000 Disclaimer, I own nothing 000 Huge, massive, gigantic thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story for all your suggestions and kind comments. This is the second to last chapter, I'm definitely gonna post an epilogue at some point So any suggestions after reading this chapter would be greatly appreciated. Hope you like this :) 000

Malcolm tested the weight of the razor in his palm. It was so light, something he used everyday without a thought. It was what Matthew had used to slit his arms when Malcolm was only 15.

Shouts and thuds played against his door as Malcolm returned to his bed, but the noise seemed a million miles away as he contemplated the razor in his hand.

000

"Open this door!" Archer yelled, pounding it furiously. He had already tried to override the door code but it wouldn't accept the override. "Malcolm!"

Beside him Trip had the door panel off and was fiddling frantically with the wires and circuits. "To hell with this!" Trip snapped suddenly, ripping out several wires the door slid open a fraction. Together they both forced the door open halfway, Trip slipped through just as the door shut again, leaving Archer stood staring at the door in frustration.

Trip stared in horror at Malcolm. His friend was laid on the bed and Trip could just make out the razor in his hand. "Oh God…"

The room was too dark for Trip to see much, but he could tell that Malcolm wasn't moving. "Oh God…" He crossed the room quickly and nearly passed out with relief when Malcolm suddenly raised his head to look at him.

"Don't do it," Trip blurted out.

Malcolm looked down at the razor again. Trip wanted to dive forward and snatch the razor from Malcolm's hand, but he couldn't move. It was as if his legs had turned to stone and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't make himself move, it was almost as if subconsciously he was afraid that any sudden movement would harm Malcolm.

"Do what?" Malcolm asked softly, twisting the razor round in his fingers.

"Kill yourself."

Malcolm looked up sharply. "Would that bother you?"

Trip stared at Malcolm in shock. Malcolm gestured to the chair nearby and offered Trip a hollow smile. Trip sat down slowly. The situation seemed so surreal; here was Malcolm, a razor in hand, offering him a seat.

"Did you know," Malcolm continued softly. "That slit wrists are a cry for help. If someone really wanted to die they should slice from elbow to wrist." He demonstrated with the razor, but didn't actually slice his skin. Trip shuddered slightly.

"Who told you that?" Trip asked

Malcolm smirked. "My biology teacher." He stared at the razor again and sighed. "That's how Matthew did it you know."

Trip moved closer. "What?"

"Didn't you notice the scars?" Malcolm asked sounding faintly surprised. "He killed himself Trip, I came home one day and found him with his arms slit from elbow to wrist."

Trip realised the answer to his question as soon as he'd asked it, after all he'd seen it. He watched Malcolm move the razor and Trip suddenly grabbed Malcolm's wrist. "Don't Malcolm. Just don't."

"Don't what?"

Trip felt something warm run across his fingers. When he had grabbed Malcolm's wrist, Malcolm had instinctively gripped the razor harder and in doing so had pierced his skin, letting blood trickle down his wrist. Trip shuddered.

"Don't do what Matthew did," said Trip eventually, trying to ignore the sensation of Malcolm's blood running across his skin.

Malcolm released his grip on the razor and held it out on his palm. Trip snatched it away with his free hand and tossed it away to another corner of the room. Malcolm laughed softly for a second and Trip scowled.

"This isn't funny!" Trip snapped, his nerves wearing thin.

"You're right, it isn't." Malcolm stopped laughing and gazed at Trip a moment. "You were worried."

"Damn right I was worried! You just took off!" Trip paused and took a deep breath. "We came to your quarters, found the door locked and then when I finally get you're just sat here holding a razor. I thought you were already dead!"

The room lapsed into silence as Malcolm seemed to think about Trip's words. Trip still hadn't relinquished the hold on Malcolm's wrist.

"I don't want to die," Malcolm whispered, now engrossed in the cut on his palm from the razor.

"I don't want you to die either," Trip let go of Malcolm and stared helplessly at his friend. He had no idea how to proceed. "Malcolm, no one wants you to die, we're worried about you."

"I only came here to think, I only wanted somewhere to think," said Malcolm shifting away from Trip. "Everyone would've tried to get me to talk about it and I don't want to talk about it yet. I want to be able to process everything before I have to tell everyone about my sordid past." He threw Trip a bitter look. "The razor reminded me of things I'd tried to forget. If I ever choose to end my life I wouldn't use a razor."

Trip blinked. "You wouldn't?"

Malcolm shook his head and offered Trip a hollow smile. "If I was ever to take my life, I wouldn't take it the same way Matthew did."

"You don't want to though, do you?"

Malcolm shook his head. "I just wanted time alone."

Trip nodded. "So, you're ok then?" He grimaced as soon as the question left his lips. Stupid question to ask.

"It all depends on your definition of ok." Malcolm sighed.

"None of this was your fault," said Trip forcefully. "None of it, it could have happened to anyone. We could have all been running away from my brother. It wasn't your fault, Malcolm."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to be alone for a while."

Trip didn't move. "It's not good for you to be alone right now." His eyes flickered involuntarily back to the razor.

"When dealing with Matthew, I've always been alone."

"Malcolm…"

"It's alright," Malcolm cut in. "I wouldn't have wished him on anybody."

"It wasn't your fault, Malcolm."

"It was, it's my job to protect you."

Trip snorted suddenly. "I don't think it's written anywhere in the Armoury Officer's job description that you have to protect the crew from something that can't be fought. No one blames you, the only person laying any blame on you is you. Now, lets get back to sickbay before the Cap'n takes a plasma torch to the door."

000 Please review 000