Title: Alone In Darkness
Authors: Sita/T'eyla
Rating: PG-13
AN: Thanks to Exploded Pen (and he'll get it, promise! ;-) ), Ocean (I think you're quite right ;-)...), The Libran Iniquity (hier kommt die Aktualisierung! Yes, I guess they'll have to talk at some point... after all, we don't want anyone having retribution here ;-)... but maybe not just yet :-) ), Dacker Spaniel (you can use smilies as much as you want, I love 'em and use them all the time, too ;-)... thanks so much for saying you liked the mind meld!), Drakcir (yes, after all that angst I guess something positive was called for...), Gabi2305 (bin total erschossen (Mist-Schladi ;-) ), wahrscheinlich hau ich hier lauter Fehler rein... na, macht auch nix... danke für deine mail! Antwort kommt so bald wie möglich), KaliedescopeCat (Hmmm... wait and see:-)!), plumtuckered (thank you... glad you all liked the mind meld so much!!), Becca (well, I guess they'll have to talk about that at some point :-)...), Aeryn Lavanthia (yes, he's finally got them back, more or less... ;-) ), Luna ( and inquiring minds will know ;-)... just be a little patient), pookha (Pink Floyd? Not really, why?), Les1 (yes, we'll have to do SOMETHING about Malcolm... -eg-... no, not what you think!!), Tobie Holloway ( thank you...sorry the update is a little late!), stage manager (here comes! ;-) ), WhtevrHpnd2Mary (...and I guess you're right with your assumption...), Phaser Lady (thank you! well, I don't think Trip's quite ready to talk to Malcolm yet, but we'll see...), shewolff (yes, we all like to see Trip suffer a little, I'm not ashamed to admit it -g-), Rinne (we were a little uncertain about that snot thing, but it's good to hear you say you feel it worked well - thanks!), Maraschino (as I said, the mystery will be solved... just not yet ;-) ) and Alison M. Dobell (glad you liked it so much! and who knows, we might even see a little more T/T'P in this ;-)...) for reviewing.
21 reviews for one chapter!! Wow! Thank you all so much! Hope you'll like the rest as well... here's Chapter 12 - please r&r!
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Chapter 12
Sitting at his desk, Trip stared down at the warp core schematics on the screen in front of him. There was something reassuring about the symmetry of those lines, the way they created patterns and merged together in a form that looked complicated to the layman but held no mysteries for him. It was a good feeling, to know that he could sit here, look at these blueprints, and understand them, better than anyone else on Enterprise. That, at least, hadn't changed. No matter that he had spent three days in Phlox' decon chamber, refusing to eat and threatening to kill everyone who came near him, no matter that T'Pol had dragged him back to reality by... doing whatever it was that she'd done, no matter that he was still feeling as if he was walking an emotional tightrope and could lose his balance if his attention slipped only for one brief moment; all of this couldn't change the fact that he was still able to put the engineering part of his brain to work, concentrating on mathematics and solving problems like he'd used to do before.
These days, that certainty sometimes was the only thing that kept him from throwing things against the wall of his quarters, taking out his anger and pent-up frustration on inanimate objects that didn't offer any resistance, that one could smash and rip apart at one's leisure without doing any real harm. But Trip knew that destroying his possessions wasn't something Phlox would regard as a sign of mental stability, and it was only due to the doctor's observation that Mr. Tucker seems to be more or less stable at the moment that he'd been released to his quarters. They kept him monitored, of course - no, not "they", Trip reminded himself firmly. Phlox. Phlox kept him monitored, and he did so for Trip's own good, so Trip wouldn't go and hurt himself, or do any other things mentally stable people weren't in the habit of doing. And Trip wasn't going to put the little privacy and dignity of being in his own living space at risk by indulging in those strange urges that sometimes rose in less controlled parts of his mind. So instead of screaming and smashing things, he spent hours sitting at his desk, revising old calculations and projects he hadn't looked at for years, trying to find out if there might be something useful stored away in that terminal of his, after all. The plainness and simple logic of the mathematics made it easy for him to get absorbed, to keep his mind off other things. Like the security guard in front of his door, for example. Or the strange, disturbing yet not unpleasant memories of T'Pol's voice speaking inside his head. The shame he'd felt when he'd noticed the bruises on Phlox' face, and had realized that it must have been him who'd put them there. The memories of the things T'Pol had told him. The thoughts of Malcolm-
No. Trip returned his attention to the screen in front of him, his eyes tracing the yellow lines of the schematic with an almost fierce determination. When he'd worked on this more than eighteen months ago he'd marked several places of the blueprint red, indicating that some modifications needed to be made in these areas. Systematically, Trip went over each of the marked spots, trying to think of the parts he'd meant to recalibrate, and noting down the steps that had to be taken before the modifications could be performed. It was dull work, and usually Trip wasn't in the habit of meticulously listing things, but right now he felt he had to get this done as neatly as possible. It kept him stable.
Trip was just about to finish the seventh mark when the sound of the door signal startled him out of the world of warp conduits and power relais. Rather reluctantly he pushed aside the padds, raising his head.
"Come," he said.
The bulkhead slid aside, revealing Jon standing in the doorframe. Trip caught a short glimpse of Ensign Hsan standing guard in the corridor before Archer stepped into the room, the door closing shut behind him.
"Hey," Jon said, smiling a little awkwardly. Trip answered his smile, finding it got easier every time to produce those meaningless, every-day gestures.
"Hey." He got up, motioning Jon to the desk chair. "Come on, take a seat."
Jon opened his mouth, probably to tell him to stay seated, but Trip plopped down on his bed, making it clear that this was where he was going to stay. Jon smiled again, lowering himself into the chair.
"Thanks."
There was a short pause, and Trip racked his mind almost frantically to find an appropriate topic of conversation he could bring up. Something he and Jon would talk about when they were hanging out together. But Jon didn't quite fit the image of someone coming over to have a beer and a chat with one of his buddies. Not with that expression of carefully guarded concern on his face, and not with that anxious undertone in his voice as he spoke.
"How're you feeling, Trip?"
Trip sighed, giving the answer he'd given so many times before.
"I'm okay. A little bored perhaps."
Jon smiled apologetically, and Trip wished he wouldn't do that all the time. Being so damn understanding, wrapping him in cotton wool like one badly put statement could set him off and make him go berserk anytime.
Come on, Jon. Tell me I'm lucky Phlox didn't insist on the strait-jacket. Say that being bored is a small price to pay for getting the chance to take a good swing at my fellow officers. I can take a joke.
But Jon did nothing of the sort, and Trip resigned to the fact that it would probably be a long time until he would be able to joke and laugh with the others like he'd used to. Before. Before all this rotten, blasted shit had happened.
"Trying to get some work done?"
Trip raised his eyes and saw Jon looking at the schematic that was still displayed on the desk screen. He nodded.
"I started that over a year ago, but somehow I never found the time to finish it." He smiled, and again it wasn't at all hard to take on the expression. He didn't even have to force it. "Thought I might jus' as well do somethin' useful while I'm-"
Stuck in here, he'd been about to say, but bit down on the words before they left his mouth. He didn't want Jon to think that he was complaining.
"- off duty," he finished a little awkwardly. Jon nodded, turning away from the screen and looking back at Trip.
"You know what, Stanford won the State Cup again," he said, and for a moment Trip had no idea what Jon was talking about. Then it came to him. Water polo. Jon was talking about water polo.
"Oh, really," he said, and even managed to get a little excited at the news. "Against which team were they playin'?"
"Pecos," Jon said. "It was a close call, though."
"Bet it was," Trip said, getting increasingly annoyed with himself for giving these seemingly indifferent replies. It wasn't that he didn't like talking to Jon, rather the opposite; he'd been waiting for someone to drop by all afternoon, and was genuinely enjoying his friend's company. But somehow he didn't seem able to show it, to keep the conversation flowing and contribute to the small talk the way he'd used to. Now he had to consciously formulate every single statement in his mind, forcing himself to concentrate on the subject of conversation. Talking to people suddenly was hard work to him, a thing he found a little unsettling, given his former reputation as the only person on Enterprise who was able to out-talk even Dr. Phlox.
When the silence was getting awkward, Jon cleared his throat.
"You know, Trip," he said, absentmindedly picking up a pen that was lying on the desk top and tapping it against his palm. "I guess you don't really want to talk about that now, but... I just wanted to say, I'm so glad to have you back. I mean," he added hastily, "I know things aren't back to what they used to be, but... a few days ago, I thought it would be quite some time until I would be able to talk to you like that again. I was afraid..."
He trailed off, but Trip knew what he'd been about to say. Jon had been afraid he would never be able to talk to him again, and from the few things Phlox had said Trip assumed that if it hadn't been for T'Pol, that might just as well have been the case.
He nodded. "It's good bein' out of the decon chamber," he said quietly. Jon put the pen back down on the table.
"T'Pol told me she didn't even help you that much," he said, and another sort of smile appeared on his face. After a moment Trip realized rather surprised that it was a proud smile. Jon was proud... of him?
"She said you pulled out of it pretty much on your own," Archer continued. "You did it yourself, Trip. I'm proud of you."
There. He'd said it. Trip shook his head, and all of a sudden the words seemed to come out of his mouth all by their own.
"Why would you be proud of me? I attacked you, I nearly broke Phlox' nose, I accused all of you of conspirin' against me, and I... I nearly killed Malcolm."
He'd wanted it to come out in a sarcastic tone, but at these last four words his voice was almost a whisper. Lowering his eyes, he stared at the floor and only noticed that Jon had gotten up when he sat down next to him. For a brief moment he tensed, but then he was able to suppress the slight wariness he still felt when someone came close to him.
"Trip," Jon said, tentatively putting a hand on his shoulder. "You weren't being yourself then. And they set you up; it was all in those protocols. There was no way you could've known it wasn't Malcolm-"
"I could have known!" Trip said a little louder than he'd intended to. "I should have known! I know Malcolm would never do that kind of thing, no matter what circumstances, and I knew then, too. And I didn't even try to ask him about it, I... I simply went for him and..."
He trailed off, biting his lip, and felt Jon put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer.
"It wasn't you, Trip," he said, stressing every single word. "It wasn't you. In a situation like that, everybody would have snapped sooner or later. If the roles had been reversed, if Malcolm had been the one they tricked with that hologram... he might have reacted just the same way. It wasn't your fault, and it wasn't Malcolm's, either; the only ones who are to blame are those people."
"What do you mean, it wasn't Malcolm's fault?" Trip asked. "He didn't try to kill anyone."
He felt Jon's arm tighten around his shoulders, and Archer's voice was very quiet as he spoke. "He tried to kill himself. Later, when he was alone, he smashed that water jug and slit his wrists."
Trip sat frozen, his blood pounding in his ears. He repeated the words in his mind, not quite able to believe them. Malcolm had tried to kill himself? Later... meaning after Trip had attacked him, after he seemingly without reason had turned against him. Slowly, he shook his head.
"No," he said hoarsely. "No. He didn't."
"He feels guilty about it," Jon said. "Blames himself, just like you do. But it wasn't your fault. The only ones to blame are they."
"I made him do it," Trip whispered. "If I hadn't turned my back on him-"
"No, Trip," Archer said firmly. "They made him do it. They kept giving him drugs to keep him from sleeping, driving him half mad, and I guess at some point he just couldn't stand it anymore."
Trip only shook his head, unable to speak. He realized that Jon was trying to make it easier on him, but he knew that drugs wouldn't make Malcolm Reed go and kill himself. He knew exactly what had brought Malcolm to do this. It was that feeling of being completely alone, that feeling of abandonment that was worse than everything else that had made him do it. And it was him, Trip, who had abandoned him. Who was to blame.
Feeling a hot burning sensation rise in his eyes, Trip buried his face in Jon's shoulder and began to cry.
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Malcolm guessed it had been about two hours since he'd woken up, but he wasn't sure. It could have just as well been minutes. All he'd been doing was staring at the grey ceiling of his quarters, not able to muster even enough energy to roll over and pick up the novel that was lying on his nightstand.
Come to think of it, he hadn't really done anything else than sleeping or gazing into nothingness ever since Phlox had released him to his quarters two days ago. The doctor had seemed quite reluctant to let him go, and thinking of the incident with the hypodermic needle, Malcolm believed he knew the reason why. Phlox thought when left alone in his quarters he would try and kill himself again, and considering what had happened, Malcolm wasn't really surprised. It was reasonable, after all. Still, even though he wasn't going to waste his breath telling the doctor so, Malcolm had no intention of doing harm to himself. At least he assumed that was the case. In fact, he didn't really know what to think anymore. Ever since he was back things just seemed to happen without him taking an active part in them, at least not consciously so. Like pulling out that needle; he couldn't remember ever really deciding to do this, nor did he know why he'd done it. All he knew was that suddenly Phlox had appeared at his bedside, his features growing unusually serious as he noticed the drip's tube hanging loose. The doctor had started asking questions, but since Malcolm couldn't give an answer to any of them he simply remained silent, watching Phlox as he re-attached the needle, that expression of worried concern never leaving the doctor's face.
It was a little scary, doing things you had no control over, but all in all Malcolm couldn't really bring himself to care. These days, nothing seemed important enough to trigger any emotions in him. The hours went by as he lay in his bed; sometimes the monotony was interrupted by people bringing him food or just stopping by, but mostly Malcolm spent his time staring at the ceiling, simply letting his mind drift. He tried not to think of anything that might disturb the blissful state of indifference he had created, and most of the time he succeeded, too. There were times when glimpses, unwelcome fragments of memories flashed up in his mind, and usually these were also the times when those unexpected things happened, like pulling out that needle or biting down so hard on the ball of his thumb that he was bleeding. Phlox had taken care of the bite without a word or comment, but when Archer had come by his quarters a few hours later he'd been even more persistent than usual, asking over and over again if Malcolm was feeling alright.
But Malcolm didn't know how he was feeling. He didn't know why he kept doing these things, and he didn't know what to do to make it stop. He had nothing to say to the Captain's questions, and so he kept answering "I'm fine" until Archer left again. It always brought a certain relief to hear the door swish shut behind one of the visitors, and while Malcolm appreciated their efforts, he preferred being left alone so he could retreat again behind that fragile shell of detachment that kept all hurtful thoughts and emotions at a distance. Especially Trip; thinking about Trip hurt the most. When he'd still been in sickbay, Archer had told him that Trip was doing better, that T'Pol had done something to help him, and while Malcolm had been relieved to hear it, he'd only nodded at these news, not asking any further questions. Neither had he asked to be allowed to see Trip, and even though Archer had tried to cover it up, Malcolm had noticed a look of sad disappointment cross the Captain's features at his seeming lack of interest. But it wasn't due to any indifference on his part that he didn't ask any questions about Trip; Malcolm simply knew that if he thought about Trip too much, everything else would come back to him as well, and he wouldn't be able to stand that.
Malcolm turned onto his side, taking the covers with him, and felt a sharp pain lance through his arm as he hit his bandaged wrist on the bed frame. Cursing softly under his breath, he pulled his hand closer to his chest, stopping as he noticed that the end of the bandage had come off. Instead of re-attaching it, Malcolm wrapped off some more of the white gauze, pushing a finger underneath to be able to scratch the itching skin of the healing wound. Another stab of pain made him wince, and he pushed the bandage back into place. For a split second a strange thought crossed his mind - how would it feel if he ripped off the bandage and scratched the wound so hard it started bleeding again - but Malcolm firmly pushed it away, tightening his hands on the covers. He wouldn't allow himself to turn into some kind of screwed-up freak who kept hurting himself on purpose, not if he could help it. He knew Archer and Phlox were already thinking he was missing some marbles, and he didn't want to give proof to their theory by doing crazy things like the one that had just crossed his mind. The worst thing about it was that sometimes he felt inclined to do a close count of his marbles himself, and those crazy thoughts only confirmed his suspicion that there was something seriously wrong with him.
Malcolm closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind of these broodings. He was only going nowhere fast with it, and besides he was awfully tired. Again. He always seemed to be tired these days. Phlox said it was only a natural reaction to the loss of blood he'd suffered, but somehow Malcolm felt that it wasn't right to give in to that weariness. He'd caused that loss of blood himself, after all, and even though he knew he was being silly, it just didn't seem right to sleep all day. At the moment, though, he didn't think he was able to keep himself awake for much longer, and so he allowed his eyes to slip shut and his mind to drift. He was almost asleep when suddenly the sound of the door signal startled him awake again. He sat up.
"Come," he said, rubbing a hand through his mussed hair and blinking to clear his vision. The door swished open, revealing Hoshi who was holding a tray in her hands.
"Did I wake you up?" she asked, taking a few steps into the room and setting the tray down on his desk. He forced himself to answer her smile.
"That's okay," he said, watching as she took the lid off a food container and picked up a spoon.
"Here," she said still smiling, and handed him the bowl which contained plain tomato soup. "Phlox said you're not to eat any solid food for a while, I hope you're not too disappointed. I brought you some mint tea as well; it's in that pot over there."
"Thanks." Reed stared down at the red thick liquid in the bowl, feeling his stomach churn at the thought of having to eat that soup. Ever since Phlox had taken him off the drip, he hadn't really been able to bring himself to eat a proper meal, let alone do so on a regular basis. It had gotten so that Phlox had started to stand next to his biobed while he was eating, watching him to make sure he finished his meals. Malcolm felt embarrassed at being supervised like that, but somehow the mere thought of putting food into his mouth made him feel like vomiting.
Right now, though, it looked like he had little choice; Hoshi seemed to be channeling Phlox' spirit and had taken a seat on his desk chair, watching him with an expectant expression on her face. Malcolm sighed a little, slowly picking up the spoon.
The first mouthful wasn't that bad, after all, but the longer he kept eating, the more he felt like he was going to be sick any minute. After a while Hoshi, who'd been chattering away up until now, telling him the latest messhall gossip, stopped her rather one-sided conversation and raised her eyebrows at him.
"I think your soup's growing cold, Lieutenant," she said. "Something wrong with it?"
Malcolm shook his head. "No, it's fine."
Stirring the soup, he tried to bring himself to eat another spoonful, but somehow he just couldn't. Sighing, he put the spoon down, looking up at Hoshi.
"I don't think I'm that hungry right now," he said. "But thanks, anyway."
"Lieutenant." An expression of exasperated concern appeared on Hoshi's face. "You do have to eat, you know that. Phlox says your body needs to get used to food again, and starving yourself is not the right way to do that."
Malcolm glanced back down at the soup, and this time his stomach did give a slight lurch. He swallowed hard, telling himself to stop acting such a fool, but it was no good. Hoshi was still regarding him with her eyebrows raised.
"Come on, Malcolm. Half a bowl to go."
Malcolm stared down at his hands, inspecting the band aid on his right thumb. After a few moments of awkward silence he heard Hoshi sigh and looked up again.
"You just can't do it, can you?"
He shook his head, and she got up, taking the bowl away. Putting it back onto the tray, she turned her head to look at him.
"Care for a cup of tea?"
He nodded, thinking that some hot, rather flavourless fluid wouldn't offend his queasy stomach too much. "Thanks, some tea would be nice."
Handing him the steaming cup, she sat back down, still studying him with that worried look on her face. "You sure you're feeling alright?"
"Sure," he said, taking a sip of his tea. "I'm fine."
Hoshi smiled a little, pouring herself some tea as well. "Uh-huh. Is it the I'm-feeling-a-little-under-the-weather-but-I-don't-consider-it-worth-talking-about-I'm-fine, or is it the I'm-feeling-like-shit-but-I-sure-won't-tell-you-I'm-fine?"
This actually startled a grin out of him. "Guess it's the I-don't-really-know-how-I'm-feeling-I'm-fine."
Hoshi nodded wisely. "Ah, that one." Putting down the cup on the desk, she turned the chair around so she could take a backwards seat on it. She rested her forearms on the headrest and fixed him with a thoughtful look. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Malcolm lowered his eyes, absentmindedly gazing down into the brownish-transparent liquid, his fingers tightening around the cup's warm metallic material. "I don't think there's much to talk about."
"Oh, do you."
Malcolm turned his head at that dryly delivered statement and saw that Hoshi had sat up again, her face now displaying an expression that reminded Malcolm of how his sister had always looked when she'd realized that he was pulling her leg about something. A look that could maybe be described as affectionate exasperation. It embarrassed him a little, so he quickly averted his eyes again.
"Yes, I do."
Hoshi was silent for a moment, and Malcolm was just about to relax, thinking she had decided it was no use, when she spoke up again. "Lieutenant," she said, her voice carrying a hidden undertone Malcolm didn't like at all, "what did you do to your thumb?"
Reed sat motionless for a moment, feeling his jaw clench. Then, frantically looking for something to do, he quickly raised the cup to his lips. "Nothing," he said before taking a sip. "It's nothing." He closed his eyes as he drank, feeling hot mint tea run down his throat and at the same time hearing a sigh coming from Hoshi's direction. He lowered the cup but didn't look up. After a few moments' silence he heard her sigh again.
"Malcolm..." she began. "I get the impression that you're not doing so well. And I'm not the only one. I know that Phlox is worried about you, and so is Captain Archer. And I think they do have reason to be worried. Or don't you agree?"
Carefully, he placed his tea on the nightstand, then leaned back against the wall, pulling the covers up to his chest. "I told you, it's nothing."
"It's not nothing," she said, but now her voice didn't carry any exasperation anymore, only concern and worried compassion. At her tone Reed felt all his internal defense walls slide firmly into place. "I know it's not nothing, you know it, Phlox and the Captain know it," she continued. "Don't you think talking about it would help?"
Twisting the covers between his fingers, Malcolm firmly fixed a spot at the foot of the bed. He licked his lips, forcing himself to answer. "I... " He cleared his throat. "I don't think I'm quite ready to talk to anyone," he said, knowing good and well that he was lying. He was as ready as he'd ever be, it was just that he couldn't bring himself to do it, to open his mouth and talk. He was too scared of what he might be setting loose. "I suppose I... might still need some time."
Hoshi said nothing, and when he could finally muster enough courage to raise his head and look at her, he saw that she was watching him with an expression of deep concern... and something else. Maybe sadness. "You're tormenting yourself, Malcolm," she said. "You're not eating, you're not talking, you probably aren't even sleeping... this can't go on, you know that. I can see why you need time... after what happened to you, I mean..." She swallowed, lowering her eyes, and Malcolm clamped his fingers around the covers, praying that she wouldn't go on. "Anyway," she said after a moment, "I can see why you need time... but don't take too long. You have to at least try. Promise me that you'll try."
Malcolm forced a small smile onto his lips. To himself it felt more like a grimace, but judging from her expression, it was enough for Hoshi. "Promise," he said, desperately hoping that she would allow him to steer the conversation back to the small talk he'd actually started to feel comfortable with earlier. "Thanks for bringing me supper."
Hoshi smiled a little, getting up. "Not that you ate it, but you're welcome anyway."
Malcolm watched her as she gathered up the tray, feeling a little guilty at the relief that took hold of him as he realized that she was about to leave.
Balancing the tray on one arm, Hoshi reached for the door panel. "I'll come back in a few hours to see how you're doing, alright?" she said, and Malcolm nodded, even though he feared that when she came back later, she would only press him even more to talk to her. But right now agreeing reassured her, and if she was reassured, she would leave. So he nodded.
"Well then, see you later." The door swished open, and Malcolm watched her disappear through it. Then, sighing, he resumed his close observation of the foot of the bed.
He hadn't meant to freeze her out like that. It wasn't fair, she was trying to help him, after all. She was helping him, actually; by stopping by every now and then and talking to him she and the others reassured him that he really was where he thought he was, and that all of this was not some kind of self-induced dream. He needed that reassurance. He hadn't left his quarters at all ever since Phlox had released him from sickbay, and sometimes, especially at night, when the lights were dimmed and his protective shell of indifference wore thin, he almost expected to wake up any moment to find himself back on V'nera. Of course he told himself that this was nonsense, and most of the times he could even believe himself. A small part of him, though, he could never quite convince. He assumed it was his pessimism, or maybe the paranoia that people told him was part of his nature. Whatever it was, it kept its doubts, and could only be silenced if he now and then provided some reassurance that this was, in fact, reality. The people who brought that reassurance were the people who came here from time to time, talking to him and keeping him from burying himself under his dark thoughts.
You're not making their job a very easy one, Malcolm thought with a touch of bitterness. It wasn't as if he didn't know exactly what Hoshi had been talking about when she'd said he was "tormenting" himself. It was clear to him what she meant, although he wouldn't have put it quite that dramatically. But he didn't seem to be able to make it stop. He knew that talking to someone would help - and that meant real talking, not the one-sided small talk that seemed to be the only kind of conversation he allowed himself to participate in these days. The talk didn't even have to be about... what had happened, he assumed it would be enough if he were able to tell someone about how he was feeling right now. The thing was, he didn't know how to voice his inner sensations without sounding like a complete fool. No, that wasn't quite right. He didn't know how to word his feelings at all. If he were to try, he assumed it would make him sound like a fool, at least to his own ears. But that wasn't really important; if his time on Enterprise had taught him anything besides how to run the Security Department on a starship, it was that how you sounded to yourself mostly wasn't how others heard you. People were kinder than one suspected. Nevertheless, this didn't help him any, for if you just didn't know what to say, you couldn't even say something foolish.
Malcolm rolled onto his side, facing the wall, and pulled the blankets up almost to his ears. If he'd been able to, he would have slept, but Hoshi's penetrating questions had made a small dam in his mind give way, and now a small river of thoughts was flowing through his head like a mountain stream - narrow, but fierce, fast. He was standing at the riverbank and watching the water flow, a little unsettled by its wildness, not understanding most of what he glimpsed between the waves. The one thing he understood, though, was that he couldn't stand there for much longer. It was too scary. He'd always been pretty much in control of what was going on in his consciousness, and having lost that control so completely, being so confused that he had to shut down all the more complex parts of his mind to prevent a mental breakdown frightened him deeply. And he realized that Hoshi had been right about something else: it couldn't go on like this. If it did, he knew that sooner or later he'd lose his mind. Or suppress his conscious thoughts for so long that he wouldn't be able to retrieve them, which basically came down to the same. But he wouldn't let it come to that. He knew he had to take some kind of action, and slowly the realization of what he had to do began to crystallize. It would be a hard thing to do, but he was sure that he would be able to go through with it. There seemed to be no other way, at least none he could see, and so Malcolm, half-reluctant and half-relieved, made his decision.
He noted that he felt better now. The stream was still raging, but he wasn't watching that closely anymore. Closing his eyes, he willed sleep to come, and fifteen minutes later he was resting quietly, the covers still pulled up almost over his head.
TBC...
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