Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Nine

Land of the Living

General Malcolm Reed

I've never owned a rabbit.

I've never actually wanted to own a rabbit, as a matter of fact. So when I wake from a most peculiar dream in which I discovered a desiccated pet rabbit in an empty fish tank and revived it by pouring water all over it and leaving it to soak, the first thing I'd like to ask is why on earth, of all things, I should dream about a rabbit. I think it lived, too, but the really weird bit was how happy that made me.

But actually, the first thing I ask is why everyone's staring at me.

I don't ask it very loudly. I'm a bit startled myself by the feebleness of the whisper that emerges. But it appears to have a most disproportionate effect on all the people who are staring at me, because it causes a most startling surge of excitement.

Lucas. Oh my god, I'm in Sickbay – no, Jupiter Station Memorial Hospital – again.

I'll tell you what, why don't I just surrender my quarters and tell Liz that she and I are going to set up my own private wing in here to save time?

...Liz.

A memory that's almost as incredible as the reviving rabbit surfaces. And with it, a wash of such rancid bitterness it almost stops me breathing.

Once upon a time, this was normal. Now it feels like acid, eating into the new 'me' that I'd begun laboriously creating; but is that what it is, or is it the truth, dissolving the illusions that had so enchanted me?

Friends are people who betray you.

I'd learned that the hard way with Alpha and Em. Lucifer knows why I'd allowed myself to be fooled again after a lesson like that, but I did. Step by step, hour by hour, smile by smile, caress by caress, slipping back into the tar-pit that had so nearly been the end of me. As hard as I'd fought (at least I had that much sense in the beginning!) it had been so bloody seductive. The thought that there might actually be someone who wanted to like me, to work with me, even to regard me as a friend…

Well. Even now, I can't in fairness say that Trip was in on this, though the temptation's there to include him in a world that has so suddenly and savagely turned on me. But maybe it would be easier to deal with if it was him.

For it to be Liz…

"General, how do you feel?"

"Surprised," I whisper. It's probably safer than the truth, and it's not actually untrue.

This causes some 'confabulation', as Maddie was fond of inaccurately using the term when we were young, assuming it was a construct of 'confab'. Conversations take place across the bed, and Lucas passes a scanner across me several times, presumably checking the readings. I lie and let everything happen, too tired to object, though in the background of my mind the scalding river of bitterness runs on, unchecked.

How could I have been such a fool?

How could I have allowed myself to imagine that all the things I did to her were forgiven and forgotten, that there would never be a reckoning?

Presently one of the peering faces is removed, and the more familiar one of Commodore Tucker replaces it.

"Hey, Mal!" His hand clasps mine, and feels warm. "How'you feelin'?"

I'm not sure it's at all in keeping with my rank and reputation to be addressed by a subordinate officer as 'Hey, Mal', but we'll leave that for another time. The smile on his face is so warm and genuine that I haven't the heart to snark at him, though I daresay normal service will be resumed presently.

Was he involved? Did he know? Did he even guess?

If we hadn't taken part in that mind-meld, I'd suspect him of at least knowing what was coming, if not actually conniving at it – or even organising it. As it is, knowing him as closely as one human being can possibly know another, I truly can't believe he would do this. He might kill me if he had some excellent reason – he may be a genuinely kind bloke, but that doesn't mean he's not ruthless when he has to be – but like this? No. Even in the midst of my rage (hurt masquerading as anger, thanks Ginny), I can't believe he'd do it this way. Not using Liz as his executioner.

"I could handle a drink," I whisper, and manage a bit of a smile, though it takes a ridiculous amount of effort to achieve. Lucifer knows I don't feel much like smiling right now, with the fiery hell of betrayal consuming me yet again, but I have to keep my front intact. At least until I work out how to deal with this, though I've no idea where to even start. As terrible as Alpha's treachery was, he was Pack; I don't think he'd even have really seen it as treachery, just as a logical use of a resource that could have become a threat. Em… well, even on Enterprise I knew that her 'affection' for me was profoundly tempered with self-interest. If I convinced myself it was more than that, it's not her fault. In hindsight she probably did feel something for me, but survival and the breeding imperative were simply stronger.

But Liz… Liz isn't Pack. She didn't have that protection, or that curse. She didn't have the ability to scheme without human malice.

She planned this.

And I trusted her. I … believed.

He grins in return, undoubtedly remembering just like I am the last time he helped me to a drink of water, and with Doctor Lucas's blessing the head of the bio-bed is gently raised, far enough for Trip to put the rim of a cup to my lips. There isn't much in it, but apparently I have to take eating and drinking easy for a while 'just so we see how everything comes along'.

"So no fish and chips tonight," I manage.

"Maybe just a little soup, General." Lucas isn't buying my disappointed face, or at least he's not improving the offer of a measly bit of soup.

The condemned man gets a hearty meal and the recovering man gets two spoonfuls of soup. I feel distinctly hard-done-by.

Maybe I'm not quite as reduced as I feel, though, because when I gather the energy to say that I want a few minutes with just Trip, the assembly melts away. Probably not far, and not without a parting injunction from Herr Doktor that it must be just a few minutes and that I'm not to exert myself.

Chance would be a fine thing. I feel about as lively as a kipper.

"Liz?" I ask, as soon as we're as alone as we're likely to get.

"She's ... Mal, do you remember what happened?" He keeps his voice down, thank god.

I wince artistically. "Unfortunately, yes."

Victoria sponge. I don't think I'll ever eat the damn stuff again. Lucifer, it was well done though; I don't think I could have done better myself, though perhaps I should be thanking my lucky stars she did want to make me suffer rather than simply putting an end to me. At that proximity, with that blade, I'd have had no chance.

…Why?

The cry goes through the back of my mind like the scream of an abandoned child, and I suffocate it mercilessly. What the fuck am I asking 'why' for? After all the times I knocked eight bells out of her for fun, after I tormented her and raped her, after I treated her worse than I'd have treated a dog?

There's always payback. Lucifer knows that was my motto for long enough. Pity knows what right I have to complain about it now I've been on the receiving end.

Trip's talking to me, so I have to pay attention; and besides, it's a reprieve from the storm of agony taking place far below what he can see, though maybe not beyond what he can guess, seeing the deeply earnest look on his face. "Mal, she was taken in. She was sent a recordin', supposedly of you ... sayin' some terrible things, hurtful things ... sayin' you were goin' to get rid of her. She didn't realize it was a fake. She couldn't handle it."

I start to chuckle, a bit bitterly, and then stop quite quickly, because it hurts, and more than just my belly, where a certain lieutenant of my acquaintance did her best to interrupt the efficient operation of several of my abdominal organs and the rudely separated bits are complaining about the sudden disturbance.

Was that it? Was that all her 'trust' of me was worth? Couldn't she just show me the fucking video and ask me?

She knew what your word was worth, the bitterness whispers. You've always been a lying bastard. Why the fuck should she trust you when her worst fears were realised?

"You think it's funny?" By the look on Trip's face, he's worried by my amusement. But then, at this present moment it's a choice between laughing and crying, and on the whole laughing is less self-revealing.

"You would too, if you'd had you, Liz, Ginny, and half of Starfleet telling you to talk before you acted if you got pissed off ... and then you were the one who got skewered by Liz not talking before she acted ... when she got pissed off." This speech has pretty well exhausted my small store of energy, and I'm gasping a bit when I finish, but the situation's so deliciously ironic I can't resist commenting on it.

"You need to take it easy." He looks troubled. I've remarked before on how acute he is, and maybe he guesses I'm not as blasé about this as I'm trying to act. That said, I'm not sure how many people would be particularly blasé about having their best beloved perpetrate major surgery on their insides while they were still awake and upright, and especially not when they hadn't discussed it beforehand.

'Best beloved'. Hah. I can't believe you fell for it! crows the bastard who made most of the Empire puke their guts up by slicing a living human being to death and forcing them to watch it.

"I'm not ... planning on running round the station ... just yet," I whisper. "Tomorrow, perhaps."

"I'll hold you to that, bro."

Well, I hope he doesn't, because even I know bravado when I hear it. I could handle a bit more pain relief, if I'm honest, and I'm secretly relieved when the doctor bustles over and says that I've had enough for one day and I need to sleep.

He already has a hypospray ready, and I'm too tired and sore to argue; and too heartsick, if I'm completely honest. But even as the hiss sounds against my neck I fumble my fingers towards Trip's hand. "Liz ... not yet..." I can hear my words starting to slur. I'm not even sure I get the last of them out before the darkness reclaims me.

As long as there are no rabbits in it, though, I'm sure I'll be fine.

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