A/N: Thanks for all your lovely reviews! This is going to be the last chapter with the counterpoint ("past") / main chapter body ("present") style. And breathe a sigh of relief; Malcolm's torture is almost over. But firstly, a few responses to my lovely reviewers;

Shrekster: Thanks! But I'm afraid the updates are sparser than I'd probably like, but at least they're quite long!

HAD1: Thanks, and here you go!

Scifi-warper: Thanks. I am mean to him, aren't I? And I'll do my best. To get Malcolm back to normal, I mean…

stage manager: I seriously hope you're joking! If not, e-mail me and I'll enlighten you!

KITT: Thanks. And you're right; believing or not believing in it is one thing, but not knowing at all?

Leyli: Thanks. I do the torture rather well! But watch out, I also do fluffy friendship stuff (coming up in chapter five!). And, um… didn't Lent end last Sunday, Palm Sunday? Because if you count forty days from Shrove Tuesday… I'm probably wrong and working on a kinder calendar!

Buggles586: You really mustn't say stuff like that. My head will never fit through the door!

Tata: Thanks. Unfortunately, it's not going to be without a price… read on to find out!

My apologies to anyone I missed out!

Disclaimer: If I owned Enterprise, there would be more Reed-centric episodes!

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"They have tied me to a stake, I cannot fly, but bear-like I must fight the course." – William Shakespeare, 'That Scottish Play'.

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Counterpoint

Trip Tucker hesitated outside Sickbay. It had been about two hours since Archer had arrived on the bridge with the co-ordinates Malcolm had given him, and Trip had spent the time battling with himself as to whether or not he should go down and see his friend. Archer had said that after stating the co-ordinates Malcolm had just returned to his trance, but still…

Trip couldn't give up on his best friend. He couldn't stand seeing him sitting there, like an empty shell. Trip longed to hear his friend's harsh British accent once more, professional, arrogant and infuriating.

But, somehow, Trip knew that even if Malcolm did recover – and that was a big 'if' – he would never be the same man he had been when the Xindi had captured him. He had fought so hard to escape the Xindi that one time that he'd been forced to sacrifice a little bit of himself, his life-force, to do so. He'd need all the help his friends could give him if he ever had any chance of regaining it.

But Trip was scared. He was scared that he, Charles Tucker, would not be strong enough to hold his friend against the force of the tide. He was scared of the thought that he might never really see his friend again. But he had to push these fears aside, for Malcolm's sake. He took a deep breath and entered the Sickbay.

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Chapter Four

Ishran's mind was – literally – reeling. How in the name of the god's had the human managed to overcome him? He had, to begin with, toyed with the human, torturing him in a way no physical means could. This had seemed to beat much of the fight from the pathetic specimen…

Ah. Ishran remembered, as he had begun his trawl through the human's memories, one single image, more private and well hidden than the others. It had been a single memory -

Keep away from there! Ishran recoiled suddenly as the voice, embittered and angry, rang through his mind, and then he realised where he had made his mistake. Slowly, wheedling and pathetic, he began to try and beg his way out of the situation, but the human paid no heed; simply strode further and further into Ishran's memories –

Oh, no. Ishran thought, his heart sinking.

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Almost there… he was almost there… Malcolm could see the snippet of knowledge shining, like the star from the old Christmas story he could remember being read long ago, just out of reach but all the time pulling him onwards…

Then the memories came flooding through him, all that Ishran knew of the Xindi became his to know and use as well… the whereabouts of the flag ships, the weak points in the security of the asteroid station they were currently on…

And then it stopped. The flow of knowledge was cut off, suddenly and painfully. And it was then that Malcolm realised, through an intuition not entirely his own, that he had to withdraw from this – this mind-meld. But it was harder, much harder than it had been finding his way in, like trawling his was through knee-deep mud.

What was that Betazoid (how did he know the name of the man's species?) doing? Malcolm knew too well what strength of mind the manpossessed fromwhat he had already done –

This is of your doing, human, not mine! Came the agonised scream from the Betazoid, and then the connection between their minds was severed, and it was even worse than the merging of the two had been, Malcolm was spinning through the darkness, he had to get out, he was dying…

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An'Din was not quite sure how to react when he heard Ishran's screams added to the cacophony of pain emanating from the human's cell. A part of him felt glad that the human had managed to overcome the vile creature, but another part of him, that was solely loyal to his cause, realised that Ishran's knowledge of the Xindi base could not be allowed into human hands.

And when the screams abruptly stopped, he decided that the time for contemplation was over.

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They were both lying on the floor, the human and the Betazoid. Ishran appeared to be unconscious, though still breathing, somewhat to An'Din's disappointment. The human, though…

The human was conscious, but his eyes were no longer defiant… they were terrified. An'Din went to help the human up, and he flinched away. An'Din shook his head, disgusted, not at the human but at himself, at his own people who would endorse such an act as to destroy a person like the human before him. He knew what would happen to the human, now that he was beyond usefulness… the Xindi Council would either have him killed, or deported to a penal colony somewhere. Whatever happened, the end result for the human would be the same… death.

Once more, the Xindi shook his head, and muttered, using a phrase the human had unwittingly taught him;

"To hell with the consequences." And, gently as he could, he lifted the human up, and exited the brig. As an afterthought, he turned back and tapped in the door code for the brig, effectively sealing Ishran in.

Then An'Din turned to the guards posted at either side of the door, and barked out an order. The two guards, though unwillingly, left their posts. An'Din gritted his teeth, knowing that sooner or later he would have to... silence the guards.

The walk from the brig to the shuttlebay felt endless. An'Din could not explain why he was doing what he was; he knew that he could probably be killed for treason were his little 'stunt' discovered. But he found he did not care overmuch; he had become disillusioned with his own people, and now hedid not believe that their mighty 'cause' was quite so noble after all.

At last they reached the hatch for the escape pods. An'Din couldn't risk entering the shuttlebay, it would be teeming with people, but the escape pod, though basic, was fairly well equipped.

An'Din was about to push the human in just as a team of guards – the 'night' rotation – turned the corner, and he gritted his teeth as they paused to salute him.

"General." They greeted him in unison, and he nodded stiffly, his hand still hovering over the controls to the pod hatch. One of the guards – Firkal, he remembered dimly, a suspicious young thing, and for this reason a rising star on the ranks – frowned slightly at this, and at the sight of the human, his hands unbound.

"Sir…" Firkal's voice trailed off hesitantly at the look on his commanding officer's face. Despite his ambition, he knew when to draw the line, especially with General An'Din; Firkal was of one of the warm-blooded species of Xindi, like An'Din's rival, N'Kaw, he was covered in white fur, though due to a rare genetic mutation his was thin and only on certain patches of his body.

He had fought all his life against the fact that he was different, and N'Kaw had helped him, taking him under his wing, much to An'Din's disgust. Rivalry such as that between the different sub-species of Xindi ran deep, and deepest of all within the hierarchy of power.

"What?" Snapped An'Din, and Firkal set his jaw.

"Why is the… prisoner with you?" Firkal looked the human up and down, his lips tugging into a sneer at the pathetic sight before him. The human looked terrified, pathetically so; his eyes were flitting from one figure to another, and a half-crazed look crossed his face when they settled upon Firkal. An'Din's eyes flashed at the sight of the sneer, andthe young lieutenant crowed inwardly as he realised what was going on… and what he could tell General N'Kaw when next he saw him. He would be well rewarded.

"I do not believe, Lieutenant, that I need to answer to you." Firkal almost hissed in delight at the victory. An'Din was a fool… more than that, he was a fool who had managed to become attached to the enemy. But Firkal knew he would have to tread very carefully indeed… he glanced at his companions, who were looking blank and also a little worried. They did not want to antagonise the general.

"My… apologies, General." Firkal inclined his head slightly, turning away. He had seen An'Din's hand over the controls to the pod; he knew what the general intended to do. He would allow that to happen… he did not care overmuch what information the human took back to his people, not in comparison to the glory he would receive in return for revealing one of the most respected Xindi on the Council as a traitor to his own species. Who would worry about a few co-ordinates reaching human ears?

Yes, he thought, his lips curving upwards once more as he turned from An'Din's view. Given time, he would defeat An'Din. And from the ashes, he would rise as the next great ruler of the Xindi... given time.

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An'Din let out a low growl of dissent as he watched Firkal's retreating back. The disrespectful young thing had let the matter go… and yet somehow An'Din felt that he was still in danger from him. An'Din feared Firkal; not for the sake of his own welfare, forin the great scheme of things he mattered little, but for what might occur if such a creature should come to power. Such men cared only for ambition; not for the people they ruled, and should so serve.

An'Din turned back to the human, his gaze taking in everything, the shallow rise and fall of the man's chest, the slow fade of panic in the eyes, leaving only a blank deadness. Was it really in the human's best interest to send him out into space, alone, like this? Maybe he was better off dead.

No. An'Din shook his head. No going back on his plans now, it was far too late for that. He glanced once more up and down the corridor, then quickly slapped the hatch release. The pod hatch flipped open, and he pushed the human inside, following hastily. There would be no going back. If they were found now, they'd both be shot on sight.

Swiftly, An'Din keyed in the last known co-ordinates of the earth vessel into the autopilot. No going back. He then lifted the human into the single seat before the controls. No going back. He looked into the human's eyes, and gripped his hand tightly.

"Let your gods go with you, human." He whispered. No going back. He turned to leave, but as he did, the human spoke.

"Thankyou." An'Din whirled around, but the man's eyes were blank once more. He shook his head. No going back.

He stepped out of the pod, and sealed it from the outside. No going back. He slapped the panel by the hatchway once more, and the pod was released into space. No going back.

An'Din turned away, and began to head up to the Council chamber. No going back… no going back.

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Counterpoint

Phlox had made himself scarce as soon as Trip had entered. The chief engineer had sighed at this. He'd rather have had Phlox with him, to support him, but perhaps even the optimistic Denobulan was losing hope, understandable after all this time.

Trip forced a smile onto his face as he ducked round the curtains that had been erected to keep Malcolm from the prying eyes of well-meaning crewmen.

"How you doin', Mal?" Trip did his best to keep his voice cheery as he clapped eyes on his friend and comrade, but it was hard going. Malcolm was wasting away; his skin was pale, his figure thin and bony, and there were dark shadows under the lifeless eyes. Trip could not bring himself to think of them as his eyes, for they weren't; the stubborn light that Trip had come to knowas his friend was all but extinguished.

All but. Could it be that somewhere deep within the seemingly empty shell Malcolm Reed was still alive, struggling to get out? How had Phlox put it… it was as though Malcolm had pulled as far into himself as he could to recover from what he'd experienced. But the question was this: would he have the strength to pull himself back out of his protective shelter?

Malcolm was fiddling nervously, rubbing his hands together and jerking his shoulders back and forth, a pattern Trip had seen him repeat many times over since his 'return'.

Trip had to smile slightly at the thought of Malcolm's return. True to his ways, the man had come home in style. They had all but given up hope on his safe return when Hoshi had alerted them to the fact that there was an escape pod, Xindi in design, drifting towards the solar system they had just left. The pod contained one biosign; human.

But the pod would not respond to any of their hails – and Trip had wondered, at the time, why Malcolm had not set off the distress signal. But then they'd hauled the pod in, and found Malcolm lying there, comatose, and Trip had realised that Malcolm must have had an accomplice; he'd never have managed to escape and set off thepod in the condition he was in.

One of the Xindi? Possible, but such an act of compassion went against the grain of what they knew about the Xindi mindset, but on the other hand what they knew was not that detailed. Whoever it was, he or she had saved Malcolm's life, and for that Trip was eternally grateful.

Now he just had to hope that their mysterious benefactor's efforts had not been in vain. They had to hope that Malcolm would recover, for hope was all that they could do.

Trip squeezed Malcolm's shoulder and was about to turn away when his friend turned his blue-grey eyes up to him. Recognition burned in them.

"Trip?"

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A/N: Well, the usual drill, tell me what you liked / didn't like. Also, what do you think of An'Din in particular, and Firkal? I'm toying with the idea of continuing to run with those two, despite the fact that Malcolm has now left the asteroid station. I have a wonderful idea about Firkal… but I'll only use it if you want to read it!