A/N: Well, I would reply to the reviews, but right now it's late and I don't want to have to leave the update until tomorrow! So sorry for that and thanks for all of your reviews; you're wonderful. So here's chapter three, if there are words stuck together it's not my fault, the quick edit doesn't seem to be working too well!

Disclaimer: Nope, me no own!

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"Come, we'll to sleep. My strange and self-abuse is the initiate fear that wants hard use: We are but young In Deed." - William Shakespeare, 'That Scottish Play'.

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Counterpoint

After a long day on the bridge Archer made his way, reluctantly, down to Sickbay. It had been three days – three long days – since they had recovered Malcolm from the Xindi, and during that time he had made no response whatsoever to anyone or anything. And though Archer continued to visit every day, his hope for Malcolm's eventual recovery was waning. The Xindi had simply destroyed his mind.

As he reached the sickbay doors, Archer took a deep breath, steeling himself. It was almost more than he could bear to see a man he had come to respect sitting on that bed like an empty shell.

He sighed and entered the sickbay, ducking around the curtains that Phlox had put up around Malcolm's bed.

"Malcolm?" He said softly, not expecting any answer, and a shock of hope and surprise coursed through him as the tactical officer looked up. But Archer was soon to be disappointed, for when those azure eyes met his, they were simply blank, and held none of the sharp intelligence Archer had come to know, and now missed painfully.

Archer sighed once more, and was about to turn away when something grabbed his wrist. He turned in shock as Malcolm's hand – bony and shaky from his maltreatment at the hands of the Xindi – tightened around his wrist.

He looked up, and saw that those eyes, whichhad beenso empty before, were now blazing with urgency.

"Two-four, six-three, seven-oh." He rasped out, and Archer frowned, not noticing as Phlox slipped through the curtains.

"What? What is it? Malcolm? What do those numbers mean?" But Malcolm just stared at him and repeated urgently;

"Two-four, six-three, seven-oh." With the stresses on the words, Archer realised what they were.

A set of co-ordinates. But leading to – where?

"Where do those co-ordinates lead, Malcolm? Malcolm?" But the life had drained once more from the man's eyes, and he had returned once more to his original position, staring into space. Archer shook his head, tired beyond his years. What had just occurred had done nothing for him, save to complicate even further an already impossible situation.

Chapter Three

Though he would never have liked to admit it, Ishran the betazoid was ill at ease. He was preparing to – interrogate – the human, and found himself in an extremely uncomfortable position. He was accustomed to 'interrogating' prisoners who had already been broken by the Xindi torture – he was just a tool for ascertaining the individuals truthfulness – but in this case he was dealing with a man who had not only resisted, but also gained the respect of the Xindi general, An'Din.

Oh, yes. He chuckled darkly. They could hide nothing from him. He had sensed the Xindi's concern back in the holding cell, and he highly doubted it was for himself, for General An'Din had made no secret of his dislike for Ishran.

Ishran scowled at this. None of the Xindi showed him the respect he deserved. But they would learn, oh yes, they would learn –

"Are you ready yet, doctor?" Ishran looked up in annoyance. It was the Xindi guard outside his 'quarters'. The guards often gave him different titles, all of them sneering and disrespectful in the manner of their use. He would, he mused visciously, like to try out some of his 'techniques' on them…

But he simply smiled and replied pleasantly;

"Very nearly, my friend, very nearly." And with that, he swept from the room. It was time for the human to disclose all…

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An'Din was waiting for Ishran outside the human's cell. He had learned, from Ishran's initial 'examination' that the human's name was 'Malcolm Reed' and that he was a Lieutenant and weapons officer onboard the human ship, Enterprise.

The weapons officer. That meant he could one day be the designer, the progenitor, of the weapon that would destroy the Xindi homeworld…

But he would never get that chance, because what was about to happen to him would destroy the intellect that might have done such a thing. And for some reason, rather than feeling glad that at least one possible threat was to be eradicated, An'Din found that he felt only regret at the thought. Regret that a man he had come to respect – yes, respect – almost as an equal was to be destroyed… not from without but within.

An'Din was suddenly and quite unpleasantly awoken from his reverie by the arrival of Ishran, flanked by the two guards who had been sent to find him. As always, Ishran's smile appeared faultlessly genuine, but still An'Din did not trust it, for in the man's mud-coloured eyes there lurked a… a hostility. And the Xindi warrior had no doubt that, should the Betazoid wish it, he could incapacitate every member of the crew onboard the asteroid station with a single thought.

But there was something else in those eyes, as well… Ishran was worried.

"What is it?" An'Din asked immediately, and Ishran, though he struggled to look innocent, eventually sighed and shook his head. An'Din frowned slightly at this; for once, it seemed that something had occured to knock some of the cockiness out of Ishran's attitude, and so An'Din listened, for once, with patience to Ishran's reply.

"To be perfectly frank with you, General, I am concerned about the risk involved in this particular case." To any outside listener, Ishran's words would simply sound like those of a concerned doctor about to tend to a particularly difficult patient. But then again they would not know of the 'case', nor the patient that he spoke of.

"Oh?" An'Din smirked, not caring that he might be treading dangerous ground. "Well, unless you have forgotten, doctor, you have little choice in the matter – and I highly doubt that anyone here is that worried about your wellbeing." Ishran's pale cheeks flushed in anger, and he spat;

"I am not merely speaking of a risk to myself, Xindi." He paused, before sneering, "And I do not suppose you particularly want this human to be privy to such information as the details of the Xindi attack fleet, do you?"

An'Din gave the Betazoid a look that would have frozen trellium. And then he gave the order that would seal Malcolm Reed's fate.

"Just get it done."

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At first there had been silence, but then the screams started. The screams told of agony, of violation, and of ignominity. There were muffled words, phrases, curses, intermittent throughout, but mostly it was just the terrible screaming.

And through it all An'Din stood outside the door, standing as he would were he a guard of a sacred tomb, awaiting the final blows to seal the coffin and roll the stone before the entrance, sealing Fate forever.

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Malcolm Reed could not recall how long he had been onboard the Xindi station. He could remember, through a haze of blood and pain, the torture and the interrogation, but in that moment he didn't much care, for he knew that that hand, that cruel, searching instrument was entering his mind once again…

No, no, please no… He begged the hand, but it did not halt it's course, did not withdraw it's harsh scything through his mind, his memories, his emotions.

A little girl… Maddie, he realised thickly, his heart warming at the sight of her, but then the hand twisted the scene… Maddie was crying, bleeding… he was crying out to her, but he couldn't reach her…

Why was the hand showing him this? This had never happened in reality…

Just beating a bit of the fight out of you, Malcolm. A voice hissed, and he realised it to be the voice of the hand. He struggled to shut it out but then the scene changed again, and a searing flash of guilt burnt through his body.

A woman stood in front of him, tears streaming down her face.

"Why?" She was asking, her eyes pleading. She had such beautiful eyes… "Malcolm, I love you. Why are you doing…" Then her voice faded and all was darkness. The hand spoke again, but this time it was curious rather than vindictive.

You left her. It said. Why? Malcolm tried to shut out the hand's question, for it caused too much pain, but he couldn't quite manage it.

I don't know. He answered truthfully, and for a single moment it seemed he felt something like sympathy emanating from the hand, but then the harsh cruelty returned, and he found himself returning once more to memories he did not want to inhabit… there were no mores scenes though, for in the manner of most memories they were just glimpsed images, brief snatches of conversation, emotions… all of them painful.

But then the hand turned its aims to something far more terrible… it began tearing down walls, rushing headlong through his mind, not caring what destruction it left behind in it's single-minded quest for it's goal, it's goal of information, about Enterprise, about her crew.

Why? Malcolm's mind screamed out in agony as it physically felt the tearing down of neural pathways and loss of control. Why are you doing this? The hand answered distractedly.

Because this, young friend, is my job… Malcolm recoiled in disgust and distress at the complete lack of morals he felt from the hand.

But then the hand made it'sdeadly mistake. It touched upon a single memory; a precious, sacred memory that was personal and private; a memory that was not to be shared with anyone, and certainly not with this filthy, heartless creature, and certainly not in this way…

And Malcolm Reed began to fight back. He fought back with all the desperation and strength he possessed, and, gradually, inch by agonising inch, he began to gain ground… and then, suddenly he was the one doing the searching… he saw images, of people he had never know, places he had never seen before… and then he caught sight of something terrible.

But he had to get to it… he had to find out what this man knew about the Xindi.

And so he continued his battle, little realising that by doing so he was most likely throwing away the last tenuous grip he had on life, and sanity at all.

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A/N: Please review, and tell me what you think! Oh, and out of completely random curiosity, I recently heard that less than half of people asked knew what Easter was really about. So… any comments on that? (Just humour me! I'm harmless really:-) )