Thanks to HoVis, Regina Bellatrix, Phaser Lady and Exploded Pen for reviewing! Here's Part IV, I hope you'll like it :-)!

Another long and senseless fight was all you knew, it's all the same

There's no one left to take the blame

Part IV

Walking down the hallways of Enterprise, where the light had already been turned down to night-level, Malcolm felt as if he was walking in a bubble of foam. Everything around him felt far away, the sounds were somehow subdued, and the colour seemed to have drained out of the world. The back of Trip's uniform seemed to have lost its brightness, instead of the usual electric-blue it looked pallid, the colour of a pair of old, faded jeans. The only thing clear to him was the feeling of immense guilt weighing down on his shoulders. He thought of the message Madeline had sent him, the message he'd read when he'd come from the Captain's ready room. It had been short, only four sentences, but it had said all that needed to be said.

'He died,' she had written. 'Mother couldn't take it, she had a heart attack. She passed away a few minutes ago. Are you happy now?'

Madeline was blaming him, too. And although he whished it wasn't so, she was right. He'd frantically looked for a way out, for some reason why the blame shouldn't be all his, but there was none. He was to blame. It wouldn't have cost him much to talk to his father. It might have been embarrassing, humilitating even, and he was sure there would have been no agreement between them, but it wouldn't have cost him much. The only reason why he'd refused was his pride. He had not wanted to be the one that initiated just another discussion, had not wanted to give his father just another chance to hurt and humilitate him. His pride. Madeline had every right to hate him, he even hated himself for what he'd done. No, hate was the wrong word. He was disgusted with himself. He had counted his pride higher than his mother's life. That was something there was no absolution for, not now, not ever.

He followed Trip through the double glass door of sickbay, and when he saw the doctor standing at the counter that ran along the wall left from the door, he remembered his short conversation with Phlox the night before. It seemed like a hundred years ago.

The doctor looked up, and a big Denobulan smile appeared on his face.

"Commander, Lieutenant. How can I help you?" he asked, coming towards them.

"Evening, Doc," Trip said. "I -"

Suddenly he was interrupted by the bleeping of the intercom.

"Armoury to Commander Tucker."

"Excuse me." Trip flashed a smile and went over to the panel. Reed looked up and saw Phlox watching him. He nodded in greeting.

"Evening."

Phlox gave him a big smile. "Good evening, Lieutenant. Is there something I can do for you?"

Reed looked at him for a moment, not quite knowing why he'd come to sickbay, anyway. Then he remembered.

"Oh, um, yes. The last few nights I had some trouble falling asleep. I wanted to ask you for something that could help me tonight. I need to be rested for my shift tomorrow morning."

Phlox gave him a thoughtful look.

"This should be no problem. As far as I know, though, you're off duty for the next few days, aren't you? Captain Archer said something like that."

For a moment, Reed didn't know what Phlox was talking about. He closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to concentrate at least so far that Phlox wouldn't get suspicious.

I'm off duty, he reminded himself. The Captain confined me to quarters because of what happened in the Armoury.

Opening his eyes, he nodded. "Yes, I am off duty. All the same I would appreciate it if you gave me something to help me sleep tonight."

Phlox raised his eyebrows. "Of course, Lieutenant. Your inability to sleep might not by any chance have something to do with what you told me yesterday?"

Reed opened his mouth to answer when Tucker's voice came from behind him.

"You'll have to excuse me, please, I'm needed in the Armoury. Malcolm..."

Reed turned around to look at Trip who was standing next to the door, a concerned look on his face.

"Are you..."

"I'll be alright," Reed told him and even managed the tiniest hint of a smile. Trip returned it a bit wider and, pushing the button beside the door, he left sickbay. Reed turned back to Phlox, who was still looking at him with raised eyebrows.

He's waiting for an answer, Malcolm reminded himself. He nodded.

"Yes, I suppose it has. But I'll be okay, just give me something for tonight."

The doctor's eyes rested on him a moment longer, then Phlox nodded.

"Very well, Lieutenant, just a second. I'll get you something."

"Thank you," Reed said, and Phlox went to one of the closets and started rummaging through it. Malcolm watched him for a moment, then he walked over to where the doctor had been working when he and Trip had come in. It looked as if Phlox had been mixing a medication of some kind. Lost in thought Malcolm stared down at the few scattered red pills and white capsules and the small bowl that contained the mixture. It almost looked like some kind of weird medical still life, something you might see at the exhibition of some modern artist or photographer.

After a few moments he heard Phlox's voice behind him.

"Lieutenant?"

He turned around. Phlox was standing a few steps behind him, holding a small white box in his hand. When Reed met his eyes, he smiled widely at him.

"I can give you something for tonight, Lieutenant, but I can't and won't do it on a regular basis," he said. "If you're insomnia lasts for longer, I suggest you try to find the cause, so it can be treated more effectively."

Reed nodded. "Today's an exeption," he said. "I don't think I'll need anything tomorrow night."

Phlox nodded and handed him the box.

"Very well, Lieutenant. Good night, then, and sleep well."

"Thank you," he said, and, putting the box in his uniform pocket, he left sickbay and headed down the hallway towards his quarters.

-###-

Ten minutes later Malcolm was sitting on his bunk in his quarters. He'd turned off the lights except for a small lamp beside his bed whose halo created a gloomy twilight in the room. Beside the lamp on his nightstand there sat the small box Phlox had given him. He'd put it there when he'd come back from sickbay, but he'd never given it a thought. It was of no importance to him whatsoever. What he was paying attention to at the moment were the two small white capsules that were lying in the palm of his hand. He examined them, thoughtful. They didn't look exceptional or special in any way, just two pretty small, white, oblong objects, maybe three millimeters in diameter and kind of flattened at each end. He didn't know exactly what they were, to him they just looked like any kind of pill you might take against a cold or a bad headache. But on the tablet tube that had been lying next to the small bowl on the counter in sickbay there had been a picture of a skull with two crossed bones below it. It had been on a bright red background, and under it there had been a written warning in the same colour. A skull with bones. That was a symbol understood by everybody, human or not. Skull meant death. The bones were just decoration.

He picked up one of the capsules, gingerly turning it around in his fingers. Death. He'd thought he understood what death meant. After all, it was part of his job. Not the nice part, and not the most important part either, but a part all the same. He'd encountered death many times in his life, the first time when he'd been four and his father's mother had died. Death was no stranger to him, not at all. And until today, he'd thought he understood death.

But today, he'd realized something. He'd realized that if you wanted to understand death, you had to know what life meant. Without life, the concept of death held no meaning, it was just a name with no substance. But life was a creature with many faces. Private life, social life, working life, lifetime, life style, life cycle. People had always told him he was not living his life, not participating in it. He'd never really understood what they meant by it, and sometimes he'd gotten the impression they didn't, either. He'd told Madeline he'd wanted to live his own life. If you thought about it, the phrase sounded pretty funny. No person could live his own life, unless they renounced from everyone else. But if you did that, you couldn't live anymore, because life based on interaction. It was a paradox. That meant he'd spend his life - there was that word again - chasing something that didn't actually exist.

He let the capsule fall back into his palm. There was a small click as it contacted with its twin. Carefully, he placed them onto his nightstand, next to the white box and his alarm clock, which was all set to wake him up tomorrow at 6.30 am. He got up and stood for a moment, not moving, staring at the blank screen of his computer sitting on his desk. He could call Madeline, or, even better, he could write a letter. But why should he? After today, it would surprise him if she ever even only looked at him again. A letter would change nothing, if anything, it would make things worse.

He walked the few steps across his room and opened the door to the head, stepping inside. He didn't turn on the lights, he didn't need to. Even with his eyes closed he'd know his way around in here. Reaching out with one hand, he closed his fingers around the glass that stood on its acustomed place on the shelf below the mirror. Taking it down he turned on the faucet and filled the glass about half-full with cold water. The water ran over the back of his hand, dampening the cuff of his uniform. Turning the tap off he put the glass down for a moment to dry his hands on the towel hanging on a hook beside the sink. Then he picked the glass up again and walked back out of the head, closing the door behind him, and over to his bunk, setting the water glass down on his nightstand. He sat down on his bed again, once more staring at the two white capsules, now lying on his nightstand, casting confused shadows in the light of his lamp and the luminous figures of his alarm clock.

You have to chew them, he thought. If you chew them it'll be faster. And safer.

Picking up the two capsules, he placed them on the palm of his right hand, and giving them one last look he raised the hand to his mouth. He felt one pill brushing against his lower lip, then he could taste them. It was a bitter taste, like most tablets had it to them, but somehow there was something sweet mixed under the bitter-medical taste. He picked up the glass of water and held it in one hand. Then he bit down on the capsules, and the bitter flavour exploded on his tongue, drowning out the traces of sweet. Quickly, he put the glass to his lips and took a mouthful, churning the water in his mouth to wash away the bitter taste. He swallowed and drank the rest of the water, too. Then he set the glass down. The bitter aroma was still on his tongue, and the inside of his mouth felt somehow furred. He lay back, stretching out on his bunk, his hands folded on his chest, closing his eyes. For a few minutes he lay still, unmoving, waiting for something to happen. He felt fear, but it was somehow distant. The prevailing feeling was more some kind of immense relief, as if something he hadn't known had been there had been lifted off his shoulders.

Suddenly, he felt a wave of dizzyness wash over him. Behind his closed eyelids, bright spots were dancing up and down, and his head was swimming. It felt a little like the one time he'd been on a roller coaster ride. He'd been only seven, and had almost wet his pants every time they'd gone into a sharp turn.

Distantly, he realized that his chest had closed up and he couldn't breathe. His eyes fluttered open, and he felt his hand clutching the front of his uniform. Through a haze that was blurring his vision he catched a last glimps of the shadowy ceiling of his quarters, then darkness closed in around him. His eyes slipped shut, and Malcolm Reed knew no more.

TBC...