Disclaimer: I don't own the Reeds.

Oh my gosh, did any of you see ENT last night (I guess a few nights ago by the time I post this). T'Pol and Trip… that is soooo not how they should have been shipped. It's just below them. However, the Trip/Malcolm scene was outstanding: great acting on both sides. For some reason it just struck me how Malcolm kind of hunched over and shook his head slightly when he talks, while Trip just sort of sits there, looking really 'set' and sort of confrontational and all… just loved it. Great character moment.

Fear of Drowning

Part II

Miraculously, Stuart Reed had not forced his son to go to school that day. Malcolm had almost expected he would; if they had hurried, he could have made it for the last two or three periods. Instead, Malcolm now sat in his room, staring around it with a small amount of apprehension.

He felt worlds better now; all that was left to testify to the morning's events was a small red patch on his neck where the hypospray had touched him. And still… it was one o'clock, only eight hours since he had been jolted awake, unable to breath- his deadliest fear. The dream of his water-filled room stuck with him; the fact that he had been for a few moments, essentially, drowning stayed in his mind like an angry insect buzzing incessantly.

He wouldn't be able to face that pool tomorrow night, Malcolm knew. There was just no way. Perhaps if he faked sick… then was able to talk to Doctor Klartz for a minute alone… he seemed a nice man. Perhaps he'd be willing to tell Malcolm's father that he had an allergy of sorts to the hypospray, and it wasn't his fault if he couldn't swim tomorrow. Maybe ever again.

Malcolm shook his head, words drifting unbidden into his mind: Reeds don't accept sympathy. The plan would make his father even angrier if they were discovered. The fact was laid out plain in front of him: there was simply no way that his father would let him skip the meet the next day. It was chickening out, another thing Reeds did not do.

The clock read almost eight at night by the time Malcolm had, miserably, done all his homework for what seemed like the next month, cleaned his room from top to bottom, and even had a tea-party with his seven-year-old sister, Madeline. That done, dinner eaten, there was nothing left for him to do but go to bed and try to sleep.

He couldn't help it, though; the instant the lights went out, the world was water-filled once more. He tried to convince himself that the dream the night before had merely been a byproduct of his fever- his subconscious's way of interpreting his physical condition- but all he could think of was drowning, there, in his own room.

Instantly Malcolm flipped the lights back on. No water. All dry. He could breath; he wasn't drowning… yet. Placated more than actually comforted, he turned the lights back out and lay on his bed in silence, wondering how the hell he would make it through the next day.

Remember, he told himself sharply, willing strength. No matter what happens, it'll end soon enough. By this time tomorrow, it'll all be over.

He went to sleep at eight forty-one. Eight forty-one on the following day was his goal- survival until then was his only purpose.

For Malcolm Reed, eight forty-one tomorrow seemed a lifetime away.

~

The next day, November 1, alternated between flying by at 'Warp speed' and dragging on indefinitely. Homeroom took forever; only two people, Alyssa and Stefan, had even noticed his absence the day before. The pair of them- the closest thing he had to friends, really- spent the first few periods trying to be caring and ask what was wrong. They only gave up when he began to snap back at them when they asked if he was okay, and from that moment on, the day seemed to hurl by before his very eyes.

Malcolm wasn't sure which way he preferred; every passing second brought him closer to quarter of nine that night when, no matter what, he'd be either dead or back, in his bedroom, safe and alive. But also, every second brought him closer to the swim meet, the reason he had begun adding the 'dead' part to his mantra.

At three thirty the bell sounded to signal the day's end, and Malcolm shoved his PADDs into his carry-bag a schlepped off to the locker room. Before he could reach the door, however, Alyssa and Stefan cornered him one last time.

"You've been acting oddly all day, Malcolm," Alyssa said worriedly, toying with her hair. "Will you be alright to swim tonight?"

Malcolm reigned in any unkind remarks he had dreamed up unconsciously. Why alienate the only two people who seemed genuinely concerned for him? "I'll be fine," he said stiffly.

Stefan, who was also on the team, stepped pointedly on Alyssa's foot before she could prod him any further. "I'll see you there, then, mate," he said, and forced Alyssa to walk off with him.

Malcolm sighed, hoisting the strap of his bag up higher on his shoulder and continued toward the gym. He slipped into the changing area and stripped out of his uniform, down to the blue regulation trunks of his high school swim team.

He paused a moment, considering himself in the mirror. He had a swimmer's build: small and quick, yet with powerful limbs and long, wide hands. For a short moment, he almost saw why the coach had been successfully persuaded into allowing a freshman on the team- the moment faded rapidly. He was the slowest one on the team, fellow freshman included, and even the rather lumbering boys also forced onto the team by persistent parents had a few seconds on him in most races. He wasn't a bad swimmer; the coach had said he might be rather good… if he could keep his mind on the race. The race, Malcolm had silently added when the coach told him that. The race, and not drowning.

He shrugged a t-shirt on over his swim bottoms and stuck his bare feet into his gym sneakers, with every intent of going out to fake some pre-meet chat with the rest of the team.

Something stopped him.

Malcolm sunk back against the wall of the shower stall and tried to keep his breathing steady. Suddenly his heart was racing out of control; he felt sick to his stomach and weak all over.

Until now, the fear had been more of what his father would say if he didn't go through with the meet. Now that it was quite clear he'd be swimming in the races after all, the fear was slammed into him at full force- not the fear of his father, but of drowning itself.

He tried to stay calm; it was really no use. He was out-and-out panicking, gasping for breath, while sweat broke out on his neck and forehead. He reached to wipe it away, panting, and found that the sweat on his cheeks was warm, wasn't actually sweat at all.

That hit him like a blow from a fist. Malcolm was on his feet in an instant, wiping the rest of his face on his shirt, getting his breathing back under control. He heartened slightly; he was a Reed. Reeds didn't shy away; Reeds didn't chicken out of anything. Reeds most certainly did not cry, or sit in bathroom stalls miserably. Maybe, somehow, this moment changed something; maybe, suddenly, he had the strength now to do this.

He strode out of the shower, drawing himself up to his full height and breathing as deeply as he could. Randomly, out of shear chance, he caught a glimpse of the clock on the opposite wall.

Malcolm laughed quietly at he private joke. It was four-o-nine… whatever was about to happen, it would all be over in five hours.

Quick AN: If Malcolm seems a little young or childish or anything for a 14-year-old, that's because I originally conceived this fic being set when he was about eleven or twelve. Then I realized, of course, how could he be on a high school swim team if he wasn't in high school?