A/N: I am so, so sorry this has taken so long! I have no excuse. I offer this chapter as penance for my sins!

To my long-suffering readers (from whom I have received 48 reviews, thankyou so much!):

Scifi-warper: He will be okay. Eventually, anyway… Oh, and as for that idea: you should be worried. Very worried. (evil, maniacal laugh)

Queen of Fairyland: Thankyou kindly. I'm sorry you had to wait so long!

The Flaming Dragonfly: You're making me blush! I have a somewhat worrying obsession with Shakespeare. I have to borrow Romeo and Juliet from school on the hush in case my friends find out! We were doing a production of Macbeth when I started writing this, and I thought it sort of fitted! Thanks for your review, I hope you keep reading! I like English a lot, apart from when the teacher is mad and Welsh.

KITT: Thanks. And my generation isn't as black as they paint it, really. Well… on the whole, that is!

The Libran Iniquity: Thanks! Not too much Xindi politics this chapter, but they'll feature later on, mostly in the epilogue.

Gabi2305: Thanks. And as I'm feeling nice, you can have a cookie anyway. 

Exploded Pen: Thankyou for updating TBF! I'd love to see that calendar! And you're right, SAT's were easy, though I was tempted to scream when I read the writing tasks. Could they make them any more boring?

Tata: Thanks for your review. But I'm sorry… I made you wait again! I'm afraid I'm just not that organised a person.

General Kunama: Malcolm, every time. From a writer's point of view, what we know about his past is much more intriguing than Trip's backstory is. Thanks for your review, I hope you keep reading!

JacobedRose: As I said earlier, he will be alright… in the end. (evil smile)

Antares Star: Have a gold star for your knowledge of the wonderful 'Scottish Play'!

Navigatio: I'm sorry, I was desperate! Thanks for your advice, I always get a bit confused with 'it's' and 'its' the rule for possession is slightly different than with names, isn't it?

Special thanks to Daniela Mosetti Casaretto for her continued support of this story – all the way from Italy!

Now, just get on with the chapter!

Disclaimer: Nope, me no own.

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"Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased?" – William Shakespeare 'That Scottish Play'.

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Chapter Six

Malcolm Reed stood in front of the mirror in his quarters and inspected himself critically. He had finally been released from sickbay after almost two weeks of Phlox and Trip flapping about him and he was, quite frankly, relieved. He preferred to be on his own.

But when he'd looked at himself in the mirror for the first time in three weeks, he'd got quite a shock. He was, to put it kindly, not a pretty sight. In fact, he hardly recognised the man staring back at him. It wasn't the physical damage that had changed him; the bruises would fade and the nose would straighten out, eventually, but the look in the eyes…

When did my eyes get so cold? Malcolm asked himself. He saw in his own gaze the harsh, guarded look he had often associated with his own father's eyes, and he briefly wondered what had happened to Stuart Reed to make him like that. Surely it couldn't have been as bad as what had happened to him.

But he saw something else in his eyes as well; something he would never have seen in his father's eyes. It was weakness.

And he despised himself for it.

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An'Din knew that his time was running out. He had hoped that he would be able to simply go on as he always had done, but now he realised that it was impossible. Even if he hadn't been 'under suspicion', as it were, from Firkal and N'Kaw he knew he could no longer be a part of the plan to attack Earth. He could not destroy the species of a man he had come to respect.

He knew of only one place to escape to; to the human ship, Enterprise. But he did not know where the accursed ship was; only one man onboard the asteroid station knew, and he was a man An'Din was loathe to rely on.

He would have to take Ishran with him, which was why he was now standing before the cell once again, but this time he had no guards with him, and he was alert to every sound.

For this time he would be escaping from his own people.

"General An'Din." Ishran spoke as the doors opened and the Xindi stepped in. It was dark, and An'Din was wary as to how the Betazoid had known it was him… he did not want his thoughts to be known, yet.

But he did not have much choice.

"Ishran." An'Din had no trouble seeing in the dark, and he saw that the slimy traitor was by no means the mess he had expected. His arrogance had clearly been bruised by the encounter with the human, but it had not been destroyed. Anger surged through An'Din as he compared this image to that of human directly after Ishran's violation.

"You need my help." Ishran stated, a hint of smugness in his voice. An'Din stepped closer, his tall frame towering over that of the alien crouched on the floor. Ishran cocked his head to one side. "What will you do if I refuse to give it?"

An'Din sneered at him.

"I know you will not refuse, because you are a selfish creature; when it is a choice between your survival or the breaching of whatever morals you may have you will choose the first every time." Ishran shot him a curious look.

"You know me too well." He murmured, before standing up. Then, almost ironically, he said; "Very well then. Do with me what you will."

And without another word he held out his hands to be bound.

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"It will never work." Malcolm stated simply, handing the PADD back to Trip, who sighed with impatience.

"Ah, come on, Mal, people used to say that abou' space travel, didn't they? But now look at where we are - "

"Listen, Commander, I'm not going to endorse another of your harebrained schemes, particularly not when it involves my armoury!"

Trip glared at his friend. Perhaps he was being too impatient, perhaps he was expecting too much too soon, but he hated the fact that Malcolm seemed to have retreated ever farther into himself. Ever since his breakdown in Trip's arms he had drawn away from the engineer's company – hell, he'd drawn away from the company of everyone who cared about him. And Trip knew he should give Malcolm time, but frankly, time was one thing he didn't have.

"For Chrissake, Mal! My name is Trip, remember?" Malcolm looked away, his eyes blazing. When he next spoke his voice was quiet and the coldness of it shook Trip to the core.

"Please leave, Commander. I have work to do." And with that he turned away without another word.

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It was true that Malcolm Reed had, in an expression of his own self-disgust, drawn away from everyone near to him, but what he didn't realise was that there were some members of the crew who were slightly less easy to shirk than Tucker seemed to be at that moment. And surprisingly, it was those who knew him least who were prepared to rally round.

It was almost like an underground conspiracy among the crewmen below decks; quiet, barely noticeable individually but when everyone's efforts came together it was something much larger. It was made up of simple things, really; a smile in passing, a friendly word in the corridors, a nod of respect. All were tiny things; all were designed to slowly but surely increase the man's faltering self-confidence.

And under ordinary circumstances, such efforts might have worked. But these were no ordinary circumstances, and it would take more than gentle coaxing from a few people to pull him from his deep depression. As it would also take more than a hypo from Phlox to quiet his troubled mind…

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Where was he? This wasn't where he was meant to be… why wasn't he on Enterprise any more?

Wait. There was someone with him, in the pitch dark room. He froze, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Who's there?" He asked, ashamed by the tremble in his own voice. "Who is that?"

Then, slowly, two figures came into sight through the gloom; one the tall, imposing figure of a reptilian Xindi, and the other, the other…

"Get away!" He screamed, cowering at the sight of one small, insignificant individual. But the individual reached out and grabbed his arm, and he couldn't shake him off… it was going to happen, all over again…

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Malcolm Reed awoke, trembling. His body was drenched in cold sweat, and his mouth was dry. He stumbled out of bed and blindly reached for the lights. As the lights came on in his quarters he leaned forward, his body wracked with sobs.

The nightmare came every night, and every night he awoke in a state of sheer terror. But this time it had been different… this time Ishran had reached for him…

He made his way for the sink, and glared in pure hatred at his reflection.

"Pull yourself together, Reed." He spat at his reflection. "Stop being such a bloody coward."

The others thought he was alright, thought that he'd all but forgotten what had happened to him, and so he prayed and hoped it would remain. It was bad enough for him himself to see his weaknesses, but for the crew to see him so cowardly, for the Captain to, for Trip to…

His reflection did not reply to his angry words, but drew back, hurt and ashamed. What remained of his pride recoiled in disgust. He glanced down at his chronometer. Oh-four-hundred hours. Too early for breakfast; too late for going back to sleep again. Perhaps a workout would clear his mind.

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"You're up late, Lieutenant." Malcolm turned to see Major Hayes standing on the threshold of the training bay, a peculiar expression on his face. It was not his usual self-satisfied smirk: it was almost concerned.

"Up early, actually." Malcolm corrected him shortly, stepping away from the punch-bag he had been using to train. Hayes nodded silently, still wearing that odd expression. He hesitated, then threw down his towel at the side of the training bay. He held up his gloves.

"Fancy a workout?" Reed couldn't help but smile slightly; since tensions between him and Major Hayes had reached their climax a few months ago he was beginning to appreciate the Major's abilities a little more. But that didn't mean the man wasn't still a complete stubborn mule when he wanted to be, but in a way Malcolm knew he was no better.

"Of course." Reed replied, tightening his own gloves, and adopting a defensive stance. Hayes balled his fists, and came forward, snapping out a combination that Reed easily blocked and countered. He did it again, and once more Malcolm blocked it with surprising ease. After it happened a third time, Malcolm paused, and folded his arms accusingly.

"Why do I get the sense that you're going easy on me?" Hayes looked away, an uncomfortable expression on his face. Malcolm felt anger burn deep inside him. He pulled off his gloves and made for the exit. As he reached the door he turned back and spat:

"I do not need pity, Major. Especially not yours."

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Major Hayes was still standing there, lost in thought, ten minutes later. Eventually, he pulled himself from his reverie and moved towards the punch bag, his expression sour. He tightened his gloves and, his expression still ugly, threw a hard right hook at the bag.

Hayes was not a man who gave his respect easily to another person, but when he did so, he did so for life. And Malcolm Reed, despite his paranoia and possessiveness of the onboard security, was one such man who had earned the Major's rare admiration.

Hayes would not lie; he knew that the man who was the driving force in the Enterprise security was Reed, not him. Even the MACO's now looked to Reed for orders where they would once have looked to the Major. Hayes accepted this; Reed was the natural leader of the group, and he would not fight against it. Reed had never had any cause to be wary of the Major.

In a way, Reed was one of the few men Hayes really looked up to. Hayes had only had one hero, and that was his father, but that hero had long been a fallen one. This had led to the young Hayes developing a cruel cynicism to the world; he saw the world's flaws, stark against all its beauty, and hated the world for it. And so he had decided to join the military; so he could defend what good was left in his world.

And Hayes recognised that Malcolm Reed was possessed of a similar drive, and yet he also saw that Reed still appreciated the wonders of the world; he was an explorer more than a soldier. Hayes wished he could be like that: he wished that he himself could appreciate all the good in the world, rather than despising it for its failings.

And yet now Hayes feared that Reed was losing the one thing that made him different from the MACO's and their commander. He feared the man was losing his humanity.

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There was someone else who was concerned for Malcolm Reed, but her concern was based less on what she knew and saw and more on what her instincts told her.

Mary Reed sat by her window and gazed out at the moon shining upon the floods of the monsoon, fingering a silver necklace in her hands. It had been a gift from her son on her fiftieth birthday. She had smiled at the time, knowing full well that Malcolm had originally bought it for a girlfriend with whom he had had a brief dalliance. The boy took after his father in his tact and diplomacy. Speaking of her husband…

Stuart Reed was still fast asleep, his eyelids flickering gently. Mary liked watching her husband sleep; it made the lines of his face seem less harsh, somehow. The deep lines smoothed out, and she could pretend that he was still the young man she had married so many years ago.

She knew that neither of them would ever admit it, but the two of them, Malcolm and Stuart, were so alike; they went together.

It was just a pity neither of them could see that. Malcolm was his father's image, but he was something different too. He had a fire in him that had never been ignited in the elder Reed's soul. Malcolm was an explorer, always fighting for something more, whereas Stuart was satisfied with simply following the route set out by his father, and his grandfather before him. And he couldn't understand why his son didn't want to do the same.

But where had Malcolm's 'sense of adventure' led him? Into the cold darkness of space, miles from home… fighting a war.

The military. What was it about a life in uniform that attracted the men of the Reed family so?

"Mary." Mary turned suddenly to see Stuart standing beside her. She forced a smile.

"I didn't mean to wake you." She said softly, glancing back out of the window so she wouldn't have to meet her husband's eyes.

"You're worried about him." It was a statement, not a question. Mary frowned, and looked back round at him.

"Aren't you?" She asked harshly, and instantly regretted it as a flash of hurt crossed her husband's face. It was a tightening of a muscle in his jaw, nothing more, but she could read his every expression. "I'm sorry." She murmured. Stuart shook his head.

"Just because I don't talk about it doesn't mean that…" He trailed off, seeing the look on his wife's face. She snorted bitterly.

""Not talking about it" is the reason for us not having heard from our son once in the past three years, Stuart." Her voice softened. "It's the reason he's out there."

Stuart gently laid his hands on her shoulders.

"Come back to bed, dear," Mary shook her head, silently, but he pressed, "worrying about it won't do anything." She shook her head again, and he sighed, and turned away. But then she spoke, so softly he scarcely heard her words.

"I'm terrified something's happened to him, Stuart." He smiled slightly.

"You worry too much. Malcolm can look after himself."

"I know that. But… something doesn't feel right."

Stuart Reed didn't reply; just looked away, trying but failing to quell the voice within that said I feel it too.

His son would return. He had to. There were too many things left unsaid between them for him not to.

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A/N: Please review, I will try and get the next chapter out a bit quicker, but no promises, I'm afraid! I hope you liked the last scene, it's one of my favourites for this chapter, I think.