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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 is 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.
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