AN: Thanks to Exploded Pen, Samantha Quinn, KaliedescopeCat and Regina Bellatrix for reviewing Part II. And here we go with #3 ;-).
In time, bound to lose your mind,
Live on borrowed time,
Take the wind right out of your sail
Part III
When Trip got off duty a few hours later his first urge was to go to mess hall and have a huge supper. The incident in the Armoury had deprived him of his lunch break and he was definitely hungry. But he hadn't forgotten about Malcolm - he couldn't possibly have forgotten that since he had been crawling around in the remains of the starbord launch tube for the last few hours - and his concern for his friend won over his appetite. So when he left the Armoury he didn't join the others on their way to mess hall but headed to Reed's quarters instead.
A few minutes later he was standing in front of Reed's door, pressing the door chime. When he got no response he frowned, pressing the chime once again. Still no answer. His frown deepened. Malcolm was in his quarters, that he was sure of. Jon had said he'd confined Reed to his quarters, and Malcolm would never disobey an order like that.
Maybe he's sleeping, he thought, but although that seemed to be the logical conclusion it didn't feel right.
"Malcolm?" he called. "Malcolm, are you awake?"
There was no sound from beyond the door. Tucker's unease deepened. He hesitated - he knew he was being a bit paranoid - but then punched in the control override anyway. The worst that could happen was that he woke Malcolm up.
When the door slid open Tucker thought he had been right after all and Malcolm was indeed sleeping. The room was dark, and the only movement were the passing stars outside the window. But just as he wanted to step back and allow the door to close again, he heard a small sound, like paper being ripped apart. He stepped forward again.
"Malcolm?" he asked haltingly, scanning the dark room. Finally he could make out a dark silhouette sitting on the bunk across from the door. He took another small step forward and the door closed behind him. He reached for the switch and turned the lights on to a low level. Now he could see Malcolm clearly. He was sitting on his bed, staring at something he was holding in his hands. Swallowing, Tucker crossed the room but stopped a few steps from Reed. From here he could recognize what Malcolm was holding. It was a small paperback novel. And as Tucker watched with increasing anxiety Reed gingerly took the upper edge of the topmost page and slowly tore off a narrow strip. As soon as it was seperated fully he opened his fingers and the small piece of paper fluttered onto the floor where a few others were already scattered. Tucker watched the strip seesawing down until it landed on the small pile on the floor, then lifted his head and stared at Reed who was already tearing off a second one. Trip opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat.
"Malcolm?" he asked carefully and tried to catch Reed's eyes without success.
"Malcolm, what are you doing?"
Reed didn't answer but calmly released the second strip and started on the third. Tucker took another few steps forward and stood beside the bed. He lifted his hand to turn Reed around but hesitated.
"Why are you tearing that book apart?" he asked instead, his hand hanging in mid-air. He hadn't really expected an answer, so he jumped when Reed opened his mouth.
"I never want to read it again," he said, his voice bare of any emotion. Tucker felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up at that tone. He pulled his hand back.
"And that's why you're tearing it up?" he asked. He felt fear forming a tight knot in his stomach. Bending down, he picked up the front cover that Reed had apparently ripped off whole, and turned it around. 'The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka' he read. He sat down beside Reed and looked at him.
"Why don't you want to read it anymore?" he asked.
"Because it's a lie," Reed answered and let go of another strip that drifted to the floor. Tucker followed it with his eyes.
"What is it lying about?" he asked.
"It says you die in the end."
Tucker lifted his head and stared at Reed. "What?" he asked, barely audible.
"It says you die in the end, and that's not true," Reed said in his toneless voice. "You don't die. Only part of you dies. And the rest of you is forced to live on and on. It's never over. You can wait for the end all your life, and it'll never come. You'll be waiting and waiting, and all the time you're dying and dying, and when you think the end has finally come it's not you who dies but..."
"Malcolm!" Tucker eyes had widened and he was shaking Reed by the shoulders. "Malcolm, snap out of it! You're scaring me!"
Reed blinked and the book slipped from his hands. He watched it fall to the floor, then he looked up into Tucker's frightened eyes.
"Trip?" he asked, bewildered. Tucker nodded, lowering his hands.
"Yes, Malcolm it's me." He studied Reed's pale face, feeling unsure if he should call someone - Phlox, or maybe Jon - but remained seated.
Reed was staring at the shreds on the floor, and, bending down he picked up the remains of the book. He stared at it for a moment, then leafed through the remaining pages.
"What've I been thinking?" he murmured, running a finger along the torn edges of the missing pages. Tucker watched him warily.
"What kind of book is that?" he asked. Reed looked up in surprise, then he lowered his gaze back down.
"I had to read it in school when I was about sixteen years old. I wrote an essay about it."
Tucker raised his eyebrows. "Really? What is it about?"
Reed shook his head. "It doesn't matter." He let the book drop onto the pile of paper strips on the floor. Tucker looked down and felt a shudder running down his spine. The shredded book looked definitely out of place on the floor of Reed's otherwise obsessively neat quarters.
"Malcolm," he said quietly, "why don't you tell me what's going on?"
Reed just shook his head and kept staring into nothingness. Tucker could feel the fear rising in his stomach again. He laid a hand on Reed's shoulder and realized that the other man was shivering. He squeezed his shoulder slightly.
"Come on Malcolm. Please tell me what's wrong. I won't go before I know. You scared me way too bad for that."
Reed opened his mouth as if to say something, then shook his head again. Leaning forward he rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. Trip looked at him helplessly, then put his arm around Reed's shoulders.
"Why did your sister call today, Malcolm? Did something happen?"
Malcolm slowly shook his head. "No," came his muffled voice from behind his hands. "She didn't call because something happened. She called because..."
"What, Malcolm?" Trip urged. "What did she want?"
Reed lifted his head and stared at the floor.
"She wanted me to talk to him," he said.
"Who's him? Your father?"
Reed nodded slowly. "Yes. My father," he said, contempt clear in his voice. "She told me that mother needed us to talk to each other, that she couldn't stand the thought that he could die before we had worked it out. And I refused." He covered his face with his hands again, and Tucker felt a shudder running through the smaller man.
"You...don't want to talk to him," he stated, hoping to make Reed continue talking. Reed laughed sharply.
"I didn't want to talk to him then, and now I can't anymore because he's dead," Reed said, lowering his hands. Tucker's eyes widened.
"Oh God, Malcolm, I'm sorry," he whispered, tightening his arm around Malcolm's shoulders. Reed let out a sharp breath.
"I'm not," he said flatly.
"What?" Trip asked, staring at Malcolm. Reed nodded slowly.
"You heard me right, I'm not sorry that he died. That might sound really cold and unfeeling, but I can't help it. It's how it is. I don't feel sorry about his death, but I wish I'd talked to him."
Tucker swallowed, still looking at Reed's profile in the dim twilight.
"Do you think you could have made it up with him?" he asked.
"No. We would have ended up yelling at each other, like every time we tried to talk. But maybe it would have changed it for my mother."
"Changed what?"
Reed looked up into to Tucker's face, and Trip saw tears shining in Malcolm's eyes. Reed palmed them away and closed his eyes.
"She couldn't cope with his death. My mother's always been rather... weak. She preferred to evade problems instead facing them and finding a solution. And when he died, she couldn't stand it. She...when she heard the news she had a heart attack."
Tucker's eyes widened. "Did she..." He trailed off when he saw Malcolm nodding.
"Yes," Reed said in a choked voice. "They're both gone." His voice cracked, and tears welled up from behind his closed eyelids. Tucker tried to pull him closer, offer some comfort even if it was small, but Reed squirmed away. Tucker watched him helplessly as he fought to hold back the tears.
"Malcolm..." he began and swallowed. "Oh God Malcolm, I'm so sorry..." He tried to put a hand on Reed's arm, but Malcolm got up apruptly and moved a few steps away from the bed. He stood silent for a moment, his back to Tucker, then he shook his head.
"I could have talked to him. It might have made it easier on her. It might have saved her," he said, tears choking his voice.
"But didn't you say it wouldn't have changed anything between you and your father? I mean if it hadn't made any difference..."
Reed shook his head and turned around, facing Tucker.
"It wouldn't have made any difference for me and him, but for her. She would have been able to think that she at least tried to reconcile the family. It didn't matter to her that she had tried that countless times before already; what mattered was that there was one last chance, and she couldn't stand the thought of missing it. And I refused." He ran a hand over his face. "I refused because I was comfortable hating him from far away and didn't want to revive all the old arguments. I was afraid to see him, to talk to him before he died...out here, I had found a balance, some kind of peace of mind, and I didn't want to lose that."
Tucker looked at Reed uncertainly and shifted on the bed. "Malcolm...nothing's wrong with protecting your peace of mind."
Reed's head snapped around and he looked at Tucker. "It cost my mother's life. There's definitely something wrong with that," he said. Tucker flinched, then shook his head.
"You can't know that for sure, Malcolm. You told me she had problems with her heart, that this was the reason why they moved to Malaysia. It might have happened anyway. Even if you'd talked to him, she could have died anyway."
"She might have," Malcolm said. "But I never even tried, and that makes me responsible."
He turned away again and sat down on his desk chair, burying his face in his hands. Tucker sat on the bed, staring at Reed's back. He had no idea what he was supposed to do, to say now. What Malcolm had just told him was so horrible that he had trouble coping with it. He didn't know how he would have reacted in Malcolm's place, if the same thing had happened to him, but losing his mind didn't sound too improbable. Both Malcolm's parents had died in the space of what... six hours? And Reed was blaming himself for his mother's death, and although Trip didn't agree, he could see his reasons for it.
He got up and walked the few steps over to the desk where Malcolm was sitting, unmoving. Trip reached out with one hand and tentatively, he placed it on Reed's shoulder.
"This is not your fault, Malcolm," he said softly, choosing his words with care. "You couldn't have possibly known what was going to happen. You just acted the way you thought to be right, and there was no way you could have foreseen it."
"It doesn't matter now," Reed said, his voice muffled and rough with tears. "Not anymore. She's dead."
Trip let his hand fall away and stood there, not knowing what to do. He could offer no comfort to Reed, everything he could say now would sound cheap and phony. Looking at Malcolm's back he felt such a sadness that he had to hold back the tears himself. He pressed his lips together.
"Come on," he said at last, "let's go down to sickbay, shall we. You can get something that will let you sleep tonight, and tomorrow..."
Yeah, what's tomorrow? he thought. Tomorrow things will be just as fucked up as they are today.
"... tomorrow we'll see what happens next," he finished, shoving the thought aside. Lowering his hands, Malcolm nodded and got up. He palmed away the last few traces of tears, then cleared his throat and looked at Tucker.
"Okay," he said. There was a look of such utter defeat on his face that Trip felt the hesitant attempt of a smile he had tried being wiped off his face immediately. He nodded, swallowing, and together they left Reed's quarters, heading for sickbay.
TBC...