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Near Miss
Jonathan Archer ran as fast as he could. The Xindi weapon was self-destructing around him. He had to make it to the beam-out point in time. He wasn't going to make it to the beam-out point in time.
The old cliché proved true: images from his life began to flash before his eyes.
Trip had gone pale, shocked into speechlessness when they'd told him about Sim...
T'Pol's face had hardened, eyes darkening with anger as they left for the Illyrian ship...
Hoshi had collapsed, crying brokenly with guilt after her interrogation...
All of those incidents, all of the indicators had been trying to tell him the same thing. He knew what it was, but he hadn't listened. He hadn't wanted to listen. He'd convinced himself that it was all for a greater good, for an ultimately justifiable cause.
He was listening now, and he didn't like what he was hearing.
Another explosion knocked the catwalk loose and he lost his balance. It was too late; he was out of time. His surroundings screamed into darkness as he fell.
Or was it his mind, screaming in denial? He had to tell them! He had to make sure they knew he'd heard!
Archer woke to excruciating pain. Voices surrounded him, yet he couldn't understand what they said. There were the smells of blood and medicine, yet nothing to suggest the astringent cleanliness of a hospital. He cracked his eyes open and immediately saw things that shouldn't be there, someone not human, something not right.
But he smiled.
He was alive. He still had a chance to show them, through actions as well as words, that he understood what he'd done in the Expanse. There was still a chance for redemption, an opportunity to change what he'd become.
He wasn't out of time.
Author's Note: this is an expansion of a drabble (story of exactly 100 words) that I wrote as a part of the Musical Drabble Game at The Delphic Expanse. The song prompt for the original was "Brand New Day" by Forty Foot Echo.