We're within two or three chapters of the end. Thanks to everyone who have been reading this so far. I love getting your comments.

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The next afternoon brought them their first post-Casei drop, and Trip was a bundle of nerves. It was his first time holding the package, and, although he had Malcolm there to watch his back, the change in responsibility was making him deeply uncomfortable. Still, he had to do this - he had to get through it, so they could stay.

He watched Malcolm assess the buildings as they walked past. It was good that Trina had let Malcolm come along - Trip hadn't even thought about how he'd figure out the address. To him, each of the doors looked like they'd been marked with a bunch of random patterns, but they definitely had meaning and order; meaning and order that Malcolm, with the help of his handy native device, was somehow able to figure out. And without Malcolm, there would be no way that Trip would recognise the person they were looking for; even Malcolm had only seen him once, in a crowd during his last assignment here. Thank God his friend had a good memory. Lord knows, if he'd seen someone from afar, across a crowded room, years ago... Let's just say that unless it was kismet, there wasn't a chance in hell that he'd remember that person's face years later, even with the fate of Earth on the line.

"Here," Malcolm said quietly, interrupting Trip's thoughts. They had stopped in front of a large and imposing doorway. Trip gave a low whistle - the house was clearly the centerpiece of the neighborhood. If its security system was in any way reflective of the grandeur of the rest of the place, there was no way anyone could get inside without an invitation.

Taking the steps his usual two at a time, Malcolm placed his palm to one of the swirling patterns. Trip joined him just as the crackle of a speaker rang out from somewhere above them. Malcolm turned his face upward and, speaking into the darkness of the alcove ceiling, he said, "We're here with a delivery."

The doorway was wide enough that they were able to enter side-by-side. It closed with a barely audible "click" as an imposing man, obviously security, stepped from the shadows. Wordlessly, he led them to a far door, stopping just inside as they entered.

Draperies drawn, the room was dark, its sole occupant sitting in the pool of light coming from his desk lamp. He looked up at them with light eyes, pushing paperwork aside as he did so.

Trip saw a glint of surprise and recognition cross Malcolm's face, quickly smothered. Trip felt himself tense, but he tried to keep that buried as he let his gaze move from Malcolm back to their host. This was it, the person they'd been trying to find. Knowing he needed to let Malcolm take the lead on this one, Trip purposefully kept himself just behind him as they walked across the plush carpet.

Malcolm stepped to the desk. "We have your package." He nodded to Trip, who stepped forward and slid the drugs onto the desktop.

Before the man could even reply, Malcolm was across the desk and on him, pulling him up and away from his chair. Trip caught the glint of metal at his neck. Malcolm was holding him at knifepoint.

Looking past Trip's shoulder, Malcolm said, "Put it down." His voice was icy.

Trip was about to turn, but froze when the guard spoke. "I'll shoot your friend."

"Not before I cut," Malcolm said. Eyes steely, he twitched his knife hand. The man gasped, and Trip saw a drop of dark blood mar the pale neck. Malcolm repeated, slower this time, "Put it down."

Eyes wide, the trapped man nodded, and Trip heard something thump slightly as it was placed on the floor well behind him.

"Trip," Malcolm said carefully, eyes still held on the guard, body tense and ready. "Restrain him, please."

Casting about for something he could use, he settled on the drapery ties. He used one to restrain the guard, and then stepped to Malcolm's side with another. At Malcolm's nod he began tying the man's hands. He felt Malcolm step away, and looked up when he heard a noise from across the room. Malcolm was turning away from the now unconscious guard, knife still in hand. He'd likely used its hilt to knock out the guard.

Returning to Trip's side, Malcolm pushed the man down into his chair and stood over him. "What do you know about Earth?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," the man said, eyes wild.

Trip stepped away slightly but kept close and ready.

Malcolm was almost on top of the man now, his posture threatening. "We know you're involved. What do you know about Earth?" he repeated, an edge in his tone.

"I don't know anything about it," the man spat out. "I don't even know what it -"

Malcolm slapped him, hard. Blood trickled from the side of the man's mouth.

Trip, in his shock, noticed that the blood was just as red as that of a Human. In the darkness earlier, it had almost looked black, but now, in the brightness of the desk lamp, it stood starkly red against pale skin. Red. This wasn't acting, or Malcolm taking on a role. This was... this was different. Wrong. This was wrong, and it wasn't like Malcolm. Not the Malcolm he knew.

Malcolm raised his knife as if to strike and Trip stepped forward. Malcolm's head turned in his direction, and he was pinned in place with hard eyes.

Malcolm turned back to the man, voice a low growl in his throat. "I know you have information..."

Trip lost the rest when his eyes connected with those of their victim. He saw desperation, and fear, and something else. In a sudden moment of clarity, he saw what it was - the man was lying, he could see it in his eyes. With a gasp he tore his gaze away and took a step back. Malcolm continued questioning the man, looming over him as the man shook his head no, a red welt rising on his jaw where Malcolm had hit him.

Trip stood stiff, hands clenched into fists at his sides. The interrogation went on, and he could feel his anger build with every refusal, every lie. The Xindi. His sister. The millions of people who had died. His hometown gone, burnt off the face of the Earth by a bunch of... He felt the sharp pain of his fingernails digging into his palm, and he welcomed it.

Not again. No way was he letting something like that happen again. No fucking way.

The man gave a vehement shake of his head and Malcolm pushed him away, disgusted. Trip realised that this was their last and only chance. Either they got the information from this man, or all this - everything they'd done, everything they'd been through here - would be wasted, and there would be nothing they could do to help Earth, to prevent the attack. They were running out of time. This was their only damn lead.

Malcolm approached the man again.

Trip spun away from the scene, heart beating madly in his chest. He couldn't let it happen again. He could not. He already felt the weight of his sister's death, and back then there had been little that he could do to prevent it; now at least he had a shot. If they failed... If he failed... He closed his eyes against the imagery, but it was too late. He felt himself break under its weight, shattering into a million pieces. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't stop the attacks.

His breath caught. His eyes flew open. He wouldn't have to. The anxiety of moments before flowed away, replaced by an icy calm that tickled the edges of his mind as wrong wrong wrong, but he let it come. It was better than the agony and confusion of seconds earlier. Ice flowed into his chest, arms, and face, flowing through his veins. And with it, came a plan.

Turning back to Malcolm, he tugged at his arm and pulled him aside and out of earshot. Aware of the man's stare burning into them, he asked, "What else can we do to get him to talk?"

"Other than physically threatening him, I - "

Trip stepped in a bit closer, hand clasped on Malcolm's arm. "What if we stop threatening, and start doing?" At Malcolm's look of alarm, Trip went on, using his height to his advantage. He cut right to it. "There have to be some ideas from that prison we could use." He pulled at Malcolm's arm. "Something effective," he added, putting the full weight of his intention into those words. "Something quick." Malcolm tried to take a step back, but Trip held him in place. "We need this info."

"No, Trip. I -"

Trip ran right over him. "We have to."

Malcolm's eyes skidded from Trip, to the wall, and back again. "I don't want to go back there," he said quietly.

Trip knew what his friend meant, but he pushed harder, knowing full well what he was doing. "We have to. There's no choice."

Malcolm shook his head and looked away.

Trip lowered his voice further, hand tight around Malcolm's arm, and their gazes locked. "It doesn't matter what we do here," Trip said. "Whatever happens - hell, we can sacrifice ourselves, I don't care, but we have to get that info." He put on his command voice and straightened, dropping Malcolm's arm. "We can not leave this room without it."

Frozen in the moment, neither of them spoke. Then Malcolm's eyes went hard and he nodded sharply. "You should step outside."

Trip opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when Malcolm's expression changed. "You shouldn't see this," Malcolm said, almost looking like himself for a moment. It was gone in a flash and he turned back to his work.

Trip returned Malcolm's nod and walked away. Shutting the door behind him, he leaned back against it for a second, then pushed away frantically. Pacing the empty corridor, his footfalls softened by the carpeting, he kept a careful eye out for any additional guards or staff.

Trying hard not to think about what was going on behind that door, or about what he'd just done to his friend, he kept himself in constant motion. He'd be surprised if Malcolm didn't snap, or, if he came out of that room whole, at a minimum end their friendship. And he should, damn it. He should, because what the hell kind of friend would... He shook his head anxiously. First Starfleet used him, and now he couldn't even trust his best friend not to do the same. Trip stopped pacing and wrapped his arms around himself, holding himself still.

He'd had to. The fate of Earth was on the line. If it took the sacrifice of his friend, or of himself, it would be worth it, so long as they got the information they needed and got it back to Starfleet.

Whatever happened here, it was his guilt; it was on his head. Being in prison may have changed Malcolm, may have made him capable of doing... Trip's hand shook, and he ran it through his hair roughly. He'd been the one who'd pushed Malcolm. Malcolm came into this damaged, but he, not Malcolm, was the one that made this decision. He, not Malcolm, had forced this action, had forced Malcolm to take this action. Any blood shed here was on his hands, not Malcolm's.

He jumped when an alarm went off. Malcolm practically burst through the door. Looking up at Trip with desperate eyes, he said, "Go."

Trip ran behind as they fled down the corridor and out the exterior door. The door closed, cutting off the sounds of running feet from the other end of the hallway.

They sped down the empty street, dashing into an alley, and then another one, before they emerged into a crowded marketplace. Malcolm checked their pace and they stepped into the throng.

"Did you get the information we needed?" Trip asked, trying to catch his breath.

Malcolm nodded, eyes on the crowd. "We should try to make the next rendezvous with Enterprise." He left the rest unsaid - the man's staff would be looking for them and, once word got back to Trina, so would she. They had to get off planet now.

Trip knew the plan and, rather than think about what they'd just done, he focused on that instead. Since there was no way they'd have been able to bring comms with them - the only device they'd brought was the native one Malcolm had appropriated on his last mission here - Enterprise would be looking for them at their rendezvous point some distance outside the city. Trip had seen the maps and scans - the place wasn't close. This was going to be a pain in the butt.

He didn't realise that it would be painful in other ways, too.

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