Left Hanging

Set any time after series 3.

Warnings: some violence.

Spoilers: none.

Disclaimer: I don't own it; I make no money from it. Not written for profit, simply for pleasure.

Thoughts are written in italics.

The spelling mistakes for the Trip's dialogue were intentional to fit with his accent.

Enjoy!

As Lieutenant Malcolm Reed drifted back to consciousness, the only thing he was aware of was the pounding in his head. What happened this time? He twitched and new pains made themselves known to his befuddled mind. He took a mental itinerary; head, arms, chest… hmm broken ribs again probably, head, left hand, head, no pain in my legs- at least that's something I suppose, head… He groaned and tried to work out how he had gotten into this much pain this time. Odd… he thought. Usually I'd be in sickbay by now. He shook his head, wincing at the spikes of fresh pain that flashed across his mind, and tried to remember.

Trip. Trip was there. And the Captain… They had been on the bridge. Hoshi. She was translating. T'Pol saw something on sensors. That's right. He tried in vain to hurry his brain along. The sensors were going off because… because of the ship! The alien ship. Captain Archer was talking to them. Trip had stood up to address them. Phlox was there. They wanted medical help. Hoshi was translating, and…

At this point his mind stubbornly refused to enlighten him with any more information. He gasped as more pain streaked violently across his chest and smelt something. Smoke! His eyes flashed open, and his senses were immediately assaulted.

The thick, black smoke forced its way down his sore throat and burned against his nose and eyes. Flashes of light sparked from empty consoles. His crewmates were nowhere in sight. We must have been attacked, he realised. He stared at his own ruined console, hoping for more information. Warning lights blinked innocently back at him. He looked towards Hoshi's station at a pained groan.

"Hoshi?" he tried to yell, but with the dense smog pushing against his chest it came out as a wheeze. Groaning was good, he decided. If you could groan then you were still alive. "Hoshi? T'Pol?" he tried again, praying to whoever might be listening that their sensitive hearing would distinguish his voice and they would reply. He looked down at himself, only to find his view obstructed by the large support beam pressing into his stomach. His eyes popped slightly. Ah. Not good. That's supposed to be in the ceiling. That explains why there's no pain in my legs. Definitely not good.

He shifted his arm, intending to try and push the beam away, only for it to swing to his left and hand there. He stared at it until another moan came to his ears, this one decidedly more masculine.

"What in the-?" Trip. It had to be Trip. His brain caught up and began shifting what little information he had into facts, and he realised that not only must everyone in the bridge, with the exception of himself, been thrown to the port side of the ship in whatever attack or explosion Enterprise had been privy to this time, but the grav plating must be offline, else his arm wouldn't dangle to his side. That meant one thing. We landed. He frowned. Sideways. There had been no habitable planets nearby. What's going on? He wondered, as a blissfully familiar voice reached his ears.

"Urgh. Everyone alright?" Archer asked, sounding heavily winded. Malcolm wished he could see through the smoke to judge how badly the others were wounded.

"I am uninjured, Captain," came T'Pol's coolly , detached Vulcan voice. "I will endeavour to find out the status of the rest of the ship."

"Good. Hoshi?"

"I'm OK Sir, just a few bruises," Hoshi reassured her worried Captain shakily.

"Trip? Travis?"

"Fine, Sir," Travis said, sounding mildly dazed.

"Me too, Cap'n. Although ah'm gonna be havin' words with those aliens about proper manners when meetin' a new species. Especially if they want some help from us," Trip grumbled.

"Captain," T'Pol interrupted. "I have managed to get reports from all departments. There are no serious injuries and no fatalities".

"Thank God," Archer sighed. "Try and find out what happened, can you T'Pol? Phlox? How about you? Are you hurt?"

"No permanent damage done, Captain," came the cheery reply, " Just a few minor bruises. Although I think I should be the judge of if you are all 'fine', hmm?"

Malcolm released a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding as relief surged through his veins at hearing that the rest of the crew was OK. The giddiness added to his lightheaded feeling, and his headache, and the world span dizzily.

"Sure Doc," Archer smiled. Malcolm could tell even when he couldn't see the man. "Malcolm?"

There was a pause.

"Malcolm?" The Captain sounded concerned now, his voice taking on an urgent edge to it. Malcolm tried to breathe in so that he could answer, but he couldn't seem to get enough air into his lungs. The world span faster.

"Malcolm? Can you hear me? Where is he? I can't see him. Malcolm?"

The Captain's now panicky voice was joined by Travis and Trip's, as they called for him.

"Everyone shut up a sec!" Hoshi commanded, and the activity to find the missing Lieutenant stopped abruptly. "I think I hear something."

Yes! Malcolm thought. Come on Hoshi! Use that hearing of yours! I'm up here. Look up. Up here. In the sudden hush of the bridge his own shallow raspy breathing sounded like a shout. He tried again to call back to his friends, only to choke feebly on the air.

"Up there," Hoshi said, sounding terrified at the very idea.

The Captain took control again. "We need to see. Everyone, get all the doors open, quick! That should draw out some of the smoke."

The sounds of protesting metal doors scraping along their runners met his ears, as the smoke seemed to thin slightly. His breathing didn't ease, and a strange metallic tasting liquid swirled around his mouth, and he let his eyes drift shut as the world continued to spin around him.

A sudden gasp drew his attention. His eyes snapped open again, and he could see the shapes of the rest of the bridge crew staring up at him as he focused harder on breathing. A quiet groan escaped him as the pain tore into him once more and his eyes snapped shut against it. The pain swelled and the shrill ringing that had started in his ears blocked out the sounds of the others trying to reach him.

There was pressure at his wrist suddenly, and he cracked his eyes to blink owlishly at Archer checking for his pulse. His Captain looked relieved to find one and opened his mouth to speak to him.

"Malcolm," he said, but the words were muffled, as if coming from a great distance away. "Look at me. Look at me!" Malcolm's blue eyes found his Captain's worried brown orbs. "You're going to be OK, Malcolm. We'll get you fixed up in no time." He smiled weakly and yelled for Phlox over his shoulder before turning back to Malcolm.

The doctor appeared seconds later with a medical scanner and took in Malcolm's condition. "Captain, we need to stop the blood flow. Please put pressure on the wound. We need to move him quickly, I'll get the others to help."

Archer nodded worriedly as the doctor disappeared again. "Sorry Malcolm," he said. "Doctor's orders. I think this is probably going to hurt." As his Captain pressed down hard on his stomach the pain spiked and Malcolm felt his world spin dangerously, as the edges of his vision blurred to black. The Captain was speaking to him, but Malcolm could no longer hear what he was saying. As he drifted once more into unconsciousness the last this he saw was the bright light of a phase pistol being fired.

TBC...

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