Title: Alone In Darkness

Authors: Sita/T'eyla

Rating: PG-13

AN: Thanks to Settiai (glad you like our stories so much, hope it won't be different with this one), Dacker Spaniel (say that as often as you want to, we'll read it and be happy every single time - repeatedly ;-) ), WhtevrHpnd2Mary (thanks for the compliment and the insult!g), Daria (yes, of course we left you hanging at the end, what did you expect? eg), KaliedescopeCat (yup, Archer's in for some angst), CordeliaBlack (Update hourly?? Never! No REVIEWS that way ;-)! Anyway, thanks for the compliment, and we promise to update regularly), julie (glad you liked Lost in Darkness and - keep reviewing!!), Gabi2305 (naaa, immer schön reviewen. Und wir sind garnicht reviewgeil hier g), Exploded Pen (What?! Save them already? That wouldn't be any fun, would it? veg), Aeryn Lavanthia (well, hope you won't be disappointed!!), katt (promise, this AN will be over soon, and we'll leave you to reading the story in just a minute g), Phaser Lady (sorry, no real guilt trip for Archie, but there'll be enough guilt trips in this story, so don't worry), Drogna ( as ordered, here comes the character torture!), ally (wait, did we just say the AN would be over?? Ummm...), and Libra (here comes Evilness.. and BTW, viel Glück mit deinem Gerrrman Exam ;-)!) for reviewing.

Sorry for that Authour's Note!! But we can't help it ;-)... anyway, on with the story...

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Chapter 2

The smell was the first thing Trip noticed as he slowly returned to consciousness. That familiar stale smell of concrete... concrete and something else, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was a sterile odour and he recognized it the instant he became aware of it. He knew that smell.

Slowly forcing his eyes open, Trip blinked and waited for the world to come into focus. He was lying on some cold, rough material that scratched his cheek as he moved. As he consciously took in his surroundings for the first time, his body tensed. Trip sat up - and knew that this had to be a nightmare. It was a scene from one of the dreams that had been haunting his sleep all these months - waking up in that same cold, blue-lit cell, finding he was back, finding it wasn't all over like he kept telling himself in his waking times. The same panic he knew so well from his nightmares made his chest close up, and Trip scrambled to his feet, slowly backing off towards the wall. This couldn't be real, this had to be a dream-

As he stumbled backwards, his foot made contact with something soft, and he let out a startled cry, whirling around. There was somebody lying at his feet on the floor, Malcolm... of course it was Malcolm. That image had always been present in his nightmares, Malcolm lying on the ground, not moving, face pale, eyes closed, unconscious or-

"Malcolm!" Dropping to his knees, Trip grabbed the other man's shoulders and shook him. "Malcolm, wake up!"

For a moment, there was no reaction at all, and Trip experienced a terrible feeling of déjà vu - a scene from his nightmares as well; shaking Malcolm, trying to wake him up although he knew he was dead. Then, however, Malcolm's eyes fluttered open, and Trip felt an immense and irrational relief wash over him.

"Malcolm," he said, and the next moment recoiled as Malcolm sprang up, a look of sheer horror displaying on his face. Shaking his head, Malcolm slowly retreated to the opposite wall, pressing his back against it.

"No," he whispered, his eyes flitting about the room, not focusing on anything. He didn't seem to have noticed Trip's presence. "No. No, this can't be, this-"

Seeing the look of terror in Malcolm's eyes, Trip, fighting his own panic, slowly got to his feet, careful not to move too quickly.

"Malcolm," he said, taking a cautious step towards him. Malcolm flinched back as Trip reached out to touch his shoulder. Reed's breaths were coming in ragged gasps.

"No," he breathed, shaking his head again. "No, this isn't real-"

"Malcolm, calm down," Trip said, tightening his grip on Reed's shoulder. Seeing that Malcolm was about to hyperventilate, he carefully pulled him away from the wall and helped him sit down. "Try to take a deep breath. It's okay."

After a few moments, Malcolm's breathing quieted down, and his eyes became clear, the crazed look in them gone.

"Trip," he whispered hoarsely, "please tell me this isn't real. We can't be back, that's... that's impossible..."

At these words, Trip's own panic resurfaced, and he sat down against the wall as well, unable to speak. Only a moment ago, he'd been on that planet, sitting at the campfire with Jon and Malcolm, so how could it be that he was here, back in this place, light years away from where he'd been only seconds ago...

"They... they brought us back," he said more to himself than to anyone else. "Oh my God, they brought us back." Hearing his own voice formulate his thoughts frightened him even more, and Trip got up, quickly crossing the room and flinging himself against the door.

"Hey!" he shouted, pounding the bulkhead with his fists. "Hey! Let us outta here! Bring us back, you can't do this-"

"Stop that!" Malcolm yanked him back from the door. "Are you crazy? They'll hear you! They'll come back-"

"I want them to hear me!" Trip yelled, pushing Malcolm's hand away. "They have to take us back to Enterprise, they can't-"

"Quiet!" Malcolm hissed, taking him by the arm again and dragging him away from the door. "Be quiet, or they'll hear you!"

The plain fear evident in Malcolm's voice penetrated the haze of panic clouding Trip's thoughts, and he briefly closed his eyes, trying to calm down. His mind still wasn't quite able to accept that this was real. That this was actually happening. For if it was, it meant that they were back, that it was going to happen again...

"Why?" he asked, looking back at Malcolm who didn't meet his eyes, watching the door, his body tensed up as if ready to break into a run every second. "Why would they do that? Why would they want to bring us back?"

Malcolm shook his head. "I'm not going through this again," he said, not taking his eyes off the door. "I won't. They-"

The door slid open, and Trip felt Malcolm's fingers dig painfully into his upper arm. Paralyzed, he stood and watched as the two tall, cloaked figures entered the cell. They looked exactly like he remembered them, like they looked in his nightmares; pale blue robes and hidden faces, their voices harsh and raspy as they spoke.

"Come," one of them said, drawing a weapon and motioning towards the door. Trip couldn't move a muscle. He felt Malcolm's grip tighten on his arm, and a second later the Lieutenant started moving backwards, pulling him along.

"No," Trip heard his voice next to his ear. "I won't do this again."

Stumbling backwards, Trip saw them coming towards him and Malcolm, and a second later he felt cold strong fingers close around his arm.

"Come," the being repeated. Suddenly Trip was able to move again, and he tried to yank himself free from that firm grip.

"No!" he yelled, feeling Malcolm's hand let go of his other arm. Turning his head, he saw Malcolm struggle in the other being's grip as he was being dragged away to the cell door.

"No!" he shouted. "No! Let me go! I won't do it again, I won't-"

Opening the door, the alien gave Reed a firm shove, and Malcolm went completely wild, screaming, trying to break free.

"No you bastard let me go I won't do it-"

Raising the hand holding the weapon, the being brought the gun down hard on the back of Reed's neck, and Malcolm went limp.

"Malcolm!" Trip, who was being pushed to the door himself, again tried to pull free, fighting the alien who was dragging him out into the corridor. He felt his arm being twisted painfully and stopped struggling, letting out a strangled cry. It hurt like hell, and his captor didn't let go, pushing him further down the corridor. Stumbling along, Trip turned his head, trying to catch a glimpse of Malcolm, and the last thing he saw was the other alien hauling Reed around a bend in the hallway, disappearing behind a corner. Being all alone with that monster from his nightmares, Trip felt fresh panic rise within him.

"What d'ya want with us?" he asked, his voice sounding shrill in his ears. "Where're you takin' me?"

The being, however, gave no answer, but only tightened his grip and pushed him along the corridor. As they rounded another corner, Trip realized that he knew exactly where his captor was taking him - he knew that hallway. Starting to struggle with renewed energy, Trip desperately tried to get away. Whatever happened now, he was not going back to that room.

The being yanked him back, and suddenly a blaze of pain exploded in the back of Trip's head, blurring his eyes. He felt himself being dragged into the room, and through the haze clouding his vision he saw the bulkhead sliding shut.

His captor pushed him down onto a chair, and when the worst of the dizzyness had passed, Trip saw that they were indeed back in that interrogation room with its sharp light and white tiles on the floor. He hadn't forgotten one single detail about that room, seeing it over and over again in his dreams as he relived the horrible scenes that had taken place here. The mere thought of having to go through this again made him feel numb with fear, and he couldn't have gotten up from the chair even if he'd had the guts to do so. Gripping the edge of the chair so hard his knuckles turned white, Trip watched the alien as he picked up a padd and scrolled through it. After what seemed like an endless stretch of time, the being looked up again.

"The Supervisor needs more information about you. What do your species call themselves?"

Trip licked his lips, swallowing. "Humans," he answered quickly. He knew that if he took too long to answer, the assistant - for that was what he seemed to be - wouldn't hesitate to force the answers out of him. The memory of the last time they'd questioned him took all the fight out of him, and Trip wasn't even ashamed to admit it. He was scared stiff.

The assistant, who'd been scribbling something on his padd, looked up again. "What is the maximum speed of your vessel?"

Trip closed his eyes. "Warp 5," he said, feeling helpless anger at himself for not fighting back, for not refusing to give these answers. But he just couldn't help it.

"How many people are on your ship?"

Trip hesitated; he couldn't do that, he couldn't give away all that information-

The assistant took a step towards him, raising his hand.

"Eighty-three," Trip said, flinching back. "There are eighty-three people on my ship."

Now Trip felt not only fury but also a deep disgust for himself. But the words kept coming out of his mouth just like that, and he couldn't do anything to prevent it. The assistant checked his padd once again.

"What kind of weaponry does your ship carry?"

Trip looked up at where the being's face would have been. "Why do you want to know that?" he asked, and the words hadn't even fully left his mouth yet when the assistant took a quick step forward, backhanding him across the face.

"What kind of weaponry does your ship carry?"

Trip tasted blood and a moment later realized that his lip was split. Wiping off the sticky liquid, he fixed a spot on the white floor.

"Phase cannons and photon torpedoes," he said barely audible, and felt a hand grab his hair, yanking his head back.

"Repeat," the assistant said calmly, and Trip felt tears of anger and humiliation rise in his eyes.

"Phase cannons and photon torpedoes."

The assistant released him, turning back to his padd. Trip raised a hand to wipe his eyes. He felt such a coward, crying and cowering instead of at least trying to fight back, but his fear seemed to have completely taken over control, making it impossible for him to act any other way. That feeling, that awful helplessness, somehow was the worst of it all.

The assistant put his padd aside, looking back at Trip. "What is the highest energy impulse your hull plating can withstand?"

At these words, Trip felt his hands grow cold. He couldn't answer that, it would mean putting all his crewmates in danger, betraying his captain and the ship...

"No," he whispered, forcing his mouth to form the words. "No, I won't answer that."

Tightly closing his eyes, he waited for the blow to come, and a second later a fist connected with his cheekbone, making his head snap back.

"What is the highest energy impulse your hull plating can withstand?"

"I won't answer that," Trip said, sitting up again and forcing himself to look at the assistant. A dull pain was throbbing in his left cheek, and his vision started to blur again, but Trip didn't lower his eyes. "You can beat me up as much as you want, but I won't answer that."

The assistant clasped his hands behind his back. "If you do not cooperate, you will have to suffer the consequences."

Trip closed his eyes and shook his head, unable to speak. He waited for the assistant to hit him again, but nothing happened.

"If you do not cooperate, we will proceed like we did last time."

Squeezing his eyes shut even tighter, Trip shook his head again. For a brief moment, an image flashed up in his mind, the image of screaming white light blinding him through a haze of tears while every nerve in his body seemed to be on fire-

He felt a hand grab his arm and yank him to his feet. Opening his eyes, Trip saw that he was being pulled towards the examination table that stood against the wall in the back of the room.

"Wait," he whispered hoarsely, his voice seeming to come from another person, not himself. "Wait. I'll tell you."

The assistant shoved him back onto the seat. "What is the highest energy impulse your hull plating can withstand?"

Trip swallowed. "About a thousand gigajoule," he said. The assistant regarded him for a moment.

"You are not telling the truth."

Trip stared at him, and suddenly he knew what this was all about. It wasn't about technology, it wasn't about Enterprise; it was about him. They didn't need that information, they already had it. They simply needed confirmation that they had him where they wanted him, that he was too frightened to offer any resistance. And he was. He couldn't withhold the information, he simply wasn't able to. When the assistant stepped forward, making as if to pull him to his feet again, Trip held up a hand.

"Wait!"

The assistant let go of him. "What is the-"

"Two thousand four hundred," Trip said, burying his face in his hands. "Two thousand four hundred gigajoule."

-###-

He felt something cold stir against his neck, and slowly opened his eyes. A sharp pain was stinging in the back of his head, making him feel dizzy and slightly nauseous. He seemed to be sitting in a chair in a cold room with concrete walls and floor illuminated by that familiar blue light. Malcolm knew that room. Last time he'd been here, he'd been pumped full of drugs, shaking and vomiting onto the floor while they'd been watching, scribbling down their "test results" on their padds. Panic gripped his insides, and he jumped up, every nerve in his body screaming at him to run for it. A sharp stab of pain seared through his head, for a moment dissolving the world into black streaks, and Malcolm stumbled, falling back down onto the chair. He blinked, desperately trying to clear his vision, and a moment later he started badly when he noticed a movement out of the corner of his eyes, a tall figure coming towards him. As he looked up at the assistant looming over him, a padd in one hand and a hypospray in the other, Malcolm suddenly felt something warm spread in his lap, but didn't consciously notice that he had wet himself. His heart was thumping in his chest, and he felt his blood pounding in his ears, throbbing so loudly it almost drowned out the assistant's raspy voice as he spoke.

"The researches must be completed. You will answer my questions quickly and to the best of your knowledge."

Malcolm nodded hastily, never taking his eyes off the hypospray the assistant was still holding in his hand. Any second now he would lower it, press it against his neck, and some hot fluid would burn through his veins, clouding his senses, taking him away to some other, even more terrible place-

"Do you still feel physical after-effects of the tests we conducted last time?" the assistant asked, and Malcolm had to repeat the question in his mind to be able to make sense of the words.

"No," he said, and repeated the answer when he realized that the assistant couldn't possibly have heard him, his voice being barely more than a whisper. "Not really."

Scrolling through his padd, the assistant absentmindedly tucked the hypospray away, and Malcolm felt a wave of relief wash over him, so intense it made him sway on his chair.

"Do you still feel mental after-effects of the tests we conducted last time?"

Malcolm briefly closed his eyes and swallowed, nodding. "Yes," he whispered, "I do."

"What kind?"

At these words, Malcolm felt something like anger mix with the paralysing fear that was holding him in a firm grip. It seemed such an abominable thing to do, asking in that clinical, scientific way about the things he'd lived through during those last three months, about the things they'd done to him...

The assistant looked up from his padd, and Malcolm quickly answered, trying to pronounce the words clearly this time.

"Nightmares," he said. "I'm having trouble sleeping at night."

"Sleep is important to your species?" the assistant asked. Malcolm licked his lips, not quite able to make sense of that question.

"Yes," he said. "It's essential."

The assistant scribbled something on his padd, and Malcolm shifted on his chair, the wet cloth of his uniform pants clinging to his legs. What would they possibly want with that information?

"At the moment, do you feel threatened?"

Malcolm stared at the assistant for a moment, his stomach clenching up as the panic resurfaced again. Was he really supposed to give an answer to that, or was that question only some kind of introduction to what was to come?

"Yes," he said very quietly, and the assistant put his padd aside, taking a step towards him. Malcolm flinched back, squeezing his eyes shut and waiting for the man to hit him or press a hypospray against his neck, but nothing happened.

"If we were to conduct these tests again," he heard the assistant's voice. "Would you cooperate?"

Malcolm's eyes flew open. "No," he breathed, feeling almost sick with fear. "No, not again. Please."

The assistant paused for a moment, and Malcolm's whole body tensed up. No, they couldn't do this, he couldn't go through this again, he wouldn't-

"You would not cooperate in these tests under any circumstances?" the assistant asked, and Malcolm shook his head.

"No," he said, hearing his voice crack, not caring if he was begging, not caring if he was losing the last few remains of dignity he still had left. "Please no, I can't, please don't make me..."

The assistant regarded him for a moment. "If you do not cooperate, we will perform the tests on the other Subject. Will you cooperate under these circumstances?"

Malcolm couldn't use it as an excuse that he hadn't understood the question. He understood perfectly well. They would take Trip. Trip would be going through the same hell he'd gone through, and maybe he wouldn't even survive. But the mere thought of letting them do this to him again was so horrible, so impossible that Malcolm felt pure terror rise within him at the very idea. He could not do this. Pushing all other thoughts away, Malcolm slowly shook his head.

"No," he said. "No, I won't."

-###-

"Report, Assistants."

"Subject 2 was more or less cooperative. He answered all my questions about their vessel, giving all required information."

"Did you have to use force on him?"

"Very little, Supervisor. As I said, he was quite cooperative. When I threatened to take similar measures as we did last time, he immediately ceased to offer resistance. He will not prove a problem."

"Very well. Second Assistant?"

"As I questioned Subject 1, I got the impression that being back in this environment causes a distinct state of anxiety in him. He will in all likelihood do whatever we ask of him in order to prevent being subject to more tests. His will to protect his companion by sacrificing himself has been broken."

"Good. Everything is going according to schedule. Second stage is ready to be launched."

"The program is completed?"

"I need to do a few more modifications before we can start. It should not take long. Be prepared to begin as soon as I am done."

"Yes, Supervisor."

TBC...

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