Archive of Our Own

Chapter 1: 

Author's Note: (Spoiler: At one point you might think this is a death fic. It is not. So don't stress!)

x-x

Malcolm Reed woke with a start, the smell of earth everywhere, wet, mouldering, and sharp. Cracking open his eyes, he quickly realised why it was so strong – he was lying on his side, his face half in the dirt. With a push and a groan, he managed to roll onto his back. His vision swam, and then came to focus on dark walls shooting up to the grey sky above. He squinted as the light caused a headache to flare, so he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to manage the overload.

Not on Enterprise, obviously. And not on… Suddenly unsure, his breath caught. He had no idea of where he was, or why he was there. Fumbling at where his pocket should be, he felt for his communicator, then his weapon, and found nothing.

Heart beating madly, he eased himself up to sitting, taking inventory as he did so. His leg was stiff and painful. His head hurt. Wiping dirt from his face, he let his gaze span the long, narrow space: he was in an alley of some sort.

Alone. He was… Why…?

He tried to get up, but as he did so, his leg spasmed, and he hissed a pained breath as it collapsed beneath him. He sat there a moment, the cold from the damp earth coming up through his trousers. He'd been injured, obviously, but how? Slowly, he slid backwards until he rested against one of the stone walls, and then gingerly felt his leg through the dark cloth. He had a second of panic when he realised he was out of uniform, but he calmed his breathing, and shrugged that off for the moment.

One area of his thigh was tender even to the lightest of touches, as if it had been recently injured, but he had no memory of it. Where that memory should be, there was a conspicuous nothing, as if something should be there, but... No. Not quite. More like a slithering nothingness, an oily darkness. The more he tried to focus on it and bring the memory forth, the quicker it seemed to slip away.

Reed swore his frustration. It was almost as if that memory was there, just out of reach. Perhaps if he…

He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, calming himself as T'Pol had taught him. He tried again. Still nothing. No, wait, something… He tried to push through to it.

There was a sudden pain in his head, and he winced with a sharp intake of breath. He felt something warm trickle down his lip. His eyes flew open and he squinted against the light. Bloody hell.

He wiped a shaky hand across his nose, and it came away red. Impatiently, he wiped it on his trousers. Whatever it was – whatever was wrong – he hadn't the time for it. He needed to figure out where he was, and why; and most importantly, find a way to contact Enterprise.

If they were even here.

Pushing aside that unwelcome thought, he used the wall to keep the weight off his bad leg and levered himself to standing, steadying himself against the dizziness with a hand on the stone. Once up, he rested his head on the arm he'd propped against the wall.

He'd been… What? He pushed himself away from the surface, staring at it blankly.

"Enterprise," a voice said from beside him.

Heart in his throat, he looked to his right – nothing. "Right," he whispered to no one, unnerved. He was obviously injured. The voice must have been a figment of his imagination, perhaps related to the injury. The voice didn't reoccur, so, with the wall as support, he limped his slow way across the muddy ground, toward the end of the alley.

Finally reaching its end, he saw the backs of buildings surrounding a paved lot, but no people. He found himself grateful for that small mercy. His head was spinning and his leg was killing him, and he was ill equipped to deal with the natives. Staying here might be safest on that front, but this was no time to stop. If anything, the weather had grown colder since he'd woken, and he, dressed only in unfamiliar trousers and shirt, was hardly prepared for it. He had to keep moving.

He tugged the sleeves of his shirt down over his hands, then tucked his hands up under his arms for warmth. There were some containers behind one of the buildings, maybe ten metres from where he stood, so he headed in that direction, tracing his hand along the buildings as he went, to keep himself steady. He was hoping he'd get lucky and find something he could use; perhaps even something to help identify where he was. As he came closer, his interest peaked. Placed in front of one of the containers – now clearly a skip full of rubbish – was a bag, as if someone had purposefully not tossed it in with the rest of the trash; and if this planet was anything like Earth… Reed looked into the bag and smiled. Yes. The bag appeared to be full of books and clothing, obviously being discarded, but placed outside the skip to give first shot to any trash-pickers. Supporting himself with a hand on the skip, he dug through the bag. The books, he paid no attention to, but the clothing, that he wanted. Most of it was obviously for a child, but there was a shirt, somewhat faded, which he first used to wipe the dirt and blood from his face, and then pulled on right over what he was wearing. Then, luck smiling upon him, there was a long, dark, cloth coat, only somewhat the worse for wear, which he put on as well.

He might look a bit down at the heel, but at least he'd be warmer. After all, clothes were clothes, he'd always felt as much. His sister had told him several times that he could use some help in the fashion department, but he'd never really paid much mind. He'd hate to think what she'd think of him now. Still, even dressed in cast-offs he probably looked better than Tucker had on their last shore leave. Between the brightly patterned shirt and those horrible yellow shorts…

A voice came from beside him, causing him to jump.

"That was God awful, wasn't it?"

"Commander?" he asked, turning to where the voice had come from. Again, nothing was there, but the voice – that bloody accent – it was unmistakeable. This time he whispered, "Trip?" but there was no response.

Reed felt an uncontrolled laugh bubbling up, and let it come, figuring it was easier to let it come than to deal with whatever the alternative might be. The sound rose above the background buzz of the urban area and filled the empty lot. He tried to stifle it, knowing it was a bad idea. Too loud. Someone might hear. They might look out one of the blank windows staring down at him, and then what? See some nutter standing here, ill dressed, laughing to himself. And if they came here, if they… God, if they caught him, he'd… His laughter fell away as he sank to a seat on the rail that surrounded the skip, careful of his leg as he moved.

"Are you all right?"

"No," he replied before he could catch himself. And he wasn't all right, not at all. He was hurt. He was… He was hearing voices, because, "You're not here," he said, sotto voce. "Go away."

Something was most certainly wrong with him.

He stood carefully, trying not to jar his aching head, using the movement to distract from the fact of his anxiety, the fact that his breath was coming fast, his pulse was pounding, and that he stood there with his eyes shut tight, waiting for that voice to come again. When it didn't, he looked around the lot. Now what? He had no idea of where he was, or why he was on this planet. He could wait here, near where he'd woken, hoping that Enterprise was on his trail and coming for him; or he could take what control he could of the situation.

He was about to turn and retrieve one of the books from the bag, hoping it would give him a hint as to where he was, when the decision was made for him. A vehicle pulled into the lot. He immediately started walking, coat flapping about his legs, trying for a casualness he didn't feel.

He needed to figure out where he was, and why. Then, most importantly, find a way to contact Enterprise. And maybe, if he limped away fast enough, he'd leave that voice, or whatever it was, behind.

x-x

Chapter 2: 

x-x

Reed had his back to the wall, the cold biting through him despite the coat. He'd kind of crammed himself into the corner, for fortification or something else, but he'd left his right hand free; just in case.

"In case of what?" Tucker-not-Tucker whispered.

Reed tensed and slid his eyes to the right, not surprised to see no one there. Hearing voices. That was bloody well fabulous.

He exhaled a tense breath. He hated this, whatever "this" was, but he didn't know how to make it stop. If he was back on Enterprise, maybe Phlox could figure out what was wrong with him, what had been done to him. He pulled the coat tighter, burying his fingers in the fabric both for warmth and to anchor it there. The fastenings hadn't worked; not since he'd found it a couple of hours before. Probably why its original owner had discarded it.

He knew he should be moving – should be trying to figure out where, exactly, he was, and why, but by the time he'd reached this street, this step, he'd had to stop. He cast a wary glance up and down the busy street, breath coiling visibly before him as he curled in on himself. He was in danger, and he knew it – if not from the people passing on the street before him, then from the street itself. The stone stair he was sitting on was seeping winter through him, and dark was falling, the night promising even lower temperatures. He was feeling noticeably worse than he had when he'd woken in the alley – between the pain in his leg and in his head, he knew he was in no shape to spend the night out of doors. He needed to seek shelter, but the very thought of getting to his feet, of making his way down the block, was more than he could bear. His leg had not improved with the walking he'd done to get to this stoop, and worse, he was afraid that, if he strayed too far from where he'd woken, Enterprise would never find him. His communicator was long gone, as was his uniform, and whenever he tried to remember what had happened, or how he'd come to be here, he could feel it sliding away. The nosebleed from earlier hadn't reoccurred, but then again, he hadn't tried forcing the memories either, just in case the two were connected.

That had seriously unnerved him. The whole situation seriously unnerved him.

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall beside him. He was tired, and in pain. Maybe if he sat here for a while…

Reed woke to the feel of something tapping his foot, and a voice from somewhere above him.

"You can't sleep here."

His eyes slid open to reveal a tall, uniformed man standing in front of him. From the stance alone, Reed could tell he was the police, or the local equivalent.

"You can't sleep here," the man repeated. "This is private property, and anyway," the man said, his voice softening as he frowned, staring at Reed's eyes, "You'll freeze to death if you stay out here all night." He motioned with his hand, up.

Reed, pushed himself up slowly and stood to attention, careful not to put too much weight on his right leg.

"Why don't you head home?" the man said.

"I will," Reed said, unable to keep himself from glancing at the twilit sky.

The officer said something that he didn't quite catch, and Reed stood there rigidly, his injured leg shaking with the effort of standing. "Sorry?" he said. He exhaled his pain and stood straighter, his eyes going over the officer's shoulder to the street beyond. He wasn't quite tracking, and he suspected that something was wrong, not just with his body, but with how he was thinking.

"What's your name?"

Reed felt his leg trembling. Slowly, trying not to have it noticed, he slid a hand sideways and grasped the top of the wall for support. His nails had something dark under them; dirt, or blood.

"Hey," the officer repeated, this time softer. He tapped the wall beside Reed's hand.

That brought Reed's focus entirely back to the present.

"You with me?"

"Sorry," Reed said again. "I was just…" he sighed, knowing he was making a mess of this.

"I get the feeling you fought in the war."

War? Reed thought. "Why?" he answered, not wanting to reveal his ignorance.

"You stand like a soldier," the officer said. "And a lot of folks who were in the war came back with eyes like yours." The man gave him a pointed look, brown eyes solemn. "Chemicals."

Reed gave a tight smile, acknowledging the point while making a connection he'd missed during his walk here. Almost everyone he'd seen on this street had eyes that were some shade of brown, but he hadn't thought much of it. He'd had a few strange glances, but he'd not been sure what was attracting people's attention. He'd figured they'd thought him drunk, or worse. Now he knew.

Reed splayed the fingers of his right hand, spreading them out against the fabric of his coat before closing them tightly into its folds. "No," he replied. "I wasn't in the war." And he hadn't been in the war – well, not the war this man, with his hard face and concerned eyes, was referring to. "But I was a soldier," of a sort, he added to himself, "And I was captured," he added, the words flowing as memories tickled his consciousness. He tried not to force them, hoping that if he just let them come as they would, they wouldn't hurt quite so much. But nothing else came. Just a certainty that he'd been captured and now he was here, hoping against hope that somehow, Enterprise would be able to trace his captors, follow their trail, and find him here, who knew where. Well, this officer probably knew, but there was no way of asking without the question coming off odd. Although the man obviously thought… Actually, he wasn't quite sure what this man thought. His eyes roamed the street in front of them, lighting on people in the crowd: a woman with a young child, an elderly couple, a woman in a dark red uniform, all of whom looked, physically, a lot like him, but for the eyes.

"That explains a lot," the man said.

"How so?" Reed asked, gaze following the uniformed woman as she entered a store.

"I've seen people, come back after fighting in the war…" The man's voice faded off uncertainly.

Reed's eyes met those of the other man.

"It changed them," he said with finality.

Reed nodded. He thought he understood. He may not have served in this man's war, but he'd been captured, and something had happened to him there, and it had changed him. Now he was here, far from all that he cared for. More than anything, he was tired: tired of the pain, of the struggle, of a lot of things. "I'm tired," he said, the words out before he could stop them.

The officer seemed thoughtful. "There's a shelter up the road."

Reed shook his head. He needed to stay close to where he'd been left, and more than that, he didn't want to take a space that one of this planet's needy deserved, and could better use.

The officer stood straighter. "I can arrest you for vagrancy, or you can let me take you to that shelter."

He tensed. He couldn't let himself be arrested.

When Reed didn't answer, the officer went on. "You go in, you get seen to," he said, looking purposefully toward Reed's leg, and Reed realised he wasn't hiding that injury as well as he'd hoped. "Maybe get some food and a bed for the night. They won't make you stay, if you don't want to." He gave a slight smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Your choice."

Choice? Knowing he actually had none, Reed nodded.

x-x

Chapter 3: 

x-x

Reed sank onto the narrow bed and pushed the crutch he'd been given underneath it, so it was out of the way. He lay back gingerly, not bothering to even remove his boots. He let his eyes fall shut as he flung an arm across them, blocking out the bright overhead lights.

Tomorrow he'd go back to the neighbourhood where he'd been left. He needed to stay close to where he'd been dropped, in case Enterprise had been able to track him here. Knowing the Captain, they were working tirelessly to find him. He needed to find a way to contact them, if he could; or barring that, to stay close to the drop point to make their search easier. But for now… For now, this place, with its narrow beds and echoing voices, would be enough.

The officer had led him here and after a quick check in with the staff and a brief spin through medical, he'd come into this room, trying not to be noticed, and seen a sea of people, all male, all like him but for the eyes. All of them, like him, lost.

He rolled onto his side, a slow, careful motion, and pulled the blanket over him as he moved. Feeling sleep tugging at him, he let it come.

The man raised his hand, revealing the golden glow of the device in his hand. A beam of energy shot out, capturing Reed, lighting him up, inside and out, nerve endings on fire, and he screamed –

Reed started awake, staring up into the darkness overhead, his pulse pounding in his ears. Someone nearby sighed. There was a cough. The rustle of sheets. And Reed remembered where he was, and a lot more than that.

They'd been boarded. Enterprise. They'd been boarded, and… He winced, trying to hold the thread of the memory. There had been a firefight, but they'd beaten off the invaders.

Reed's hands clenched the sheet as he tried to remember. He'd fought, and been captured. He thought he was the only one who'd been taken, but he wasn't sure.

Pain lanced through his head, and he choked back a moan. No, he was sure. He remembered, now. He'd been the only one taken, and Tucker had been –

No.

A soft voice came from beside him. "Killed, Malcolm."

No. He hadn't… He'd seen Tucker hit. Seen him go down. Seen the blood, and his eyes, their blue duller in death than in life.

He'd seen… He swore harshly under his breath, and wiped at his eyes with his hand. He'd seen Tucker killed. And that had slowed him, and he'd been caught.

They – his captors - had brought him back to their vessel, seeming dissatisfied with what they'd found. They'd wanted… They'd wanted him to…

He put a trembling hand to his eyes, hoping to stem the flow of memories, but it was too late. They kept coming. Warm blood pooled on his lip, and he turned onto his side so he wouldn't choke, curling in on himself so others in the room wouldn't see.

They'd tried to get information about Enterprise: tactical systems, weapons, crew component, speed, passwords – the passwords – they wanted to know the passwords for the data they'd taken, but he hadn't given in. Even after they'd… He frowned, the details lost. There had been a device. And drugs. And pain, God, but he hadn't –

He didn't think he had.

Disinformation. He'd been trained for it, and would have pretended to break, giving them masses of false information instead of what they truly wanted. He'd been through it before, and he was good at the game.

He'd have refused to surrender, no matter the cost, but now… Now, he couldn't remember. He'd woken up in the alley, near where the officer had found him. On a planet where he looked so much like the occupants that he passed for native, but for the eyes.

He couldn't remember much about the people, the aliens, who'd captured him, and for reasons he could not fathom, left him here, on this planet, in this city. Perhaps it was intentional. Maybe they'd done something to him, and they'd felt safe dropping him here, knowing they'd made it so he wouldn't remember enough to trace them. But why not simply kill him and be done with it?

Scrabbling for it, he pulled the blanket over his shoulders again.

It's not as if they were averse to killing, if it served their purposes. They'd killed Tucker. Why hadn't they killed him?

Blue eyes open, he stared out into the darkened room, unseeing.

When Reed next woke, it was daytime, and the room around him was buzzing with movement and conversation. He kept his eyes shut. He was dizzy, still, or again. His head was pounding, a slow rhythm that kept time with his pulse. He wasn't sure if he felt better or worse than he had last night. Peeling his eyes open, he squinted against the bright light coming through the windows set high on the wall across the room. His head screamed, and he slammed his eyes shut again, shielding them with a hand.

Worse. He felt worse.

The space around him was large, the voices of its occupants echoing off the high ceiling. There were men talking – he presumed the shelter's residents – and the clink of cutlery. They must be getting food from somewhere across the room. He could smell it, and despite the alien aromas, he was tempted. But he'd have to sit up first, and even that small movement seemed beyond him.

The doctor he'd seen last night upon his arrival had been brusque and quick, checking him over, nodding over the half-healed injury to his leg, and offering him a painkiller and a crutch while scheduling him for a more thorough exam today. In other circumstances, he would have refused all. Not last night, though. Probably not today. He was sick of fighting. Sick of the pain. He wanted to go home.

He could feel sleep creeping up on him again, but his bladder forced him to act. Eyes barely open, he saw a sea of beds, mostly unoccupied. As he'd suspected, there was a large group of men at the far end of the room, by a table laid heavy with food. Some of the people were sitting on benches and chairs at that end of room, eating, while others were standing in line. The whole place looked a bit industrial: white walls, everything somewhat the worse for wear, but clean.

The white reminded him of a memory, or a dream; of a room, and a man; a device, and screaming as they'd ripped apart his leg, and he…

His heart slammed in his chest.

Tucker was there, kneeling beside his bed. Then he remembered that Tucker wasn't there at all. Tucker was dead, and he was mad, or dreaming, or, or…

Someone walked by, and Reed heard a voice. "Hey, man. You're bleeding."

And with that, Reed woke fully. A frantic look proved that Tucker was nowhere to be found. Reed pushed himself up unsteadily and scooped the crutch from under the bed, using it to get himself to his feet. Head swimming, he stared down at the blood that had seeped into the sheets.

"You all right?"

Reed's gaze rose to the man before him. He was dressed simply, his long, dark hair hanging, wet and freshly washed, over his pale forehead. Obviously not staff. Probably a resident.

"Come on," the man said, dark eyes showing his concern. "You look like you should see the doctor."

The man grasped his arm, and Reed backpedalled in sudden panic, banging into the bed behind him with a loud clang and a sharp, "Don't."

The room fell silent around them.

"Okay, okay," the man said quickly, hands up and open. "It's okay. Just –" He pointed across the room. "Go see the doctor, all right?"

Reed nodded and, heart pounding, murmured, "Thank you," for lack of anything else to say. Turning, he headed in that direction, his hand rigid on his crutch. He could feel the man's eyes on his back as he made his slow progress across the room, and he tried not to react.

He was not in control, that much was obvious. There was something seriously wrong with him. How could he find Enterprise – how could he survive here long enough for them to find him, if he couldn't even bloody well think or even walk? He slammed the crutch into the door, opening it with a quick shove and revealing the corridor beyond.

As it shut behind him, he felt the tension start to drain. He slumped into a seat just outside the door to the doctor's office, not even bothering to tell them he was there.

Some time later, he wasn't sure how long, the doctor was standing before him, dark hair pulled up as it had been last night, white coat still pristine. He wasn't sure how long she'd been there.

Funny how, no matter where he'd gone in this universe, white was equated with medicine.

"Are you here for me?" she asked, looking a bit surprised to see someone there. From the files in her arms, it was obvious she'd been on her way to somewhere.

Reed nodded. Leaning on his crutch, he stood. "I need… something." He laughed slightly, because if that wasn't an understatement, he wasn't sure what was. "I mean," he added, trying to reign himself in, "I have a headache."

"You're bleeding," she said, indicating his nose.

"Just a nosebleed. It's done," he replied.

The doctor looked at him carefully before waving him through the door to the medical suite, then on to the exam room beyond. "Are you on anything right now?" she asked as he sat himself gingerly on the exam table.

"You gave me some pain meds last night."

"I meant drugs," she said frankly, sliding the files onto a nearby counter.

He assumed she meant illegal, and he shook his head, no, wondering just how odd he must be acting, or if this was one of her normal questions. He couldn't recall her asking it of him last night. Of course, he felt measurably worse today, and perhaps it showed.

She pulled on a pair of gloves and grasped his hand analytically enough that he didn't pull away. She placed his palm, flat, on part of the table, which Reed knew from last night would give her his vitals. "Anything from before, then, that you aren't taking now?"

"No," he replied, trying to see the numbers flashing up onto the screen she held in her hand.

"Were you exposed to anything during the war?"

She'd asked him this same question last night, and he'd answered the same way. "No."

She raised one brow in disbelief, then held a container up before him. "I need a urine sample."

"I have a headache," he said, emphasising that last word.

She stood there, unmoved. After a moment, she wiggled the cup.

He grabbed it from her hand, careful not to touch her, and let himself into the adjacent room, which reeked of antiseptic. No easy task, manoeuvring that small space with his crutch, and he'd ended up sitting, rather than standing, to make the process easier. When he finished, he placed the sample on the floor beside the toilet and stared at it, too exhausted to do more than that.

He sank down to the floor, back to the wall and facing the doorway. Sitting, he'd shut his eyes. Eyes shut, he'd dreamed. Or remembered.

The room was strange – he was somewhere strange, but the smell was familiar – antiseptic, medicinal. He'd been taken there. Dragged. Drugged. It – the room, or the drug – was white white white, and he'd wondered why, no matter where he'd gone in this universe, white was equated with medicine. But this wasn't medicine. It was hard edges and sharp points, and he'd struggled, but in the end, it had been useless. In the end, he'd turned to glass and felt himself shatter. In the end… In the end…

There was a man.

He'd tried to run. He'd struggled. He'd screamed. In the end, he'd been past screaming.

There was a man.

It wasn't the man. It was the doctor, standing in the open doorway. "Maybe you'd better get security," the doctor said over her shoulder, and only then did Reed notice a medic or nurse, standing just behind the doctor.

"No," Reed said, trying to sound firm, trying to anchor himself to reality. "No, I'll be…" He tried to stand.

"Are you all right?"

"Sorry?" Reed replied, feeling as if he were struggling up from the depths.

"You were shouting."

The doctor came into the room and made to help him, but he waved her off, using his crutch instead. Returning to the exam room, he slid back onto the bed with a rustle and a thump. "I'm fine," he said, although he wasn't. His eyes darted about the room, looking for he wasn't sure what.

"What happened in there?" the doctor asked.

The medic stood near the doorway, watching him warily, and he assumed she was waiting for security to show up. He'd better get himself together, or things were going to go from bad to worse.

He gathered himself, burying his fear, and looked directly at the doctor. "I must have fallen asleep."

She returned his gaze, expression giving away nothing. "Have you ever been under psychiatric care?" she asked, dark eyes piercing into him.

"I'm not mad," Reed said, figuring that she wouldn't believe him. He wasn't quite sure he believed himself.

"I'm not saying you are." She paused a moment. "I need you to tell me what's going on."

Someone spoke from outside the door, and the medic moved off, probably to discuss him with security.

He stared at the doctor, trying to figure out his next move. Whatever was going on with him, he felt as if it was escalating, spiralling out of control. All he needed was to lose his liberty, to be taken by security to who knew where, and completely lose his ability to help himself. Maybe if he cooperated with this doctor, he'd be left his freedom. He could get back to that alley, try to find a way to contact Enterprise.

The doctor hadn't forced anything on him: she'd offered, but not forced. Their tech seemed roughly comparable to that of 21st century Earth, and his physiology obviously was close enough to that of the locals not to flag anything in her readings. Maybe she could help. If nothing else, maybe she could give him something for the bloody headache, allow him a chance to breathe, and to think. He didn't normally like doctors overmuch, but whatever happened with this doctor, even if he ended up drugged up, it had to be better than this.

"I…" he started, then hesitated. Where to begin? "My head is an absolute murder, and…" he stopped again, not sure if he should say more. But in for a penny. "And I've been hearing…" He winced, waving a hand near his ear. "Voices."

"What have they been saying?"

"It's not so much the 'what'," he said. "As the who." He smiled slightly, knowing this would come off mad, but it was what it was. "My dead friend."

She nodded, clearly not surprised by what he was saying. "Anything else?"

"I saw him once," he said, rubbing a hand roughly across his face. "That may have been a dream."

"When did all this start?"

"I don't know," he replied, looking anywhere but at her. He remembered hearing Tucker's voice in the alley, but how did he know he hadn't heard him earlier, while he was being interrog… His lips twisted. He'd not been interrogated. He'd been drugged and tortured. "When I was captured, maybe," he heard himself saying, voice low. "Or perhaps just after."

"How long ago was that?" she asked, her voice dropping to match his tone.

"I don't know," he answered, and he didn't. He thought he'd only been here for a couple of days, but prior to that, he'd been… When had he been captured? A week ago? Perhaps longer?

Out of his peripheral vision, he saw the doctor nod, and he raised his eyes to her again. "There's someone here every Wednesday afternoon." Obviously noting his confusion, she added, "Tomorrow. I'd like you to see a specialist."

He exhaled loudly, feeling some of the tension leave him as he did. "And my headache?" he asked, not making any promises.

"That I can probably help you with," she replied, smiling for the first time since he'd met her.

x-x

Chapter 4: 

x-x

Reed let the water flow over his bare skin, leaning into the spray so the hot stream could flow over his head. Turning his face down, he breathed in, and then out slowly, and let his eyes fall shut. He was tired, both mentally and physically, and yet he was feeling somewhat clearer than before. Perhaps the lack of pain was helping; the doctor's injection had worked wonders. Or maybe the injection she'd given him had contained a bit more than just an analgesic. No matter; it was working.

He'd been surprised to find that the showers were private stalls. He supposed he'd expected something more industrial, something more public, but he was glad for the privacy not only now, while he was showering, but also when he'd had to stand there for five minutes trying to figure out how to operate the alien shower controls, as well as the soap and shampoo dispensers attached to the wall.

Tapping off the water, he grabbed the towel he'd draped nearby and dried himself off. The medic, before he'd left the doctor's office, had offered him a change of clothing, which he now slid into gratefully, careful not to get his trousers wet from the shower floor. He added that same coat he'd found, and his own boots – odd, his captors had taken him out of uniform, but left him his boots.

Stepping from the shower stall, he approached the wall mirror, careful not to meet own eyes as he gave himself the once-over. He looked rough around the edges. His hair was scruffy and appeared longer, probably due to its still being wet. Three days' beard, he'd taken care of before he'd showered, and now he could clearly see the lines etched in his face. He glanced across his own eyes, then away again.

A bell rang from somewhere outside the shower room, and Reed looked up in surprise before he remembered what they'd explained at intake: the whole place closed down for several hours during the day. They all had to leave, but since he'd been processed, he could come back again tonight, if he wanted.

He wanted a lot of things. He wanted to find a way to contact Enterprise. He wanted…

"What do you want?"

He met his own gaze, blue-gray eyes blazing back at him.

He wanted not to be hearing Tucker's voice, not to be hearing his dead friend, not to be haunted…

"Malcolm."

He wanted to know what his captors had done to him to make him… to make him unwell, because he obviously wasn't well. He wanted to know why they'd left him here.

"What do you want?"

He wanted to go home.

He turned slowly. Of course, there was no one there.

The doctor was right. She may not have said it, but he'd seen it in her eyes, and those of the medic, and those of the bloody security goon they'd had escort him to the shower room, who likely was still waiting for him outside.

He was off his rocker.

And he needed chalk.

x-x

Once outside, Reed made his slow way back to the alley where he'd first woken. Of course there was no sign of Enterprise – he hadn't expected that there would be – but he used the chalk-like substance he'd scrounged from the shelter to scrawl a series of symbols on the walls of the alley, and then on the wall of the building nearest the skip, knowing that if Tucker and Hoshi saw his marks, they'd recognize them immediately and know he'd been there.

His hand shook as he drew one sweeping arc, and he had to fight for control. He huffed a soft laugh at the very idea, finishing the mark with a florish. He'd lost control some time ago. He knew it. He… God, he had no idea. All he had was hope. He hoped that Enterprise would come here, somehow trace him here, find these marks, know he'd done them, somehow find him…

"Good luck with that, kid."

"Shh…" Reed whispered, waving a hand, hoping to silence the voice. He knew the situation was impossible, no need for Tucker-not-Tucker to tell him so. He knew that. He knew. Knew knew knew knew…

He stood back from the wall and took a seat on the skip's rail, admiring his handiwork: a giant "gator" head emblazoned on the wall right next to a bulldog, University of Florida versus University of Georgia, old American university sport leagues, football rivals whose last match Tucker had insisted he and Hoshi sit through. He'd spent much of that match doodling their team mascots on his napkin, and now he was glad for it. It was the only thing he could think of that would be obvious not to have been done by a local, and which Tucker would recognize instantaneously. He'd used the bold symbols, rather than text, so that even if it rained or they became smudged, they'd still be recognisable, and unlike writing something in English, perhaps they wouldn't be so obviously alien.

He smiled at his handiwork, tapping fingers on his crutch. There was no way Tucker wouldn't recognize those symbols.

Reed cut those thoughts off with a gasp, digging his fingernails into his palm. He'd forgotten. His hand shook, and he crushed the chalk in his fingers. It rained down from his hand.

Hoshi would recognize them, though. Or the captain. Someone would. They had to, someone had to, or else…

Harshly brushing the chalk from his hand onto his trousers, he looked around him with eyes unfocused. He was lost. He was losing his mind, or already had done. He was helpless to either find Enterprise or keep himself under control, and he hated that with a depth and passion that he'd not felt in his recent past. Something had to change. And rather than sit here helpless…

Standing slowly, he turned his back on the symbols and began the walk back to the shelter.

He had an appointment to keep.

x-x

Reed sat on his bed, the only person in the large room. The sun was setting, lighting the walls in oranges and pinks, and he leaned back against the headboard, taking a moment to relax into the stillness. His huge yawn disturbed the silence only briefly. He was exhausted: between the walk, earlier, and everything else that was going on, he was completely knackered. The shelter was soon to open, and the staff had been kind enough to let him stay after his appointment had done. They'd probably taken one look at him and known he was too tired to move, anyway.

He'd come back to see the specialist the doctor had scheduled him to see, who was actually a psychiatrist. Naturally. He'd suspected as much, known it, and he was not sure, now, why he'd returned despite that knowledge. Perhaps he'd done so because of it?

He adjusted his injured leg on the bed, trying to find a more comfortable position. Of course he'd had nowhere else to go, and with his leg, limited mobility. If he was honest, he was hardly capable at present of helping himself.

The meeting with the psychiatrist hadn't gone badly. He had told the truth, of a sort: that he'd been captured and things had been done to him, that he'd been hearing voices, even seeing his dead friend the once. But he had left off the part where things seemed to be getting worse. All that admission would have done was get him medicated to incapacitation, and he had to be able to function, to keep trying to find Enterprise. As it was, he'd been given pills, which he hadn't been able to quite bring himself to take. He'd gone from the psychiatrist to the original doctor, the woman, who'd given him the drug prescribed and promised not too many side effects, but the idea of psychiatric meds… But then again, wasn't the alternative worse?

Reed shifted the pills in his fist, then opened his hand and stared down at them. Tiny and pink, they seemed innocuous. The doctor had promised they'd soothe the voices, at least somewhat. So why not take them?

But what if Tucker's voice was his last tie to Enterprise? What if the ship never found him? What if it was long gone by now, or they thought him dead and were not even looking? What then?

He'd done all he could. He'd gone back to the alley and left his mark. He would go back there daily, and if he was lucky, maybe Tucker would leave him a sign, as he'd left one for him.

"You can see the problem with that one, right?"

Reed lifted his gaze to find Tucker there, sitting on the other end of his bed. The man was wearing the brightly patterned shirt and those horrible yellow shorts from their last shore leave, and he had an odd smile on his face.

Reed felt his heart thump in his chest. While he'd tried to ignore the past hallucinations or whatever this was, this was the first time it had been this real, this clear, and the change – the fact that Tucker was sitting at the end of his bed and addressing him, plain as day – frightened him. He inhaled sharply, then let the breath out slowly. He'd fought this… whatever it was off before, but he was sick and tired, quite literally, of the effort that had taken. So this time, he decided to try a different tack.

He took a breath, and finally answered, "In the fact that Enterprise, in all likelihood, isn't even in this system?"

Tucker gave a brief shake of the head.

Reed frowned. "In the fact that you're here, and thus of little use to me on Enterprise?"

Tucker's smile broadened. " How 'bout in the fact that I'm dead, so I'm probably not actually here at all. Or there, for that matter."

"Even my visions think I'm mad," Reed said, not trying to hide his sarcasm or his anger.

Tucker shrugged. "Not your fault. Those people did something to you."

"Obviously," Reed replied with a sharp nod to the crutch leaning against the bed.

"No, I don't mean that," Tucker said. "I know they beat you up and stuff, messed up your leg. I'm talking about what they did to you up here," he said with a quick tap to his own head.

"I don't remember," Reed muttered.

"I think you do. You may not remember," Tucker said, waving one hand toward his head. "But you remember," he said, reinforcing that last word with a fist to his heart. "You know."

"What did they do?" Reed asked hesitantly.

"You know," Tucker said, with meaning.

Reed stared at his friend. He remembered some: the torture, the drugs; but the details were lost to him. "Why?"

"You know that, too," Tucker said bluntly. "You know they put you here on purpose. They want something from you."

Reed tore his gaze away, his heartrate ramping up. These were not just hallucinations. These were paranoid delusions.

He hadn't said that last aloud, but Tucker answered him anyway.

"You're not paranoid if they're really out to get you."

"For what possible reason?" he shot back.

Tucker looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure, but it's gotta be something." He pulled his legs up onto the mattress, crossing them under him. "You know, this is the first actual conversation we've had since I died."

"Right," Reed said, drawing the word out. When Tucker didn't continue, he went on, "I'm not sure where you're going with this."

"Meaning that you're probably getting worse, not better." Tucker glanced at Reed's hand, the one wrapped around the pills. "Maybe those aren't such a bad idea." Tucker gave him a wry look. "Certainly can't make things much worse."

Reed raised one eyebrow at his friend's expression. But the man – be it a hallucination of Tucker, or merely his own mind using Tucker as a stand-in – was likely right. It wasn't as if he was going anywhere. If the pills messed him up a bit, he'd the time to sleep them off; and if they helped? In reality, he'd little to lose, and far too much to gain. Popping the pills back, he swallowed them without water.

"Good for you." Tucker shifted, then stood. "Gotta go. See you later." He cracked a smile. "Or not, if the meds actually work." His smile turned a bit sad.

"Bye, Trip," Reed said, closing his eyes. Sliding down, he curled up on top of the blankets. He was tired enough that he slid directly into sleep, where his dreams were memories, odd and violent, and he woke to a dark room, still dreaming, or not. Threads of rainbow swam across his vision and he gasped, hands to his temples as the world spun, his thoughts turning frantic. In the alley. He had to get back to the alley. He had to get back there. Something was wrong. He had to get back there.

Trembling, he exhaled his pain. God, please, this was worse. Why was he worse? He was supposed to be better. The medications he'd taken must have…

No, that wasn't it. It was time, it was… there was something… He pushed himself up and stumbled. Swaying a bit, he steadied himself with a hand to the headboard, wiping away blood from his nose with the other hand.

He had to get back there.

x-x

Reed dug into the dirt with bare hands, pulling up the edge of the cracked pavement to get at the soil underneath. The walls of the alley towered above him, letting only a bit of the sunrise through, but it was enough to see by. Not that he really needed to see; he knew where to dig. His hands shook, and his fingers bled, but he didn't much care. This was why he'd had dirt under his nails when he'd woken. He'd left something here, something important. Something he needed.

His nails scraped something hard and metallic, and he paused only long enough to draw in a ragged breath before he attacked it again, digging frantically until the entire grey box was revealed. Yanking it from the earth, he pulled it open and began putting together the pieces that were inside, not even having to think about which parts went where. He knew this device like the back of his own hand, like the taste of his mum's chips, like the scent of the sea as it, as he – and there, he thought, tucking the completed device up under his coat. He sank onto his haunches, filthy hands draped over his knees, back pressed to the wall of the alley, and waited until nightfall, and even after. Even after. And when it was dark, when it was dark, and night had finally fallen, he pushed himself up gingerly and, crutch long since forgotten, limped toward his goal.

It was only when he triggered the bomb that he heard Tucker's voice again, but he'd no time for hallucinations.

He stood calmly, counting down until the blast took him out.

x-x

Chapter 5: 

x-x

Reed sat on the biobed, his feet dangling off its side. He was somewhat the worse for wear, and somehow, he'd torn his coat. But he didn't mind. He was sitting on the biobed, his feet dangling off its side, and that, alone, was enough because somehow, he was home. Somehow. He was home.

He stared at himself lying on the next bed over, surrounded by monitors, leg swathed in bandages, down for the count. One, two, three, bleep, bleep, bleep, the rhythm keeping time with his own pulse, a countdown toward what, he wasn't sure, but he was alive, somehow. He was here, now, somehow. He'd been on the planet. He remembered… No. That can't have been him.

Picking at threads coming from the cuff of his coat, he pulled one, watching as the fabric unravelled. How long might it take before the entire coat was gone? After all, how long had it taken for he himself to unravel?

"How long do you think you can keep this up?"

Reed didn't even bother looking up. "You are not here." He pursed his lips, still focused on his sleeve. "You died."

There was no answer, and when he turned to look, no one was there.

Reed groaned and sank back onto the bed, face up and staring at the familiar grey plating that made sickbay's ceiling. He whispered his answer, "As long as I have to," because he would keep this up, as Tucker had said, until he no longer could, or until he was whole again, he swore as much. He chuckled at that, although it wasn't funny. What in bloody hell had those aliens done to him? He was here, on this bed, and there, on that bed, and there obviously couldn't be two of him, so he must be hallucinating again. That, or he was dead, and this was an out-of-body experience. Or maybe he was still in the shelter, and dreaming. He ran his hands along the sheet beneath him. It seemed real. Even the smells of the place – antiseptic, animal bedding, and that distinct odour that always seemed tied to healthcare facilities – seemed real.

He remembered being on the planet. Assembling the device as if he'd done it a million times. Waiting until well after dark not so he wouldn't be seen, but so no one would be in the building, so no one would be hurt, because that wasn't the point at all. Setting the bomb at their government building. Watching it go off.

He'd done that. He'd done all that, with his own hands. He remembered it clearly. It had been him. It can't have been, and yet it was. He had no idea of why he'd done it. No memory of burying that box, of making those plans, and yet obviously, he'd done so. He'd built a bomb, planted it, and set it off. He'd even been caught by the edge of the explosion. Then he'd woken here.

But why? And how had he ended up on Enterprise? And why was he there, on that bed, while he was clearly here, on this one? He laughed aloud, although there was no humour in it. It was preposterous. He'd think he was dreaming if he wasn't in such pain, inside and out.

One of the monitors bleeped loudly.

Phlox came into the room, heading straight past him and going toward the him that lay, injured, on the biobed, checking the monitors, frowning, and injecting something into one of the IV lines.

The doctor adjusted something, calling out for a nurse as he did so. Reed felt his chest tighten, his breath quicken, and he realised whatever was happening to him, there, was happening to him here, as well. The activity around his other self increased in intensity, and he started feeling odd. But it wasn't until Archer entered the room, and… And Tucker, Tucker who really was Tucker, he could tell the difference right away, and that's when his world really came crashing down around him.

x-x

Reed woke in sickbay with that numb, floating feeling that told him he was extremely well medicated. He didn't open his eyes at first; he didn't need to. He knew where he was from earlier, when he'd –

He tensed. That couldn't be right. How could he know; how could he have been here, earlier, sitting, observing, and be here now, injured? He felt the panic rise, his breath coming faster as his thoughts tumbled on. Where was Trip? How could Trip be dead but not dead. How could he be dead and not dead. How could he be…

He heard Archer's voice, and tried to settle his breathing enough that he could hear. He missed what the captain said, but he caught Phlox's response.

"Mister Reed hasn't yet –"

He cut across him with a quiet, "Captain?", surprised to hear his voice come out so rough and weak. He peeled his eyes open, squinting against the overhead lights. A figure moved into view, haloed against the bright ceiling, and Reed knew from the stance alone that it was Archer. Before the captain could even speak, he said, voice showing his desperation, "You need to change the passwords."

"What?" Archer replied, his voice clearly puzzled.

"I don't know what I told them," Reed went on, trying to push himself to a seat.

"Told who?"

"Them," he said forcefully. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and gave up the fight. "Where's Trip?"

"Trip? He's –"

"I don't know what I told them, but I know what I did," he said, memories flashing through his head, some seeming so real, others quite like dreams. "I did it. I set the explosive. I…" He tried to catch his breath. He'd blown up that building. He'd done those things, had things done to him, and he couldn't trust himself not to have told them everything.

"I decided that leaving him there wasn't such a great idea." The voice was that of the man in white, the man who'd…

God, where was he? He was in sickbay, wasn't he? What was going on? Was he hearing this now, or remembering it from –

"Explosive?" Archer replied as if Reed had only just spoken, his tone showing his confusion. "You haven't done anything."

"Shh…" Reed whispered sharply, straining to hear, or remember.

"What does it matter?" a woman said. "People are going to see his image on the surveillance footage, and think a vet did it. Even if they catch him, he fits the role. He's clearly not well. He'll end up in hospital, not prison."

Reed's vision shifted so fast he gasped. He saw a flicker of white, the man's face, and the doctor from the shelter. "No," he said aloud. He did not want to be here, in the white room, with that man, and the doctor – she must have been involved in it somehow. The medications she'd given him; he'd got worse after those, not better. She'd –

The man said something which he missed. Then the doctor's voice came again.

Send him home. Even if he's able to tell them what happened, no one will believe him. Send him home.

Reed heard a hiss, something being injected nearby. "Please," he said franticly. "Let me go home."

"All right," Archer and the female doctor said, voices overlapping. They moved away, and there was a quiet conversation between Archer and Phlox, held too low for Reed to catch. He could only imagine what they were speaking about. He didn't want to imagine what they were saying.

He may be mad, but he was home. Best he could tell, he was actually home. And that was all that mattered.

x-x

"…Lizzie sent me a recipe for her Red Devil cake, which I'll make soon as chef lets me into his kitchen again."

Reed's eyes snapped open. "Commander?" he said in alarm.

Tucker's face loomed over him. "Shh…" and Reed was confused. Was this the Tucker-who-was-Tucker from earlier in sickbay, or the Tucker-not-Tucker from the planet?

"Which one are you?" he whispered.

Tucker blinked rapidly, surprise and concern showing before he tamped it down again. "I'm Trip," he said weakly, obviously nonplussed.

"You're dead."

"Excuse me?" Tucker answered, eyes going wide.

"I saw you die, just before they took me, and I'll 'keep it up' as long as I have to, until it stops, I promise." Reed said, mirroring his conversation with Tucker from earlier, if that had been Tucker at all. He tried to move, but Tucker held him back with a hand to his arm. "I don't know what they did to me, but I'm here, right?"

"What who did to you?" Tucker asked, eyes roving sickbay. He was probably trying to find Phlox, but unwilling to leave the bedside. He must have seen the doctor, because next he barked a sharp, "Doc."

"My captors," Reed said. "You were there, later, at least somewhat. And they let me come home." He let his eyes slide shut, because it cost far too much in effort to keep them open. "In a way, I was glad for the company, even if you were dead."

x-x

The next time he woke, it was to find Hoshi Sato seated in the chair at his bedside. Her hair was down, sheltering her face from view as she tapped away at a padd, the sounds of some alien tongue flowing quietly from her. He'd always been amazed at her ability to learn disparate languages, making connections in ways he'd never have thought possible.

She must have sensed him watching, because she looked up, her eyes widening when she saw him. "You're awake," she said in surprise.

He lifted an eyebrow to call out the obviousness of her comment.

She blushed, as he'd thought she might. "I mean," she said, seeming a bit flustered. "You've been asleep, more or less, ever since the probe."

At that, Reed blinked. "Probe?" he asked.

"When you got hurt," she said. She must have seen his confusion, because the rest came in a rush. "You were hit by some sort of energy beam. You remember that, don't you? It was only yesterday…"

Yesterday? His stomach dropped and the monitor beside him bleeped. "What?" he said, the word coming out as a whisper. That wasn't possible. He'd been on the planet for at least two days if not longer, and had been held by his captors for he wasn't sure how long before that.

"Commander Tucker had said that you'd woken up kind of…" She moved and the padd that she'd been holding fell to the floor. "Crap," she muttered, reaching down to retrieve it. "Sorry, Sir," she said as she stood. "I should get the doctor."

"Which doctor?" he asked, heart in his throat. He didn't want to see that woman from the planet again, please God.

"Doctor Phlox," Sato said, clearly puzzled. "Don't you know where you are?"

"The ship," he said quickly. "But that doesn't mean…" He remembered when he'd first woken, and he'd seen that room. He'd been on Enterprise then, too.

"Let me get Phlox," she said, moving away rapidly.

"Ensign," he called out, catching her halfway across the empty room. "How long have I been in sickbay?"

She frowned and said this rest slowly, as if afraid he wasn't quite with her. "Since yesterday morning, Sir. Since you got hurt."

"And Trip?"

"What?" she asked, eyes moving anxiously to Phlox's office, then back to him again. "Oh, he's fine. I mean, he'd been by to visit you, but I guess you were too out of it to –" She must have seen the look on his face, because she cut herself off. "Hold on." She moved toward the doctor's office.

"I think I remember," he said, his voice low as his breath caught. He remembered seeing Tucker, here, in sickbay. Remembered thinking him real, rather than something else, whatever else.

Reed stared up at the ceiling, his breath coming quickly. It wasn't possible. To him, it had seemed like forever, days, weeks, an eternity. They'd been boarded, yes. Hadn't they? He remembered it so clearly. He and Tucker were on the scene quickly, as they'd been nearby. He'd seen Tucker killed, and then he'd been hit. And everything after that – his capture, being on the planet, setting that device – that had taken days, if not longer. But if what Sato was saying was true, had any of that even been real? Or was this, now… God, he'd lost his mind down there, or…

Or he'd lost it up here. Because if what Sato was saying was true, he'd never left the ship.

x-x

Chapter 6: 

x-x

Reed sat propped up on the biobed, his injured leg held still by a sort of a splint that Phlox had rigged. He was reading through a novel on the padd Phlox had leant him, or trying to read it, because he kept losing focus. The medications the doctor had given him weren't helping his ability to concentrate, but it wasn't entirely that; he still wasn't quite right, or so Phlox was telling him, and he found this entire situation bewildering. He had been on that planet. He distinctly remembered everything that had happened to him down there, and everything that he had done. And yet Phlox insisted that he'd been on Enterprise this entire time; that, in fact, only two days had passed since he'd been injured.

He'd told Phlox about all of it – being captured and drugged, waking down on the planet, what he'd done, what he'd been through. What he'd thought he'd heard and seen. How they'd thought him mad. His lip quirked at that. They thought him mad here, as well. He knew he wasn't acting as expected, and his story seemed completely unrelated to reality. And yet he'd been there, he was sure of it. And he'd seen Tucker die. Still, maybe they were right – the people on the planet, or the people here. Maybe he was mad. Although he hadn't heard voices since the day before, and that was the longest stint without them since they'd started. Perhaps he was recovering, or the medications Phlox was trying had helped, or perhaps all of it had been a dream. But still, it all seemed so real: there, here, everywhere. He'd even had his leg injured in both places. He lay the padd on his lap and tapped it with a finger, as if the movement could help him think. It was confusing, and he kept losing track of which reality he was supposed to remember was real.

There was a sound, and his head swivelled to track it. The door to sickbay opened to reveal Tucker and Sato, Tucker wearing his formal "command face," and Sato looking more than a bit nervous. They hesitated at the door.

Based on his behaviour since waking, he could understand their hesitancy.

Reed's eyes moved from Sato to Tucker, and he took a moment in silence, making sure this man was actually Tucker and not the other Tucker, the not-Tucker, who wasn't there, except, obviously, when he was. Or had been. Hmm… he thought, drumming his fingers against the padd.

"You okay?" Tucker asked, giving him a cautious look. He took a step forward, Sato following just behind.

"They tell me I will be," Reed answered, equally as cautious.

"Phlox says you're feeling…" Sato faltered.

"Better," Tucker finished for her as they reached his bedside.

"Yes, well," Reed said, looking from Tucker down at the padd on his lap. I'd thought you were dead, he thought, not giving voice to it. I saw you die in the attack. I'd thought I was seeing ghosts, hallucinations, and now I'm supposed to know all this is real? That what happened on the planet was not? He shook his head and this last, he said aloud, "It's confusing; it had all seemed so real."

"Malcolm."

He looked up at Tucker.

"Phlox told me you'd been hallucinating." Tucker grimaced. "He thinks the beam the probe hit you with may have had something to do with it."

"I know what Phlox said," he said, his voice quiet and firm. "I also know what I saw; what I did."

Tucker took a step forward, closing the distance between them. "Whatever it was, it wasn't real."

The words came out before Reed could stop them. "I saw you die."

Tucker grabbed his arm, and it was all Reed could do not to flinch away.

"I'm not dead," Tucker said, squeezing his arm, then releasing it. "That wasn't real. This is."

And it did seem real. But so did everything down on the planet. He remembered how things smelled, tasted, felt. He remembered the pain.

Perhaps they were right, and all of that had been a figment of his mind. But he needed to be sure of that. Because if it had been real, that meant that someone, somehow, had got him to set that bomb, without any struggle on his part. They'd quite literally controlled his actions, and it hadn't been that he'd been unable to fight them; he'd not even realised anything was wrong. And if they'd controlled him then, what stopped them from doing it again?

He could be dangerous. He was dangerous. Until he knew more, until he was bloody well sure, his crewmates needed to protect themselves from him. They needed to lock him up, or restrain his movements. He could not be allowed to roam free. God, even with the padd on his lap, he could… the things he could do to this ship, to his friends…

"Take this," he said, shoving the padd into Tucker's hand. Chest tight, he gave voice to his feelings. "You need to put me in the brig."

"Why would we do that?" Tucker asked.

"Because I'm not sure of what I'll do." He winced, palm to the bridge of his nose. "They did something to me." He chuckled, low in his throat, and looked up to meet Tucker's gaze. "I know you don't believe me, but they did. They made me do things, there, and I'm not sure I'm in control."

"No… Malcolm…" Trip said, drawing out the sounds. He nodded to Sato and said, voice low, "Could you get Phlox, please?"

Before she could leave, Reed turned to her. "I know you don't believe me, but, just… Please." He hesitated. "Do me a favour, will you?" he asked, his voice sounding brittle. "Check on something for me."

She exchanged a wary glance with Tucker. At Tucker's cautious nod, Reed continued. "See if there's a planet nearby, populated. There was a blast at a government building. Someone set an explosive." Sato's eyes widened, but he went on. "Find out if it happened. Find out the description of the person who did it. And if it was me…"

"What?" Sato asked in surprise.

"If it was me," Reed repeated with a tight smile, knowing he probably looked cracked. "Put me in the brig."

x-x

Chapter 7: 

x-x

Reed sat on the floor near the bed, his back to the wall, staring across the room at nothing. Why he'd settled on the floor, he couldn't remember, and now he couldn't be bothered to move. The deck plating was cold beneath him, seeping cold up through the thin trousers Phlox had given him for his stay in sickbay, but he didn't much care. The cold actually felt good on his injured leg, and it reminded him of another place and time, when he'd sat on the steps, winter seeping up through his threadbare coat. He'd been lost then, too.

Pulling his uninjured leg in toward his chest, he fingered the silver band that graced his ankle. They hadn't put him in the brig, despite his insistence; but at least they'd put a mobile monitor on him. Seemed they had some fear he'd take off, do something to himself if to no one else, and he'd let them think that, hadn't argued, because it had served his purpose – he couldn't leave sickbay, couldn't even move about the room without someone knowing it. The metal against his skin was cool, and he turned the device round and round, each time touching the clasp. Round, and round, and round, cool silver against bare skin.

He was recovering, or so the doctor had said, and it was true: his leg felt better, the voices hadn't reoccurred, he'd not been hallucinating. And yet he'd not been released. Apparently, they were concerned about his mental state. He would be, too.

He turned the thin silver round his ankle. For a monitor, the device was oddly delicate looking. He gave it a firm tug, to no effect, so he turned it round again, each time fingering the clasp. It wasn't until footsteps stopped nearby that he looked up.

Archer stood several feet away from him, with Sato at his side. Reed's heart jumped at seeing them, but he tamped it down.

"How are you feeling?" Archer asked, seeming genuinely concerned, although there was an edge of something else in his eyes.

"Better, Sir," Reed replied, meaning it.

"I'm glad," Archer answered. He moved the papers he held from one hand to the other, and Reed got the impression the man was unsure of how to start. "We have some news." He nodded to Sato, who shifted uncomfortably.

"You remember you'd asked me to check on something?" she asked.

Reed looked over at her and then nodded. It had only been a couple of days since they'd talked, and there was no fault in his memory. In fact, he remembered too much.

Sato's expression changed, and his heart hammered in his chest. He could tell from her face what she was about to say, and knew that all was lost. Maybe he should stand to receive the news, but what was the point? Any punishment he'd receive was just and right. Instead, he fiddled with the band encircling his ankle, feeling more trapped than he ever had in his life.

"We found a planet," Sato said.

Archer spoke next, rather than Sato. "There was a blast. Hoshi tapped into the local news reports, and a man matching your description was seen there, and also in a shelter nearby. They had surveillance footage." At this, he held up a photo.

It was grainy, black and white. It showed a man at the door of the shelter. Despite its poor quality, it was clearly him.

"Is this you?" Archer asked.

Numb at this point, he shrugged.

"Lieutenant," Archer said, voice sharper now. "Is this picture you?"

Reed met his gaze. "Yes, Sir."

"How is that possible?" Archer asked. "Were you there?"

"I –" He cut himself off. What could he say to that? "I don't know," he finally murmured.

Archer sighed, frowning. He held up another photo. "You were in sickbay at the time of the blast, and yet you were seen at the site of the explosion."

"Sir," Reed said solemnly. He'd done it. He must have done. Despite almost hoping that he was mad and had imagined all of it, he'd known he had. He felt suddenly and oddly calm.

"Did you set off the device?"

"Yes."

Archer's frown deepened. "Terrorists have claimed responsibility for the blasts. Were you involved with them?"

"No, Sir."

"But you just said –"

"I know what I said, Sir," he replied, grinding out his answer. "I know what I did."

Archer crossed his arms over his chest, but the effect was one of puzzlement and worry rather than anger. "You're not making this easy, Malcolm."

"But you didn't leave the ship," Sato interjected. "You were here during the explosion. You were here before it, on the days the shelter staff said you were staying with them. I mean, we were in staff meetings together. How could you have been in both places?"

"I know," Reed said, eyes glancing across hers, then away. "I'm sorry. I don't know why. I don't even know how. But I did it. I was there. I assembled that device, and I set it off."

"Why?" she replied.

He shook his head, at a loss. "I don't know."

"Do you know these men?" Archer held up a series of pictures.

Reed stared at one. It was the man who'd drugged him, the man from the white room. Pointing, he whispered, "Him."

"I don't get it," Archer said as he began pacing again. "You were here the whole time, and yet you're telling me that you were there, and you did this? How is that even possible?"

"I'm sorry, Sir." Archer tried to interrupt, but Reed didn't let him. "They wanted to pass the actions off as those of a disgruntled returned veteran, to push some sort of point, I don't know. It was my eyes that let them, and whatever they did to me, it made me wrong," he twisted that last word, tugging at his hair. He turned to Sato, unable to meet Archer's gaze any longer. "I did it. I don't know why I did, but I did it. I'm sorry. They… I don't know how, but they must have…" He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, the tension building. "They said no one would believe me."

"Malcolm," Archer said from quite close by. Reed looked up to find the man squatting a few feet away, as if wanting to get close and yet careful not to. "We'll figure it out."

"No," Reed said, hands flying up and sculpting the words. "Don't you see? I did it. They have the evidence. It's only right that…" He shook his head violently. "Whatever punishment –"

Archer tried to interrupt. "No, Malcolm –"

"They did it on purpose. Everything," Reed said frantically, emotions crashing back in on him as his earlier calm boiled away. "They… they broke me, twisted who I am, made me, made me…" At a loss, he rubbed his forehead roughly.

"Sir," Sato said, interrupting. She caught Archer's eye. "Give us a moment, will you, Sir?"

Archer seemed to hesitate. Then he gave her a meaningful look, and with a nod, stood and headed toward Phlox's office.

Reed watched as Sato sat on the floor a few feet away. This placed her at his level, and he knew her game – similar to what Archer had tried – get down to where he was, echo his posture, make herself seem less threatening. Smart.

"What happened?" she asked. "Tell me from the beginning."

So he did.

Once he was done, Sato, who during his story had slid in beside him along the wall, arm's distance away, turned her face toward his. "You were here the whole time. No one boarded us. Yes, a probe came on board. You and the Commander were there. You got hit by some sort of energy weapon. But that's it. You've been here the entire time. And the Commander certainly is not dead." At this, she smiled. "I just had breakfast with him this morning."

"I know that's true," Reed said, not entirely believing it. "But I also know that I was captured. They did something to me," he said, touching his forehead. "They put me on that planet on purpose. And you saw the bloody pictures."

"I did," Sato said cautiously. "But tell me, how is that possible?" she asked, tugging the end of her ponytail.

"I don't know," he said, throwing up his hands in frustration. "But I was there. You've seen the photos. People saw me there."

Sato, hair twirled round her fingers, let it go with sudden movement. "But –"

"I set that bomb," he said quickly. "I remember it."

"If that's true," she said, clearly not quite buying it despite the evidence to the contrary, "it wasn't you that did it. They did it. They did something to you, but it wasn't you," she said, touching his arm briefly. "It may have been your, I don't know, body, maybe, but it wasn't you," she said, emphasising that last word. She turned to face him fully, leaning forward over crossed legs. "T'Pol tells me they'd had a war."

Reed nodded.

"I'm thinking these terrorists used you to… I don't know. Try to trigger unrest or something."

"How?" he whispered, voice coming out almost plaintive.

"I don't know," Sato answered, matching his tone. "All I can think is it has something to do with that probe."

"But I was captured before that probe came on board."

"Maybe," Sato said. "That is, if you were captured at all." She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't get it. But it can't be coincidence; you getting hit by that probe's energy beam, then waking up with all these memories; and those things having actually occurred, with photos of you doing them. No way that's coincidence." She leaned back slightly. "My money's on the probe."

"A probe like that, a device capable of this." He touched his head with his palm. "It wasn't like anything I saw on that planet." He twisted the monitor on his ankle, letting it dig into his skin.

"It's not as if you were exposed to all the science they have or anything." Sato briefly rested her hand on top of his, stilling his movements. "And they could have gotten the probe from someone else."

"I saw no evidence that they'd made first contact."

"Maybe not officially, but…" Sato rolled her eyes. "Listen, we'll plug the holes in the theory later, all right? But for now, go with it." Reed raised one doubtful brow, but Sato ploughed on. "I'm thinking we came by and they saw an opportunity, so they took it. And maybe they did just intend to probe us, maybe discover some tech that they could use. But when they saw you, they grabbed you."

"My eyes," he murmured. Looking up, he added, "I don't know what I told them," voice quiet. "They tried to get our passwords."

"They weren't able to use them."

"They were able to use me," he said flatly. He twisted the band on his ankle again, staring down at it.

"Not your fault. That probe somehow fucked with your head," she said, the profanity so surprising that he met her gaze, then realized she'd done it on purpose.

He let out an audible breath. "So why did they make me think the Commander had died?"

Sato tilted her head to the side. "I'm not sure they did," she said tentatively. "I think you kind of lost your mind, down there. If you were really down there." She grimaced, waving a hand in the air. "You know what I mean. Something about the process…" She let her voice trail off into a wince.

He gave her a slight grimace. "Sorry it's so confusing."

Her eyes softened. "Worse to be you."

He braced himself, then asked the inevitable. "So Trip is not dead."

"Not even a little."

"I'd thought not."

She smiled. "I don't know what they did to you with that probe. But you already seem kind of better."

"Kind of?" he asked sharply, taking the sting out of the words with a raised brow.

She gave him an amused look. "Well, you're sitting on the floor of sickbay in your pyjamas, so yeah, I'm thinking 'kind of' kind of fits the situation, you know?"

He went serious. "I don't like not being in control."

"I know," she said, her amusement falling away. "But whatever it is they did, we're… I mean, you should have seen the captain's face when I showed him those photos.

He folded his arms tightly across his chest. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, he turned red he was so angry." She must have seen the emotions he was trying to hide, because she smiled softly. "Not at you, Sir. At whatever happened to you, or made you do this. I don't think for a second that he believed that you were actually complicit in this."

"How can he be so certain?" he asked, wondering how Archer could be so sure of him when he himself was not.

Sato nodded in understanding. "He knows you, Malcolm," she said, and he started at her use of his name. She'd obviously used his first name for effect. And it had worked. "He trusts you," she added with a smile. "Whatever the hell they did to you, be it down there, up here, or via some sort of wacky alien probe-induced telecommuting, we will figure out, and we will fix it." She looked at him quite directly. "Trust me."

Trust her.

That Archer and the others believed him was significant, even profound. Despite the preposterousness of his story, they believed him.

Archer trusted him enough to believe him. So, apparently, did Sato. And Tucker as well. And if they trusted him, who was he not to return their trust?

"I will," he said quietly, and finally returned her smile.

x-x

Chapter 8: 

x-x

Reed held the cards in his left hand, bracing his arm on the mattress so the trembling was less noticeable. The latest change Phlox had made to his medications had caused tremors, but the doctor hoped that as his body adjusted, they'd dissipate. As one of the cards slid from his hand despite his best efforts, he winced. He certainly hoped Phlox was right. He'd had about enough of side effects.

"You all right?" Tucker asked from his chair on the other side of the bed.

"I am," Reed said, scooping up the errant card from where it sat on the mattress. He leaned back in his chair and gave Tucker a wry look. "I'm afraid the drugs and I are not getting on."

Tucker placed a card on the table with a distinctive "snick", and he asked, "Are they working?"

Reed answered with a shrug. "I'm not entirely sure. It all seems somewhat pointless."

Tucker peered at him, lowering his cards. "Phlox is trying to figure this out."

"That's not what I meant," Reed said, letting his own cards fall to the bed between them. "Phlox seems so sure that the drugs are helping, but if it was the probe, if the beam did something to me, then what help will drugs be?" More than that, he thought but did not say, what prevents me from sliding back into the madness from which I've come?

Tucker seemed thoughtful. "Sometimes…" He started, but let his voice trail away. He put down the cards entirely and looked at him frankly. "Sometimes mental illness is like that." He held up a hand. "Not that I'm saying you're mentally ill or anything, but if that probe did something to you, to your head, maybe it's not that different from the chemical imbalances and other things that go into mental illness. And some can be cured, or at least managed, with drugs." He cocked his head. "What I'm trying to say is, give it some time." Tucker grinned. "You do seem better."

Curious, Reed asked, "How so?"

Tucker's smile fell away, and he looked down as he fiddled with the cards lying in front of him. "When you first woke up," he said. He flicked the edge of one card against another, and his gaze met Reed's. "I'm not sure you even realised…" He took an audible breath. "I mean God, Malcolm, to be honest, it was kind of scary. I walked into sickbay with Hoshi and you were talking to yourself."

Reed felt that one in his gut. "I was?" he asked. It was suddenly difficult to breathe.

"You were," Tucker said. "And not just that. I visited you a couple times, and you were so off in your own world I don't think you even knew I was there."

"I don't remember," Reed replied, wrapping his arms across his chest. The idea – the very idea that he'd been there, talking to himself, and not even known it. That his friend had visited him, and he'd not known. It was chilling. What else had happened that he had missed?

"I don't expect you would remember," Tucker said gently. He must have seen Reed's expression, because he said, "It's okay. You're better now."

"I am?" Reed asked uncertainly.

"You are," Tucker answered confidently.

Reed tried for a smile. "I'm not still talking to myself, am I?"

"No," Tucker said firmly. "So now you know, you are getting better. I don't know if it's Phlox's drugs, or time and distance from that planet, or just natural healing, but you're getting better. And I'm glad." He picked up his cards and looked down at them as he began putting them in order. "You're one of the few poker players on this ship that I can actually beat."

Reed managed a smile at that one, and feeling an itch at his nose, wiped it unconsciously with the back of his hand. It came away red. He raised alarmed eyes to Tucker. "Trip."

"Yeah," Tucker said. His eyes were slow to leave his cards, but when they did, they widened. "Hey," he said, sitting straighter.

"This is what happened when I –"

That was all Reed got out before the room spun out from him and he fell. There was movement, and Tucker's face hovering above him. The man spoke, and although he could hear the words, they were flying past him too quickly to catch, a blurr of sound. He shut his eyes, hoping it would help, but as soon as he did, he was on the planet again, in the shelter, on his bed, the only person in the large room. The sun was setting, lighting the walls in oranges and pinks, and he leaned back against the headboard in shock, his pulse hammering in his ears as he gasped.

"No," he said aloud. "Absolutely not. No," he said, fear making his voice tremble. He rubbed his palms, hard, along the blanket below him. Rough, as he remembered it. He inhaled the scents of food and cleaning products. He was there. This was real. He did not want it to be. He slammed his eyes closed again, and shouted, "Trip!"

"Yeah," Tucker said from nearby. "Phlox is right here."

"I don't want to go back there," Reed said forcefully, eyes opening on Tucker's concerned face. He felt Tucker grasp his arm firmly, as if to hold him there, and he focused on the feel of Tucker's hand against his skin, hoping it would help anchor him. "I don't want to leave."

Tucker exchanged an alarmed look with someone, probably Phlox, but Reed was afraid to look away from Tucker's eyes, lest he might be lost. He blinked.

He heard a voice. It was the doctor, from the planet. She was whispering. He tensed, trying to hear and yet not wanting to.

"I don't know if you can hear me," the woman said, voice hurried.

"Trip," Reed said. "I can hear her."

Tucker squeezed his arm. "It's okay."

He felt something against his neck, and heard a hiss, and was almost immediately drowsy. "No, please," he said. He needed to stay awake; he was afraid of what would happen if he did not. His eyes shut despite his best efforts, and he felt himself drifting.

The doctor's voice came again, and this time, she was sitting beside him on the bed; still in her white coat, her hand closed around something small enough that it couldn't be seen. She was looking directly at him.

He took a wild look around, pulled his coat in around himself and tried to stand, but his leg – damn it, it was like Phlox's treatments had never been done. Maybe they hadn't. Maybe he'd never left this bloody planet. Maybe he was mad, and he'd never left. But he didn't think that was it. "I can't be here," he said quickly, glaring at the doctor accusingly. "You sent me home."

"I know," she said, and raised her hand, revealing a small, silvery disc. "But with this thing, it'd still be possible for someone to –" She shook her head, closing her fist again. "I wanted to let you know, it was not right, what we did to you," she said firmly, sounding a bit rehearsed. "That isn't what we stand for. Or what I thought we stood for," she said, her voice suddenly less certain. "And if this is going to work, I needed you here."

"What?" he asked, wincing as the edge of the headboard pinched his back. He'd been pushing into the headboard as if trying to get away from her, and he took a conscious breath, trying to find some measure of calm so he could think through the situation.

"I'm going to destroy this stupid device, make sure it can't hurt anyone else," she said. Reed's pulse pounded in his ears, breath coming quicker as she spoke. "I have no idea what this'll do to you, but…" She leaned toward him, and this time, he didn't back away. "It probably won't be pleasant. Still, it's got to be better than what you've been through recently. And maybe, whatever happens after this, knowing the device is gone will give you a measure of peace." She glanced at the device in her hand, then up at him. "Are you ready?"

Reed knew he was. Whatever happened next, it didn't matter, so long as he was able to make this stop, and get home. He nodded.

"I'm sorry," she said. With a pained expression, she triggered something on the device.

Pain, white hot and lancing, arced through his head, and he knew he was having a seizure even as it started. Then he lost track. Time passed, how much he wasn't certain; his thoughts felt like treacle. Can't have been that much. The smell of earth everywhere, wet, mouldering, and sharp. His vision swam, and then came to focus on dark walls shooting up to the bright sky above, and suddenly he knew where he was. Again. He was in the alley, the place where he'd… Damn it all to bloody… He swore aloud.

Using the nearest wall, he pushed himself to standing, trying not to put weight on his injured leg. Slowly, with the wall as support, he scrambled out of the narrow space, and into the lot beyond. There, where it had been before, was the skip. There, on the wall nearby, were the symbols he'd scrawled.

His eyes roved the lot, looking for he knew not what. Enterprise was now light years away from here. Worse, he realized – and this one stopped him dead in his tracks – they wouldn't know he was missing. If this was anything like the last time, his body was still on Enterprise, in sickbay, and likely unconscious. They wouldn't be looking for him. It was to him, to find a way home.

He suspected he knew how this worked. And even if he didn't – even if he was wrong – even if this was madness - he had to at least try. He did not want to do this, but he thought he knew how this worked, and he had to try.

His eyes began roaming the lot again, and he started moving when he found what he was looking for. It was a slow process, climbing the fire escape ladder with one injured leg, and he rested at every landing. But finally, he reached the roof. Shambling, his leg slowing him, he made his way to its edge. The rooftop allowed him a view over the empty lot, and was high enough to allow him to see over most of the other buildings in the area, and to mute some of the sounds of the city. A soft breeze, unexpectedly mild when he thought of how cold he'd been here when last he'd visited, pushed his hair back from his sweaty face, and caused the fabric of his coat to brush against his legs. He looked up into the bright blue sky.

Last time he'd been on this forsaken plant, he'd had to nearly kill himself in order to get home. Last time, that'd worked, had been what it had taken. Last time, others had been controlling him. This time… This time, he said a soft prayer. He was willing to do anything to get back home. Even if… "God, please," he whispered. He could feel his heart thrumming in his chest, and he inhaled slowly. On the exhalation, he stepped off the roof.

x-x

Chapter 9: 

x-x

Tucker was there, alarm clear in his eyes. Phlox was beside him, a med kit in his hand. They were both kneeling on the deck plating, which meant –

"Mister Reed," Phlox said, scanner out and moving. "Can you hear me?"

Which meant he was lying on the deck. In sickbay. On Enterprise. Home.

Reed's eyes locked on those of Tucker. He was falling, or he'd fallen; stepped off and away. He remembered the sense of it, the feeling in his head, his stomach, as he'd plunged from that roof; nothing to hold on to, out of control. He'd not looked down; the entire time, he'd looked up at the sky. He'd stepped from that roof and trusted, or hoped, that in doing so, he'd end up home.

"Malcolm?" Tucker said. He touched his arm, and Reed remembered the last time Tucker had grasped his arm, anchoring him in place, and how the wind had taken him anyway.

He didn't remember hitting the ground. He must have done, but as in a dream, his memory cut out just before that point.

"Phlox?" Tucker said, concerned eyes moving to the doctor.

There should be pain. If he'd actually hit the ground, there should be pain, shouldn't there? And yet all he felt was a general ache, as if all his muscles had clenched and then released. If he'd fallen from that roof, the pain should be significant, and if it wasn't – if it wasn't, he must be dead. Or, or perhaps Phlox's –

The doctor shined a bright light into his eyes, and he shut them against it.

Exhaustion overcame him almost immediately, but he struggled against it. He couldn't sleep, not yet. He needed to be sure. He didn't want to go back there, to close his eyes, slide through sleep and end up back there. He couldn't. He'd… he'd rather… Anything, anything but that.

"Lieutenant," Phlox said forcefully, brushing a finger against his cheek.

And Reed felt that, flinched away from it with a rough, "Stop."

"Lieutenant, open your eyes, please," Phlox said, tone brokering no nonsense. So Reed did. He let Phlox examine him, eyes tracking the doctor's every movement, trying to lie still when he felt a desperate need to either get away or fall asleep. The doctor checked his eyes again.

"I fell," Reed said, trying to make sense of it all.

"You've had a seizure," Phlox said calmly. "The confusion and tiredness you feel is normal."

"No, no. How long was I gone?" Reed asked, it costing him some effort to do that much.

"Gone?" Tucker asked. "You didn't go anywhere. You had a seizure. Don't you remember it?"

He noticed Phlox seemed to have finished up the exam. "Am I here?"

"Here?" Tucker asked, exchanging another look with Phlox. "Yeah, you're here."

Back; maybe he was back, and for good this time. "I don't want to leave."

"You don't have to," Tucker said quietly.

What he'd done must have worked. It had to have. He had no choice but to believe that it had. "Can I sleep now?" he asked.

"On the bed," the doctor replied.

"Right, right," he replied, trying to sit. He felt Tucker's hands supporting him, and he stood woozily. He slid onto the bed, dizziness pushing him down onto his side, and someone – Tucker, maybe – pulled a blanket up over his shoulders.

"Thank you," he murmured.

At Tucker's nod, he let his eyes slide shut. The doctor had said she was destroying that device. If she said it, and he believed it… Well, he'd believed it enough to step off that roof. And he did feel different. Beyond the tiredness, he felt more like himself. Something had changed. Something significant. Something, what? Not that he was well – he'd no idea if he was actually well – but he certainly was different. Clearer. Perhaps functional. And, unable to stop himself, he laughed.

"Malcolm?" Tucker said, his voice shaking.

Reed stared up at him for a moment, taking it in. After a while, he said. "I think I'm well."

And while not entirely true, it was close enough.

x-x

Reed sat on his bed, legs crossed under him, his bare feet tucked under the edge of his duvet as he skimmed the padd in his hand, running through the messages he'd received while he'd been in sickbay. He was glad to finally be back in his own quarters, and to have a measure of true freedom. It had been a while. Even if he didn't count the apparently non-existent time he'd spent with his captors, he'd been away for far too long, and that long in sickbay, with half of that time spent nearly out of his mind, was not something he'd care to repeat.

Absently rubbing his ankle where, until this morning, he'd worn the monitor, he flicked through the pages on his padd, getting caught up on events on the ship and in the armoury, as well as news from home. As soon as he'd reached his room he'd pushed off the sickbay pyjamas he'd been wearing and scrambled into civilian clothes, happy to find some clean and neatly folded in his drawer. He wasn't ready for the uniform yet. He was better, yes, but not all better; there was evidence still of his ordeal, and until he was fully himself, and cleared for duty, he'd leave his uniform aside.

His hand touched his bare ankle again. His leg felt oddly light now. Naked. Exposed.

He looked off into the distance and let out a sigh. In a way, he was nervous. With no monitor and no guards, what if? There were still moments when he'd see Tucker and, forgetting that the man was alive, brace himself for the hallucination. But it didn't come. He was steadily getting better. Each day clearer, and no additional seizures, voices or visions, yet he knew he wasn't yet entirely on form. At least now he was thinking clearly, if occasionally plagued by past memories. He was getting better, largely due to the support he'd received from his crewmates.

He jumped when his door chime went. "Speaking of which," he murmured and, sliding off the bed, padded to the door. It opened to reveal Tucker, dressed in the brightly patterned shirt and those horrible yellow shorts he'd worn on their last shore leave together.

Reed stared at the man in his doorway. That outfit… he frowned, trying to trace the link. He'd remembered this outfit while he'd been digging through the skip, back on the planet, and found that coat, and it was the same outfit the Tucker he'd hallucinated has been wearing. He felt a chill, and curled his toes against the cold flooring.

Tucker leaned against the doorframe. "You going to invite me in or what?"

"Oh," Reed said, blinking away the memories. "Sorry, yes." He waved his friend in.

"Must be nice to be free," Trip said as he passed, headed for the desk chair.

"Very much so," Reed said. He moved toward the bed again, now the only available seat in the room. Settling himself there, he stared at his friend.

"You okay?" Tucker asked, peering at him carefully.

"Yes, sorry," he answered, trying to cover his discomfort. "Just, nice outfit. Aren't you cold?"

"Nah," Tucker replied with a smile. "I'm off duty tonight and tomorrow and we're going to have a little thing tonight. Figured I'd try to get into the spirit of it." He leaned forward across his knees. "When are you going back on duty?"

"As soon as Phlox clears me," Reed said, leaning back against the wall. "Next week, maybe. He thinks by then I'll…" He let the rest trail off, waving his hand vaguely.

"Phlox said that whatever they'd done to you has pretty much worn off."

"I think so," he answered. Once he'd had that seizure, he'd felt a major change; from there, things had got steadily better, but progress was slower than he'd like. He might normally be impatient with the process, but he was not. He'd rather not risk his friends, and his ship, by rushing it. Phlox had assured him that there was no evidence that they could trigger him again, and if what the doctor had said was true – the doctor from the planet – if he'd been there at all…

He hadn't spoken much about that second visit; hadn't told anyone about what he'd done when she'd brought him back there, just that she'd brought him back so she could destroy the device. No one, Tucker included, had asked the obvious question about how he'd managed to get back to Enterprise afterwards. He could perhaps pass it off as something the device did on its own, but from the way Tucker had looked at him upon his return, the man suspected something.

It had been a risk. It had been a very large, somewhat mad risk. But he'd seen no alternative then, and even now, in hindsight, he'd not change his actions. He'd had to get home. He'd have rather died than stay there, and he'd had to do what he'd done in order to be sure they couldn't pull him back there again. Speaking of which, "I don't know why you didn't turn me in."

Tucker shook his head vehemently. "Not a consideration."

Reed wound his fingers around his bare ankle. Bluntly, he said, "I'm willing to take responsibility for what I did."

"Malcolm..."

"Trip…"

Tucker pointed a finger at him. "Even if you did set that bomb, it was not as if you did it willingly." He leaned back in the chair. "And there would be no point, anyway. What would you say to them? 'I was in both places at the same time?' No way would they buy that."

"You did."

"Yeah, but I know you." Tucker gave him a wan smile. "And even I thought you'd fallen off the deep end. They'd probably slap you into some hospital and you'd never come out. Padded room if you're lucky; worse if you're not. Anyway, Starfleet would never go for it. They wouldn't let you tell them you were an alien, and if they ever figured out you weren't from there…" He hissed in a breath. "It's not exactly how we want to make first contact." He paused, as if for effect. "And they've arrested the man whose photo you identified."

"What? How?" Reed asked, tripping over the words.

Tucker gave him a self-satisfied smile. "We may have had something to do with that."

Reed shut his eyes for a moment. It was as if a weight had just come off his shoulders. "Thank you," he whispered.

"You, my friend, are welcome," Tucker said. A flicker of something crossed his face, and Reed, with a clarity that surprised him, knew what was coming. "I need to ask you something."

Sure enough. "Right," Reed answered, braced for impact.

Tucker leaned forward, closing the distance between them. He dropped his voice to an intimate level. "The first time you got yourself off that planet, you had to blow yourself up to do it." Pursing his lips, he left the rest unsaid.

Reed exhaled a sigh. "Trip, I…" Fists clenched, he let his voice trail away, unsure of what he could say.

"So what did you do?"

Reed winced. "Stepped off a roof."

Tucker let out a loud breath. "Must have been hard," he said, the simplicity of the words belying the complexity of emotion in his eyes.

"I couldn't leave anything to chance." Reed's hands flew open. "I was desperate."

"You must have had to really believe," Tucker said, sounding hesitant. "How could you be so sure? What if you had been wrong?"

"I couldn't stay there."

"Yeah, I get it. It's just that…" Tucker held a hand out toward him. "Jesus, Malcolm."

"He may have helped," Reed said, lip quirking in a tiny smile. "Last time," he waved a hand into the past, "the time before this, I was injured in the blast, probably knocked unconscious, and I ended up home; and yet she was – the doctor, I mean – she was able to bring me back to the planet." He knew he was rambling a bit, and this wasn't coming out as clearly as he might have liked, but he needed to get it out there in one go. "I don't know if my having been injured rather than worse is what let her bring me back – if there was still a link," he said, tapping his head gently, "or if it was the device that let her do what she did." He broke eye contact. "I probably could have come home if I'd somehow knocked myself out, but what if…" Shaking his head, he looked at Tucker again. "Perhaps her destruction of the device would have been enough, but I needed to make sure that link was broken. She destroyed the device, and I…" He threw up his hands. "Or I could be talking complete wank." He gave Tucker a tight smile.

"What does Phlox think?"

"Phlox believes I had a hallucination, somehow related to the seizure." Reed gave a wry look. "He doesn't seem to believe that I actually went back there, although he's keeping an open mind, based on past events." And he hadn't told the doctor the full details of how he'd engineered his return. If he had, he might still be in sickbay, and more than that, perhaps, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what the man would think about what he'd done. At Tucker's expression, he went on. "I had little choice in what I did, there. But that's not who I am, here."

"All right," Tucker said cautiously. His face twisted into a frown. "Strange days."

"Indeed."

"But it's done."

"Yes," Reed said firmly, although a part of him wasn't quite as certain. He tamped that down, rolling his shoulders slightly and exhaling his tension.

Tucker stood. "Good, because I was thinking, now that you're sane –"

"Oy!" Reed said, knowing Tucker would take it in the spirit with which it was intended.

Tucker pursed his lips, eyes flashing merrily in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood. "Now that you are sane," he said, twisting that last word. "In honour of your new-found freedom, I am inviting you to a night of copious drinking and wild women…"

Reed chuckled. It had been so long since he'd done anything but spend time in sickbay, or on that planet, struggling with his own demons. Time he did something, anything, else. He couldn't help but smile as he added, "So long as by 'sane', you don't mind 'mostly'."

"…and so long as by 'wild women' you don't mind me, Hoshi and Travis," Tucker continued, laughing. "And by 'copious drinks' you don't mind that I only have four beers in my fridge and Phlox likely told you that you can't drink, anyway."

How could he say no to a request like that? "Yes, yes, fine," he said, playing at a bit of annoyance.

Tucker clapped him on the shoulder, then looked down. "Where are your shoes?" He gave him a light shove, in the direction of the dresser. "Go, go, socks, shoes…"

As Tucker rambled on, Reed started hastily putting himself together. The past weeks, or what he'd thought had been weeks, had been difficult. But he was home, now, and amongst friends. He might still have some issues to work through, but if ever he was again unsure of which reality was real, he'd pick this one. Even if it meant pitching himself off a roof.

He'd take that chance. His friends were here. He was home.

x-x

-End-

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