A/N: Firstly, thanks for all your reviews and apologies for how long this chapter has taken!

The Libran Iniquity: Wow, what a long review! Both Ishran and An'Din will feature again, though we won't see Ishranagain just yet.The slimygit is getting what he deserves!

Gabi2305: Danke!

KITT: Yeah, I love Trip as well… but not as much as I love Malcolm! Thanks for your review!

Queen of Fairyland: Wow, I don't think my writing's ever been described as 'wicked' before. I'm flattered!

Exploded Pen: Thanks! And can I make a deal with you? If I update this story quickly, will you write more of 'The Bugger Files'? Please? I need some comic relief with the SAT's coming up!

Tata: Thanks! I know, I'm evil…

Ryder85: Thanks! And to be modest, I'm fourteen in May, so I'm an 'old' thirteen. And I read a lot, which I think is probably helpful!

Tripbea: Yep, Ishran has finally got his comeuppance…

Scifi-Warper: You just gave me a very interesting idea about Ishran…

Anyway, now read on!

Disclaimer: Nope, nothing belongs to me. But I have got a signed poster of Dominic Keating, does that count?

A/N: Sorry if this chapter is a bit rubbishy… sort of a build-up to the next bit in the plot (boy have I got such an idea about the Xindi!)… and I'm trying to 'slow down' Malcolm's recovery a bit, as one of you said I should in your review. Anyway, read on!

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"The times has been, that, when the brains were out, the man would die, and there an end. But now they rise again, with twenty mortal gashes in their crown!" – William Shakespeare 'That Scottish Play'.

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Chapter Five

Trip stared at his friend. Eventually, he managed to splutter out;

"Mal?" But at this, Malcolm shot him a frightened look, and quickly cast his gaze back down to his hands. Trip went to put his hand on Malcolm's shoulder, but he flinched away. Trip exploded in exasperation. "Mal, look at me! For Chrissake – "

"That will do, Commander." Trip whirled around to see Phlox standing behind him, holding his scanner and looking disapproving.

"But he spoke to me!" Trip felt like tearing his hair out. Phlox pursed his lips, and carefully approached his patient. Very slowly, he passed the scanner over Malcolm's body, and when he flinched away, Phlox spoke gently,

"Shh. Just stay still." After a moment, in which silence resided in the Sickbay, he turned back to Trip, and motioned that they should move away. Trip did so reluctantly, and when he joined Phlox on the other side of the partition he exploded once more, albeit quietly so.

"What the hell is goin' on, Doc? He'd spoken to me, why did he withdraw like that?" For a moment, Phlox seemed deep in thought, staring at the readouts on the computer screen next to them, but then he turned back to Trip, his gaze sympathetic.

"I understand how you're feeling, Commander – " Trip seemed about to interrupt, but Phlox held up a hand. "Allow me to finish. This is no ordinary situation. Mr Reed will not recover overnight; nor will his recovery all be uphill." Trip stared at Phlox.

"What – what do you mean?" He asked, ashamed to hear the whine in his voice, but unable to keep it from emerging. Phlox lookedonce againat his computer, before sighing heavily.

"Mr Reed suffered a telepathic attack. Now, the human mind is, in theory, capable of telepathy…" He trailed off.

"But?" Trip interjected, and Phlox nodded before continuing.

"But those empathic and telepathic capabilities are never used, at least not in ordinary circumstances. Which means that – "

"Which means that any attack of such a kind would be traumatic, not only in its force but also in its nature." Trip nodded. He'd heard all this before; he wondered why Phlox was telling him now what he already knew. Phlox, as though sensing his thoughts, spoke up once more.

"The reason I am telling you all this, Commander, is to highlight to you the fact that Mr Reed's condition is no ordinary one, and that his recovery is going to take far more tact and care to heal than any physical injury might." Trip nodded, now ashamed by his earlier outburst.

"It's jus'…" He motioned haplessly with his hands. "I jus' don't like feeling so… helpless, that's all." Phlox nodded, and Trip saw in his eyes that the doctor was in just the same position as he.

"I understand, Commander." Phlox then fell silent, and Trip coughed awkwardly, searching for some way to break the silence.

"Uh, Doc – what did you mean about his 'recovery not all bein' uphill'?" Phlox hesitated slightly before answering.

"I mean that even if he does recover, there will always be the possibility of a… relapse, for lack of a better word." Trip stared at Phlox, not understanding.

"A relapse?" But Phlox simply shook his head.

"You'll understand in time. But for now… be patient." Trip nodded. He'd do whatever was in his power to get Malcolm better again.

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After three days the fuss over the disappearance of the human prisoner had finally died down, and An'Din at last allowed himself to relax. Firkal had kept thankfully silent about it all, and though An'Din was inclined to be suspicious about anything concerning the ambitious young Xindi he decided to 'count his blessings' – a phrase he had learnt from the human in the course of the interrogations…

"Why are you doing this? Why are you being so stubborn? All we want is a little information." An'Din had attempted to reason, even though he knew it was in vain. He knew what the man's answer would be, for it would have been the same as his own had he been in a similar situation.

"Because I don't believe in betraying the people I care about!" An'Din was strongly tempted to announce that he couldn't have put it better himself. Sighing, he decided to try from another angle.

"Do you really think you're going to get out of this? That your 'friends' will be able to rescue you?" The human had laughed, an odd reaction in such circumstances An'Din had thought, but then again the human was a somewhat strange creature. That was why they were called 'aliens', after all.

"If they even attempt to rescue me, get me a comm link to them and I'll tell the fools to bugger off. I wouldn't let them risk that for me." An'Din's face remained impassive, despite the fact that behind his impassive mask he was feeling an even greater growing respect for the man. After a pause, in which the human masqueraded indifference, An'Din spoke again, his voice low and faintly pleading.

"Listen, human, if I don't get anything out of you through this, you'll be handed over to a far more painful form of interrogation." But once again, the human surprised him by laughing.

"Well, I'll count my blessings while I can, then." An'Din had not replied to this; he merely shrugged and thought once again what a strange creature this human was.

An'Din shook himself from his reverie and glanced up at the chronometer. He sighed, realising it was time for the meeting of the Xindi Council. It would take all his patience and agility of mind to dodge the snipings and inquiries of his rival members.

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"You must be quite disappointed, General An'Din. This was, after all, your project." Even through his thick matte of fur, N'Kaw seemed to be smirking. An'Din took a moment to quelch the desire to put his hands round the general's furry neck and squeeze, before responding calmly;

"There will be other ways of finding out information about these humans. And once the Betazoid recovers he may be able to shed a little light on the situation." N'Kaw, however, was not quite satisfied.

"It's a little odd, though, don't you think?" He addressed the Council, and there came a low, chiding whine from Ee'Sihr's tank. An'Din looked up in surprise; why was the creature defending him?

"Yes, but – " N'Kaw started, before being cut off once again by Ee'Sihr. An'Din nodded, grateful.

"Ee'Sihr's right. We do not know very much about these humans, or their capabilities." N'Kaw shot him a venomous look.

"But the Betazoid has never been overpowered before, and nor have we ever had a prisoner escape from this station! Which is why I believe the human was… assisted." An'Din did his best not to react to this. He had been wrong to relax… Firkal had said something…

"Assisted by whom?" An'Din asked steadily, fixing N'Kaw with a challenging look. He knew that the general would never state his belief – that An'Din was the traitor who had helped the human escape – before the rest of the Council.

Especially not, An'Din thought with a private smirk, as the guards at the door are my men.

So N'Kaw simply looked away, before gruffly announcing that he felt the meeting was over. Murmurs of assent rippled round the table, and slowly the group began to disperse. As he left, An'Din glanced back at Ee'Sihr, and was unsuprised the see the creature's gaze was fixed on him. An'Din nodded almost imperceptibly in thanks, and then turned and left the room.

Both N'Kaw and Ee'Sihr knew his secret, and N'Kaw wished to destroy him with it. But Ee'Sihr… Ee'Sihr wished to protect him from the consequences of it. But why, An'Din did not know.

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Trip was confused, tired and confused. He was in Sickbay once more, hoping, despite Phlox's efforts to persuade him otherwise, for a reaction from his friend.

Sickbay was empty; Phlox was in the small room that counted for an 'office' just off the main body of the med bay. Malcolm was still sitting where he had been hours before, and every now and then he rubbed his hands together feverishly, as though trying to wash something from his hands. The image struck a memory somewhere deep within Trip, but he couldn't for the life him say what it was. He didn't care, either. He just wanted Malcolm to recover.

But Trip knew, in his heart of hearts, that it was hopeless. He was losing hope of ever really seeing his friend, Malcolm, again. The facet of Trip that is in every human, the silent, instinctive sense, knew that a part of Malcolm Reed had died at the hands of the Xindi… but just how large a part remained to be seen.

But for the sake of whatever was left of his friend, he couldn't let these fears show on his face.

"Hey, Mal," he forced himself to smile, "all your guys in the armoury send their regards." No reaction. With an effort, Trip tried again, leaning forward conspiratorially, "Y'know, with you out of it, Major Hayes tried to take charge of the armoury the other day, but your boys didn't even let him get a foothold. How about that, hey?" Nothing. Trip sighed, and turned away, but then Malcolm grabbed his wrist and he turned back to see Malcolm's azure eyes gazing up at him, terrified.

"Don't go." Malcolm whispered, squeezing Trip's wrist harder, and Trip felt his heart skip a beat at the look in his friend's eyes. The look was one of fear; almost animal fear, as though the cloak of humanity that we humans only wear through effort had been torn away. Trip gently put his free hand over Malcolm's, and spoke slowly.

"I'm not goin' anywhere, Mal." Malcolm's gaze wavered slightly, and he spoke urgently,

"You won't let them come back?" Trip swallowed, hatred burning in him at the people who had done this to his friend, who had destroyed his pride, his dignity and his self-respect.

"I'm not goin' anywhere." He repeated once more, his voice quietly forceful, and Malcolm nodded almost imperceptibly, seemingly satisfied. Trip slowly pulled his wrist from Malcolm's clammy grip – when had Malcolm's strength become so frail? – and sat down on the biobed opposite him.

"Look, Mal…" Trip started, before shaking his head, and trying again. "Look, if you want to talk about it…" He shook his head again. It was pointless; Malcolm's gaze was once more staring into murky depths Trip knew he would never see, and he knew Malcolm did not hear his words.

"I'm goin' to get Doctor Phlox." Trip said quietly, but as he turned away Malcolm spoke up once more, and his voice was quiet and trembling.

"It was like being raped." Trip turned back, to see a tear trickling down Malcolm's face, pale and thin from weeks of mistreatment and malnutrition. Malcolm looked up, and for the first time since his return Trip saw something of the man he knew. Anger and pain shone through those eyes, and he half-shouted, half-sobbed, "They took that which was not theirs to take!"

In a single moment, Trip was by his friend's side once more, and in another second he had him in his arms. Trip held him tight, praying – though he was not a religious man – to any god who would listen to give him the strength he needed to help Malcolm.

"Shh," Trip whispered, realising that the wetness on his face were of his own tears as well as Malcolm's, "shh, it's alright. It's gonna be alright." Then, as he felt Malcolm's body go limp in his arms, he murmured; "I'll be here."

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Trip gently lowered Malcolm's body onto the biobed. He glanced up at Phlox, who was standing over him, holding a hypospray.

"What did you do that for?" He asked angrily. Phlox pursed his lips, slightly in annoyance, but also in sympathy.

"Look at this readout." He stated simply, tapping the controls on the screen above the biobed. Trip frowned up at the screen, which showed two images of a human brain – presumably Malcolm's. He decided to humour Phlox.

"What am I meant to be seeing here, Doc?" Phlox indicated the first image.

"This is a scan of Mr Reed's brain before the… incident. Nothing out of the ordinary. But in this one," and here he indicated the second image, "the cerebral cortex, the part of the brain that contains long-term memories has been disturbed; disordered."

Trip nodded, somewhat confused.

"So…?" Phlox tapped the screen once more, and parts of the second image showed up red.

"That is a scan taken just before Lieutenant Reed lost consciousness."

"Before you made him lose consciousness, you mean." Trip interjected, and Phlox nodded impatiently.

"Yes, yes. But at that point his neural nerves were almost overloading; he might have lost consciousness on his own, or worse, had I not intervened." Trip nodded once more, but this time with understanding.

"You mean his memories of what happened are so… so…. painful, that to even think about them causes him to lose consciousness?" Tripasked incredulously. Phlox nodded.

"Strange as it seems. Of course; as time goes on it will get better. But only very gradually."

Trip fought to comprehend this for a moment, before asking;

"I thought… I thought the brain was meant to be able to… blank out traumatic memories?"

"Only in certain cases."

"Oh." Trip glanced down once more at his friend before turning to leave, and murmured;

"Let's hope his dreams are pleasant ones."

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Sadly, Charles Tucker's wish was not to be granted, as the man on the biobed slowly slipped back into the mire of his long-forgotten memories once more.

The images slipped by, like sand through a person's fingers, offloading as they did so all the pain and emotion attached to them. He brushed past a beautiful young woman with long black hair, a woman who had now faded into the autumn of her life because he existed, his beautiful, wonderful mother who loved him, who he loved too, but who he knew sometimes wondered what life might have been like had her son not been a part of hers…

He glimpsed an image of summers long gone, after his sister, his precious sister had been born, when they played in the fields, laughing, delighting in life and in childhood.

He experienced once again the triumph of graduation, of being a young man standing on top of the world, ready for anything, with nothing but clear horizons ahead. He felt once more the power of youth, of how strong and indestructible he believed himself to be.

He tasted the sweetness of young love's first kiss, all over again. But then the images darkened, and that young love was torn away, shattered shards lost forever on the winds of Time.

He felt once again the cold wind on his cheek, relived the strange monotone images of a funeral he only half remembered through the tears.

He felt the anger, the frustration at his own weaknesses, the hideous irony that of all the vices Mother Nature could have handed him it had to that one, the one that caused, in his eyes and he was sure his father's eyes for him to be a complete failure.

Then the images moved on once more, his dreaming thoughts turned to the stars, the one place where he could forget his past, the one place where a new start could perhaps be promised.

He remembered the freezing days spent in the shuttlepod, the quiet friendship that was born there, a friendship he treasured and was grateful for above all else.

He remembered the minefield, how his respect for Archer had grown almost instantaneously… how the stubborn fool had refused to let him go. But he'd failed once again, and he would almost have preferred death to that knowledge.

Then the Xindi attack… the horror of it, the utter pointlessness of it all, Trip's sister, dead, and all he could do to help his friend was to stand by him, his words could do nothing to heal the scar on his friend's heart.

Then the images turned one last time, to theXindistation,and Malcolm struggled against them, but as hard as he tried the images kept coming, the pain, kept coming…

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Phlox stood over his patient's bed, helpless to do anything as Malcolm Reed tossed and turned in his sleep. Eventually, though he knew it would do nothing to help in the long run, he pressed another hypospray against the man's neck. With a sigh, almost of relief, the man rolled over into a quieter night.

Phlox looked around the Sickbay, and after checking once more on his patient, and then moved over to his pets, smiling slightly as they chirruped up at him. At times like these their uncomplicated company was a balm to his worried nerves.

"Well, my friends, it seems Mr Reed is onto the road to recovery." He spoke quietly as he fed his assortment of bats, quadrupeds and miniature mammals, before sighing slightly, and adding; "The long road to recovery."

It was not in Phlox's nature to be down in spirit or pessimistic, but at times like these he wondered if anything he could do would ever be enough.

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A/N: Please review! Also, anyone who can pick up on the not-so-subtle nod to Shakespeare's Macbeth about halfway through can have a cookie! And the thing about the memories being stored in the cerebral cortex I made up; I don't really know anything about the workings of the brain!