A/N: First, thanks to all our loyal readers and apologies for the length of time this update has taken. HoVis being the disorganised teenager takes full responsibility! Hope you like this chapter, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Neither of us own anything in this story apart from the characters of 'the other Malcolm' and the various nurses/doctors whom Malcolm encounters. And anyone can have them if they want!

Chapter Seven

There were a few things that Malcolm Reed, still stuck on Earth, really did not want to think about. Foremost amongst these was the fact that in two days time he would be going into hospital for an operation, the outcome of which could very well change his life.

Unfortunately, thanks to his well-meaning but ridiculously misguided friends and family on Earth, he barely had a chance to think of much else. His sister Madeline had come to visit, and was fussing over his every move.

"Madeline," he was forced to say eventually, through gritted teeth, "just calm down!"

But rather than quietly acquiescing, as he had expected his sweet-natured sister to do, Madeline placed her hands on her hips and glared down at him.

"No," she said flatly, rounding his chair and placing her hands on his shoulders. She squeezed. "Malcolm, you're as tense as anything."

Malcolm reached up and pushed her hands away, once more expecting her to let them fall – the perfect image of a calm, quiet young woman – but she stubbornly placed them once more upon his shoulders. Malcolm smiled, realising that there was nothing else he could do.

"You're getting more like me every day, Madeline dear." He said lightly, and Madeline let her hands drop. She moved around so that she was facing him, and knelt down and gently, took his hand.

"I'm stubborn, like you, Malcolm." She said quietly. "Just not as often as you are. I'm stubborn when it matters. You matter." She rose, breaking the moment. "You've a hospital appointment this afternoon, don't forget."

And with that she turned on her heel and strode out into the garden, leaving Malcolm quite alone.

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"Mr Reed?" The young woman's voice broke through his grey thoughts as he sat in the hospital waiting room, and he looked up, discomfited to be met with the by now familiar sight of the nurse's smiling, pretty young face. "Dr Shaw can see you now."

Malcolm made no response, save to give a curt nod as the young woman took the handles of his chair and began to wheel him down the corridor. He felt the back of his neck reddening, as it had every other time he had made this ignominious journey, at the humiliation of being dependent on so young a woman. And yet he couldn't help but smile as he thought of what Trip would say to such an old-fashioned attitude...

"Are you alright, Lieutenant?" The nurse asked, her tone one of perfect nonchalance.

"I'm ver -" Malcolm paused in amazement as the last of the young woman's words sank in. "How did you know?"

He listened carefully for her reaction. He heard her let out a small sigh, but from the tone of it he was sure she was smiling.

"You aren't such a mystery you pretend to be, Malcolm Reed. I recognised your face from the news vids – all it took was a little... checking of your files." She paused, and Malcolm heard her breath quicken, as though in nervousness. "I – I'm very sorry for what happened. You're a – a true hero. I mean, in the Expanse -"

"Please." Malcolm cut her off shortly, schooling his features as blank as he possibly could. "I'd rather not talk about it."

The rest of the journey was carried out in silence.

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The meeting with the doctor was a short one, but by the time Malcolm came out of the cramped room he felt as though his limbs had been flooded with ice. It was a fear he had never experienced before: when out in space, any fear was a boost to his adrenaline, something to be used... but now, with the stark facts of his situation laid out before him, he could not help but let the fear enter his mind.

What if he never walked again? It was a thought he had never entertained until now, until the doctor uttered those awful words – fifty percent chance of success. Fifty percent! He would never send a security team into a situation with such long odds, and yet here he was, waiting for two more days to pass until he placed his fate entirely in the hands of a group of men and women in white coats...

"Mr Reed?" The nurse's tone was tentative as she took the chair's handles once more, ready to take him back to the waiting room. "I – I thought you should know that – that I'll be assisting with your operation on Tuesday."

Malcolm glanced up at her, briefly, at her anxious expression, and nodded. The nurse took a deep, nervous breath.

"I'm in training, you see. To become a doctor." She began to wheel his chair down the corridor, very slowly.

"But that's -" Malcolm paused. "That's wonderful. Good luck." He heard her smile, and let a small smile cross his own face.

"Thanks." She said. "I just thought it would help for you to know that – that you won't be alone on Tuesday. I'll be there."

They were almost at the end of the corridor now, but Malcolm wished he could make the journey last a little longer so that he could fully appreciate the gift the young woman had just gave him. In her naivety she probably didn't understand it herself, but through her words he had given him something he had never run short of before, and yet desperately needed now. Courage. She had given him that. She reminded him of another young woman he knew. Hoshi... he hoped Hoshi was alright. That his namesake was taking good care of all of his friends' safety.

"I don't even know your name." He said in surprise, as they entered the waiting room. The young nurse – soon to be doctor – glanced at the clock, then around the almost empty waiting room, and pulled up a seat beside him.

"My name is Charlie Tristen," she said, "and right now I've got a break. Do you want to talk?"

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. The girl was proving to be somewhat unpredictable – from tentative inquiries to shiningly confident insistences. Her name – short for Charlotte, he surmised – though, struck a bitter-sweet chord within him. Was his friend by such a similar name safe right now? He tried his best not to think of what Lieutenant Gregory was doing to his armoury. But at least Trip could look after himself... he hoped. It was with an internal sigh that he realised he was currently doing a thing Trip would warn him against – namely, 'bottling it up'. With a final sigh – he could not, after all, seem too eager to accept this eager girl's offer - he nodded.

"Very well." Tristen grinned at him, and then leant forward. Her expression was no longer cheery; it was serious, but softened by a very human concern which, Malcolm mused, must be the currency of all nurses. And even Vulcan ones, at that. He was roused from his memories (a voice within him whispered that they were all he had left, but he quelled it) by Tristen's first, gentle question.

"Do you want to tell me about Enterprise?"

Malcolm realised, with some surprise, that he did. And so Malcolm Reed, known throughout his life for talking only when necessary and even then with as few words as possible, began at last to unburden himself.

Little did he realise that, light-years away, his friends were in a very mortal danger.

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"Rum?" Malcolm's reverie – brought on by his conversation (or more, counselling session, but he disliked to think of it as such) with the Tristen girl earlier on in the day – was broken by the gruff, ineloquent, but perfectly-to-the-point question. He glanced up to see his father holding out two small glasses and an unmarked bottle of clear – but, Malcolm knew from experience, extremely potent – liquid. Rum. The drink of all sea-men.

"Alright." He said softly, deciding that it wasn't quite the right moment to tell his father that he had detested the stuff from childhood, and had always exchanged his 'tot' for either water or, when he got older, scotch or beer whenever he was aboard one of his father's naval ships. He took in Stuart Reed's pursed, careful expression as he poured out the liquid. No; definitely not the right time. He took his glass and, without a flicker of a grimace, downed it. He wasn't sure, but he thought that for a moment he saw his father's lips twitch as he did so. He set the empty glass down as his father settled into a chair – no wheels on his – opposite him. The older man swirled the liquid in his cup before taking a long, slow draught, savouring every drop. After a long moment, he set it down, and looked up at Malcolm.

"You know," he said casually, "I never really did like the stuff."

Malcolm almost restrained his laugh, but he found he was unable to. It was a laugh of surprise and pleasure, and when it was finished he found a weight had been taken from his chest.

"Thankyou." He said. And to think he had once thought that he and his father did not understand each other. Stuart Reed nodded curtly, comprehending perfectly Malcolm's meaning. Thankyou; for making me laugh when I needed it most, thankyou; for letting me come home. Thankyou.

Then, Stuart Reed gave a gruff cough – the kind of gruff cough Malcolm could only remember him giving on days like his wedding anniversary, when he was embarrassed by his wife's pleasure at the flowers he had bought, or before he said or did something uncharacteristically sentimental or emotional. It was a cough Malcolm knew he himself gave sometimes – the cough which preceded the lowering of his ever-present stiff upper lip, and the revelation of the emotions behind his mask. It was a cough which his experiences on Enterprise, and the people on her, had made him use a lot.

"No," Stuart Reed said, not looking at Malcolm, "thank you."

At least one thing was beginning to heal in this hopeless situation.

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A/N: Please read and review... and we will try and update quickly!!!