point would be attempting to force his mind to confront something he is obviously not ready to face. There could be permanent psychological damage."

Archer sighed. "I know. But when we reach Earth tomorrow, Malcolm will officially be reassigned to Starfleet Medical. There's nothing we can do about that."

Tucker and Archer both glanced over at the sleeping figure across Sickbay. Tucker turned back to T'Pol. "You said Malcolm's still in there, right?"

She thought of pointing out that what she had said was that the elements of the Lieutenant's mind were still present, but she felt great fatigue creeping over her again. She merely answered, "Yes."

Tucker's jaw set. "Then we have to believe in him. That he's in there, and he'll find his way back, no matter what."

Phlox noticed that she was close to falling asleep again and suggested that he and Archer speak for a moment. Before she could lose herself again, T'Pol called out softly, "Trip."

She so rarely used his nickname. He always looked surprised. He stepped closer to the bed. "Do you need anything?"

"I need to speak to you," she said, before she could allow herself to delay it any longer. "But not now. Tomorrow, when we reach Earth." Seeing the hesitation in his face, she added, "Please."

He nodded, and she fell asleep again.

***

Part 7

The small groan was what alerted Phlox that his patient was awake. He crossed Sickbay to Lieutenant Reed's bedside and sure enough the man's blue eyes were blinking confusedly up at the ceiling.

"Good morning, Lieutenant. Or should I say good evening. You've been asleep for about six hours."

Reed looked at Phlox warily and sat up, but for the first time he didn't immediately leap away from the close proximity of another person. The noise he had made upon waking had also been the first sound the Lieutenant emitted that wasn't startled out of him.

Phlox looked over at the biosensor information, but there was no significant change from the morning. Phlox shook his head. Medically, there was nothing left to do.

"I wish I had been able to help you more, Lieutenant. I know Sickbay was hardly your favorite place to be. It's unfortunate that you've been confined here for your brief return to the ship." It occurred to Phlox that Reed probably would never come back to Enterprise again, but he didn't want to dwell on the thought.

He walked to the end of the biobed. "I always found it rather ironic that someone with your dislike of being in my care should be hurt so often. Those first few times you were in Sickbay, I was very nearly affronted by your attitude."

Reed was watching him, with the same blank curiosity he had displayed over the past few days since he became convinced there was no imminent danger. Phlox wished he could believe there was a difference now, after the mind-meld. That the Lieutenant seemed calmer could very well be the result of finally having slept.

"Over time, I began to realize that your antipathy towards Sickbay wasn't directed at me, so much as at yourself. I have never seen a patient who took each injury so like a failure." He glanced away from the steady, empty gaze for a moment to collect himself. "Still, I'm certain the doctors at Starfleet Medical will do everything in their power to help you."

He stopped. He'd witnessed first-hand the lengths to which humans could go for the sake of the security of their planet. He didn't blame them for their motivations, but there were times when their tactics disturbed him. Phlox wanted to believe the doctors on Earth would promote Lieutenant Reed's welfare as much as possible, but it might not be up to the doctors.

He knew that first-hand as well.

Reed settled himself onto the floor in his customary corner. Phlox straightened up. "Well, you're still under my care for a few more hours. Perhaps I can make you a little more comfortable."

***

Travis decided it was just as well he'd never worked as a waiter. Carrying the tray from the Mess hall to Sickbay had been a lot harder than it looked.

He entered the room and spotted Malcolm, hunkered down on the floor as usual. Phlox nodded to him, "Lieutenant, did you bring it?"

Travis shifted slightly, still worried about spilling the contents of the covered bowl on the tray. "Yes, although it got a little slopped around."

"That's quite alright. I doubt Lieutenant Reed will mind," Phlox smiled, although it was noticeably dimmer than his normal grin. "You may give it to him yourself, if you like."

Captain Archer had informed them that Malcolm's transfer to Starfleet Medical was going to happen. The Captain couldn't prevent it. He had advised them all to use the next few hours to say goodbye to the Lieutenant. There was no way of knowing what would happen, but it seemed unlikely right now that Malcolm would ever return to active duty, much less to Enterprise, given his mental state.

They hadn't gotten a chance to say goodbye before. Travis was determined not to let the chance slip this time.

Travis shot Phlox a look. "Thanks. Could you... give me a minute?"

"Of course. I'll be in my office if you need anything."

Travis moved across the room and carefully put the tray down on the floor. Malcolm had been leaning against the wall when he came in, but now, he leaned forward and Travis suspected he could smell what was on the tray.

"Hi Lieu... Malcolm. I brought you some soup. Dr. Phlox said you could try eating some solid food now." He uncovered the bowl and the steam from the hot broth rose into the air.

Malcolm actually scooted up a bit. He looked from the tray to Travis, and for a second Travis thought he saw a flash of the old Malcolm. It was the same look he got – used to get ¬– when he was calculating trajectories.

Travis pushed the tray closer and then leaned back on his heels.

Slowly, Malcolm reached out and drew the tray across the floor, carefully watching Travis for any sign of reprisal. Travis kept still, hands plainly in sight. Malcolm reached out a finger and touched the soup, pulling away quickly at the heat. But then he tugged the tray even closer and picked up the bowl. His left hand was yellow and pink, covered with scar tissue from the burns, and his fingers were clumsy.

Travis remained where he was on the floor. Apparently in his current state of mind, Malcolm didn't remember the concept of utensils. He drank from the bowl noisily, and some of the soup splashed down the front of his shirt.

Travis winced, unable to watch. As bad as it had been to see Malcolm like this for the past few days, like a caged animal, somehow the sight of his friend eating like one was worse than everything else. He remembered seeing Malcolm read and eat at the same time without spilling one bite of his food. Travis and Hoshi used to tease Malcolm about starching his uniforms. The Lieutenant always looked immaculate, at least when the ship wasn't in the middle of a life-or-death crisis.

Now there were soup stains across the white infirmary shirt Malcolm was wearing, and broth dripping down his chin.

Damn it, he didn't want this to be the last image he had of Malcolm, filthy and frightened and cowering in a corner.

"Take care of yourself, Malcolm," he said sadly, wishing he hadn't agreed to do this for Phlox, wishing he hadn't come to Sickbay at all, so he wouldn't have this memory burned into his head when they took Malcolm off the ship tomorrow.

He wouldn't. He wasn't going to accept that this was the last thing he'd see of his friend, or even that it was the last time he'd see Malcolm at all.

"You'll be okay, Malcolm." Blue eyes looked at him, not recognizing Travis or the words he spoke. But he was speaking more for himself than for Malcolm's sake. "You're going to get through this and we'll see each other again."

***

It was a bit before midnight when Jon's late night walk with Porthos led him, inevitably, to the doors of Sickbay. He stopped for a moment, just looking at the doors. A lot of bad things had happened through those doors. He'd lost a lot of people in there.

And he was about to lose another one. For the second time. Helplessness curled up within him like a coiled spring.

There was nothing to be done. Malcolm had to be left on Earth. There was no even remotely plausible reason to keep him on the ship. All he could do was hope the Lieutenant was strong enough to survive whatever would come next.

Porthos pawed at the door and whined, clearly wanting in.

Jon opened the doors and Porthos made a happy beeline right for Malcolm.

Jon wasn't the only visitor. Lieutenant Giordano was sitting on the floor opposite her former commanding officer. Noticing the Captain's entrance she gave Porthos a pat on the head and stood up. Jon was surprised to see tears on her face. The young woman was not someone he usually thought of as emotional.

Then again, he could hardly blame her.

Giordano nodded to him and left without a word. Porthos was preening as Malcolm petted him with his right hand. Jon had heard from Phlox that Malcolm had bonded with the little dog, but he hadn't been able to see for himself until now.

Jon glanced around but Phlox wasn't visible. He walked over closer to Malcolm and crouched down. "I have to admit, Lieutenant, this is a little strange. You used to just tolerate Porthos only a bit better than T'Pol did."

There was a long silence. Jon fruitlessly reviewed the events of the past few months yet again. Malcolm ignored him.

"I never should've left you on that weapon," Jon muttered abruptly.

Malcolm looked up.

Jon stood and took a few steps. "I know I drove you crazy, always insisting on going on away missions. All those times you would get angry and try to convince me not to put myself in danger. I wondered how you never seemed to figure it out.

"I always felt that the Captain of this ship should never send a member of the crew into a situation he was afraid to go into himself." He turned and glanced at Malcolm. "I couldn't lead you all if I wasn't willing to take any necessary risk in your place. That's why I always refused to listen to you. That's why it should've been me on the weapon."

He felt a little sick in his soul. Some tiny part of him was relieved it hadn't been him. Looking at what Malcolm had suffered, it was hard not to feel that way. But he knew, if he had the choice again... "If I had known this was what would happen, I would've made you go. No matter what kind of a fight you put up."

Jon remembered Malcolm's final plea to him on the Xindi weapon, "On the other ship... you know what happened to me there." After they had encountered the other Enterprise, the ship from the past, Malcolm had been quiet and more withdrawn than usual, even for him. It wasn't until Trip dug into the other ship's records that they learned why.

In that alternate timeline, Malcolm had died in an accident. A completely random, empty death, at far too young an age. For Malcolm Reed, who was the probably the only person on the ship more willing to lay his life down for his crew than Archer himself, to know that uselessness had been his fate, it had to have haunted him.

So on the weapon, Malcolm had pleaded, and Jon had let him defy that fate.

The thought didn't bring him much comfort right now.

"I never told you this, Malcolm, but I always thought you'd make a good ship's captain some day." He went back to crouching near the floor, across from the Lieutenant. "I know you didn't really expect that for yourself. You needed more experience, and maybe to loosen up a little," he smiled just a bit. Malcolm didn't. "But I always knew that your devotion to protecting this ship and its crew was unquestionable. That's a good thing for a captain to have."

The insight came to him suddenly, stunning him with his own blindness. "I think maybe our confrontations were born from the same motive. We both wanted to protect our people. You just included me in that group, and I didn't." Maybe it wasn't Malcolm who hadn't figured things out, but him.

Porthos had settled down practically in Malcolm's lap, and the Lieutenant was petting the dog carefully.

"I'm sorry, Malcolm." He was irked that his voice was choking. "I didn't protect you then and I'm failing you again now. I couldn't find a way to keep you here, where you belong."

He got up, clearing his throat. "I'm sorry," he repeated softly. "Porthos, stay," he said, before turning towards the doors to go.

It was the least he could do.

***

Commander Tucker arrived at her door early in the morning, as she had asked. He looked uncomfortable as he sat down across from her, brushing aside her thanks brusquely.

His thoughts were clearly elsewhere. She understood.

"There is something I feel you should know about my behavior during our mission in the Expanse."

He looked at her warily and T'Pol folded her hands in her lap. She was determined to do what she felt was right in this situation, no matter how awkward it was for both of them. "You know that the Captain ordered us to cease our research on the Trellium after our encounter with the Seleya, out of concern for my health." She took a deep breath, steeling herself against the embarrassment. "Shortly thereafter, I began to experiment with the Trellium on my own. I was attempting to determine if it was possible for me to build up a tolerance to it. I hoped that if I could do this, it would enable us to use the Trellium to shield the ship. I began injecting myself with small doses, but I was unable to handle the effects of the material."

There was a long moment of shocked silence. She allowed him a chance to gather himself. "So you were..."

"I became addicted to the Trellium. My emotional control began to degrade as the condition worsened. Dr. Phlox finally discovered my physical condition and helped me to stop the use of the Trellium." She paused for a moment herself, unable to meet his eyes. "I am sure you are aware that my behavior became increasingly irrational as our mission progressed."

"It was because of the Trellium?"

"It damaged some of my neural pathways, making it difficult for me to remain logical, even with meditation."

She watched as he digested this information. Then he got up and walked to the door, and turned back. "So, what happened between¬–"

"Yes." She cut him off, not wanting to discuss the details. She stared at her folded hands. "I felt that I owed you an explanation for my behavior, as well as an apology. It was not my intention to cause harm to anyone."

Tucker folded his arms, staring at the floor. "I'll admit, this explains some things."

She rose. "Only Dr. Phlox and the Captain are aware of this information. I would appreciate your discretion."

He nodded, then looked at her closely. "Are you going– I mean, are you okay now?"

Sadness crept into her face and she decided that it would be acceptable not to try and hide it. "The healers on Vulcan and Dr. Phlox have reversed some of the damage, but it will never heal entirely. My emotional control will never be what it once was."

A worried frown crossed his face. "You know, my offer still stands. If you need any help..."

She was grateful for the concern. It meant that her transgression would not be held against her. "I remember. Thank you."

He drew himself up, obviously putting their conversation aside. "Have you gone to see Malcolm?"

She shook her head. "I do not think that would be wise. I would not wish my presence to cause him any discomfort. After the mind meld, he may perceive me as a threat. "

"Ah," he nodded again. "Anything you want me to tell him?"

Her head tilted, just a bit. Lieutenant Reed was still not capable of understanding anything that was said to him. There would be no reason for her to send a verbal message. But then, she realized, that was not the Commander's point. "Please tell him I hope he will recover soon."

***

She hadn't meant to fall asleep last night. Hoshi had intended to go to Sickbay once her shift ended and she had showered and eaten. But the food had made her sleepy, and then she saw Travis taking a tray to Sickbay, so she went to her quarters for a while and promptly nodded off at her desk.

It wasn't surprising. She had barely slept since they had arrived at Vulcan, and the mind meld had been tiring mentally, if not physically. But she was still angry that she wasted so much time.

It was extremely early now. Malcolm was on the floor, dozing against the wall. Porthos was curled up in his lap, and the dog woke up and saw her. His tail wagged, making Malcolm open his eyes.

He looked at her, his expression bleary, and for a split second Hoshi expected him to ask her what she was doing up at this ungodly hour. But he didn't speak, of course. Instead he shifted against the wall and watched as she settled herself on the floor.

"I'm sorry I didn't come earlier," she began. "I fell asleep. Shameful behavior for an officer, I know," she said wryly. "I don't think anyone on board has slept much the past few days." That included him, she knew. The dark circles under his eyes from sitting on the floor day and night only served to emphasize the barely-healed scar tissue on his face.

She found herself examining the scars. T'Pol said that Malcolm remembered being burned, before the Xindi took him prisoner. She shivered. The only thing she could conceive of that would be worse than burning to death was remembering it.

Realizing she was staring, she met his eyes. Malcolm was watching her calmly. The franticness she'd seen in him when he'd first been found had subsided. That had to be a good sign. Didn't it? And as much as she loathed the thought, the fact that he remembered the explosion - as well as things from before - was also a good sign.

She got up and went to the box where they had put the items Malcolm would hopefully find familiar. Phlox had tried them but nothing seemed to provoke a reaction. She fished out the t-shirt and sat back down, a little closer this time.

She took a deep breath, trying to order her thoughts. "I missed you," she began. "We all did. When the weapon exploded, and we thought you were on it, for a moment I would have done anything to get that last few seconds back." To get you back, she thought but didn't add aloud. "But I don't know, Malcolm. I think the price might have been too high."

Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. It occurred to her that her last remark could be taken the wrong way. "I mean, I wanted you back but not... I would never have wanted this." Belatedly it dawned on her that Malcolm wasn't capable of taking anything in 'the wrong way' right now. But she kept speaking. "I wouldn't wish what happened to you on anyone. And I am one of the club, you know."

Her memories of the time on Degra's ship while they chased the weapon were extremely hazy. Phlox's drugs and lack of sleep combined with Archer yelling at her to translate the information and identify how to shut the weapon down all mixed together in her head. But through the fog in her mind, Malcolm was always there. He'd been the one to take care of her, administering medical treatments, bringing her food, simply reassuring her with his presence. When the latent panic from captivity rose up, she could look over and see Malcolm sitting there calmly, and she could stay in control, do what needed to be done. When she was starting to fall asleep at the table, he talked to her, keeping her awake. He teased her about joining the Captain in the "Former Xindi Prisoners" Club.

She winced at the thought. "In the club," she repeated aloud. "Like you." Her eyes went to his head, the shaved scalp that left the scars from the mind control device painfully visible on his temples.

Her scars had faded now, but it had taken a long time.

Porthos, who had fallen back to sleep, whined and pawed restlessly at Malcolm's leg without opening his eyes. Malcolm looked down at the dog and his expression changed just slightly. He almost looked concerned.

She remembered his worried face looking down at her when she woke up in Sickbay after being rescued from the Xindi. She remembered the way he looked at her, like he wanted to believe her, when she first told him about Tarquin. She remembered the flash of tenderness behind his resolute expression when he kissed her goodbye on the Xindi weapon.

"Thank you for taking care of me," she said softly. "And I don't just mean on our last mission."

She had no idea why she was telling him these things, especially now that he couldn't understand, and she didn't think starting to cry was going to help either of them. She leaned forward and held the shirt up. "I wish I had something better to give you than this. It's a pretty crappy going away present, considering that it's yours and I'm just returning it."

Malcolm reached out and touched the shirt cautiously with his uninjured hand. His fingers rested against the material, but his eyes moved up to her face.

Hoshi held her breath.

Malcolm's eyes went from hers up towards the top of her head, and then to the side. His fingers lifted from the t-shirt and reached out and gingerly brushed against her forehead. His face was furrowed, like he was concentrating very hard on something. His fingers brushed against her temple.

"Yes, Malcolm," she whispered, afraid of startling him. "I had scars on my face, like yours."

He stared at her, his face screwed up in deep thought, for a long moment.

The doors opened and Trip walked in, startling everybody. Malcolm jerked back in surprise, making Porthos wake with a start. Hoshi barely contained the expletive hovering on her lips at the interruption. What exactly had been interrupted, she didn't know.

Whatever it had been, it was gone now. Malcolm was leaning all the way against the wall, as far from her as he could get, one hand resting on Porthos' protectively. His face was again blank and unfamiliar.

Trip put a hand on her shoulder, crouching down beside her. "How are you doing?" He looked from Malcolm to her.

Hoshi's stomach rolled, a mix of frustration and one tiny spark of hope going through her. She knew that Malcolm might only have been bold enough to touch her because he felt she was no threat, and he was curious about his surroundings. That was the logical explanation. And she knew he didn't appear to understand anything they said. But she had mentioned her captivity – no, she corrected herself. She alluded to it. No one in Malcolm's state could be capable of making that connection.

But he had looked so intent, as if he was trying...

If they only had more time. But there wasn't any. In just a few hours they would reach Earth. She felt abruptly furious with the entire universe, up to and including Trip and his lousy timing.

She didn't answer Trip's question. She reached over and placed the t-shirt on Malcolm's knee. He watched her movements, but he didn't appear alarmed by her closeness.

This would be the last time she saw him for a long time. Even if he didn't understand and wouldn't remember, Hoshi felt she should say something to him. There was so much to say. She wanted to tell him she was sorry. She wanted to keep talking to him, to somehow shoo Trip out of there and rewind the universe a few seconds and try again. She wanted to explain to him what his friendship had meant to her, how big a void there was without it. She wanted to scream.

Kneeling over him, she reached down and touched his uninjured hand where it lay protectively on Porthos' back. His skin was warm and dry. He looked a little surprised, but he didn't pull away. She squeezed his hand and let go.

Wordlessly, she got up and walked out of Sickbay.

***

"This isn't goodbye. You hear me?"

Trip settled with his back against the pillar of the biobed. He stretched his legs out in front of him, folded his arms over his chest and looked at Malcolm. "Consider that a direct order, Lieutenant."

He was beat to hell. Most of the previous night, he'd been passing by Sickbay, but there was always someone with Malcolm when he went past. He only came in now because time was almost up. He hadn't slept more than a couple hours, and learning this morning that T'Pol had been strung out on some alien metal for months, while it answered some questions that had been driving him crazy for a while, was one shock more than he wanted to deal with right now. He shoved that aside and focused on the present.

"I know for a fact the Captain is more stubborn than a mule, and T'Pol is no slouch, but you could give 'em both a run for their money. You're one of the most obstinate, willful people I've ever known. You decide you're right about something, no one can talk you down." He shook his head ruefully, a few dozen memories of confrontations with the Armory officer flashing through his head. He stared right into Malcolm's eyes, which were looking back evenly. "What always drove me nuts was that you were usually right. I never would've said that aloud, of course. Your ego was big enough without my help.

"But I'm telling you now, you be stubborn. You don't let those doctors push you until you're good and damned ready. To hell with security and information and the damned Xindi-" he choked. He wanted to say "You're more important" but his throat closed up.

He had to turn away from Malcolm's placid gaze. There was no fire, no narrowing of the eyes or haughty, smirking condescension. Trip wished he could see something in there, some flicker of emotion, instead of that stillness.

More than anything, Trip wanted Malcolm to argue with him right now. He felt like he'd give everything for Malcolm to snap at him, to start lecturing about how the safety of Earth came before anything else, and sacrifices had to be made and what all else. He'd give years for one sarcastic barb aimed at himself. Some sign that Malcolm really was in there.

T'Pol's reassurances weren't enough. Trip had always been one of those people who needed to see things for themselves. He needed proof.

But trying to badger Malcolm into a fight was probably not the best way to go.

"Just this once, Malcolm," he said more quietly. "Just this one time, you put yourself first. Everything you've been through, you deserve it." Tears were welling in his eyes but he held them back. He looked at his friend, the man he thought he'd never see again. It was all on Malcolm now, he knew. They'd done what measly little they could do for him, made even worse by knowing that if the Xindi hadn't sent Malcolm to Vulcan they might never have found him at all. And now, after all that, the only person who could get him back was Malcolm himself.

"I know it's not fair, Malcolm, but you've got to do this," Trip begged, whispering now.

"Please."

***

The sound of footsteps made him stir. Trip shook himself. He must have dozed off. He was still on the floor near Malcolm, back braced against a biobed. Captain Archer and Phlox were standing beside him.

Malcolm looked at them all warily from his corner. Porthos was nowhere in sight.

It was time.

Trip got up. Phlox stepped forward. "A Starfleet medical team is waiting at the docking port. I think it would be best if we allow him to walk under his own power, Captain."

Archer nodded. His face was grim.

Phlox waved at Malcolm, who stood up gingerly. He eyed the Captain and Trip as he stepped slowly forward. The doctor urged him on and they went into the corridor.

They made a strange little procession. Giordano and Andrews flanked them, one in front and the other behind, more an honor guard than a security force now. Malcolm followed Giordano, with Phlox, Archer and Trip behind him. Malcolm was limping awkwardly. Trip guessed that was why the Lieutenant had moved around so little in Sickbay.

They made slow progress through the ship. None of the crew members they saw spoke, and most of them only gave the Lieutenant a look and then hurried on with their work.

They reached the docking port and Giordano opened it and stepped aside. Trip saw a small knot of people waiting. Malcolm stumbled a bit as he stopped abruptly. He was definitely uneasy now, looking around in confusion.

"I'll go with him, Captain, to Medical headquarters," Phlox said as they all paused. "I think he will need the reassurance of someone who is at least a little familiar."

"Good idea, Phlox. Take Giordano with you too," he nodded to the young woman, who stepped forward through the port. Archer looked at Malcolm, sad but composed. "Take care of yourself, Lieutenant."

The Captain looked at Trip. He tried to call up his usual tone of voice. "Take it easy, Malcolm. We'll see you soon." It felt like a dismal failure to him, but Malcolm watched him for a second before turning away.

Phlox moved forward, gesturing for Malcolm to precede him through the doors. Malcolm shuffled along, and Trip couldn't stand the sight any longer. He turned to start walking away.

"Trip."

He stopped and looked back over his shoulder, "Yeah?"

Then he froze in shock.

Malcolm had turned around and was looking at him again. His forehead was creased, like he was confused by what he had just said. His voice creaked from disuse, but the clipped sound of Malcolm's unmistakable accent was still there.

Trip glanced around him, afraid he had imagined it, but Archer and Phlox were both gaping at Malcolm.

"Phlox, did he...?" Archer asked as Trip closed the distance between himself and the Lieutenant.

Phlox held up a hand and they all fell quiet. Malcolm took half a step back towards Trip, until they were face to face. His eyes were narrowed and he stared at Trip as if he were thinking hard enough to burst.

Trip looked into his friend's eyes. He couldn't be sure he was really seeing it, but there seemed to be something there, something underneath the confusion and the horrible, alien emptiness that had been in his face since he beamed into the conference room on Vulcan.

"Malcolm, it's me. Trip." He placed a hand on his chest as he said his name.

Malcolm cocked his head back and to the side. Trip's breath caught at the familiar mannerism. He looked so like his old self for just a second...

It vanished as quickly as it had come. Malcolm's face went back to the empty mask he had been wearing for days, but Trip was starting to think it was just a mask. Malcolm really was in there, somewhere.

Malcolm turned away and resumed his laborious walk off the ship. Giordano fell into step beside him, and Phlox hustled after with the Starfleet medics surrounding them.

Trip felt Archer place a hand on his shoulder. The two of them watched until the group of people reached the end of the corridor.

Malcolm glanced back at them as he turned the corner. Trip felt like an idiot but he waved anyway. Then Malcolm was gone.

"Captain, do you think-"

"I don't know, Trip. I don't know."

Trip didn't know either. But he hoped. He hoped.

***

Epilogue

The door chimed and Malcolm had to smile. "You're late tonight."

Trip stepped aside as Malcolm left his quarters. "Sorry. Still cleaning up the problems with the injectors from that brush with the Orions."

The two of them began to walk slowly down the corridor. "I realize I've been out of the loop a while, but last time I checked, you had a fully trained staff in Engineering all of whom were capable of basic repairs."

He smiled a little as Trip rolled his eyes. "This from Lieutenant Malcolm 'Only I Know How To Recalibrate a Phase Pistol Properly' Reed?"

"That's Lieutenant Commander, thank you."

Trip chuckled. "So, where do you want to go tonight?"

Malcolm had been back on Enterprise for a little over two weeks. He was nowhere near ready for anything other than the lightest duties, which basically meant he was spending his days reading reports, trying to catch up on the months he'd missed during his captivity and subsequent recovery. He had physical therapy sessions every morning with Phlox, continuing the rehabilitation he'd begun back on Earth. But even though he still tired more quickly than he used to, with nothing else to do with his days but sit and read in his quarters, by evening he was positively bouncing off the walls. He would go to dinner with Hoshi or Travis or both of them, and that helped somewhat, but more often than not he still had extra energy to burn off before he could sleep.

So Trip came for him, every night, and they walked around the ship. His left leg still bothered him, and he knew he would never have the same strength or flexibility he'd once had. It was slow going, and he still limped, although it was far better than the doctors had told him to ever expect. It was sheer Reed stubbornness that had gotten him this far, or so he'd been told. To him, he just wanted his life back.

Trip filled him in on the things that had been left out of Enterprise's official reports, and updated him on the ship's gossip. The Captain joined them sometimes, as he walked with Porthos through the quiet hallways. Seeing the dog made Malcolm smile, although he had no clear idea why.

He'd spent months talking to psychiatrists, telling and retelling what he could remember of his time as a prisoner. The memories were never sharp or clear, and he was better off having it this way. The only times he thought about it now were in his dreams. He had nightmares, ones that he woke from sweating and shaking and terrified out of his mind. Not as many, not anymore, but he knew that they would probably never go away entirely.

But dreaming about something that was over was infinitely preferable to living through it.

His return to Earth on Enterprise was also vague. He remembered the feeling of familiarity, of recognizing voices and sounds, but that was all. It had taken a long time to reconcile himself with the holes in his memory. It hadn't been pleasant, but being back on the ship, back home, seemed to make it better, somehow.

He and Trip wandered through a quiet corridor, through crew quarters. Trip was narrating a thrilling tale that as usual seemed to end with him single-handedly saving the crew, the ship and the entire universe from certain disaster. Malcolm slowed and stopped as something caught his eye.

A section of the wall panel was blackened and charred as if by fire. He looked at it closely, and realized there seemed to be a piece of transparent sheeting over the damaged part. He looked at Trip curiously.

Trip flushed a little, looking uncomfortable. "It's from the mission in the Expanse. When the deck decompressed."

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. "Haven't gotten around to it yet?" he asked, lightly, knowing there was some other reason.

Trip shook his head, and spoke haltingly. "When we got back to Earth, and they were refitting Enterprise, they came in with all these materials and rebuilt everything that had been damaged. I was watching them replace the burned out panels in one of the corridors outside Engineering, and it just... it felt wrong. Like we were slapping a coat of paint over everything, and trying to pretend it hadn't happened."

Malcolm turned from his inspection of the panel. Trip had folded his arms across his chest and he was looking at Malcolm sadly.

"So I told them to leave this panel as it was. It's for the ones we lost..."

Malcolm bit down on his lower lip. That included him, he knew. At the time, at least, it had included him. And there were a lot of others who hadn't come back. Names and faces flashed through his mind.

He looked at the burned panel, reached out and squeezed Trip's shoulder. "Because they're still with us," he finished.

Trip looked at him, grateful Malcolm understood, and placed a gentle hand against Malcolm's back. "Yeah."

They lingered for a moment, then the two of them kept walking.

***