A/N: Okay, my dearies, here it is! The final chapter! Yay! Perhaps a bit of an anti-climax after all the angst, but I think it ties up all the threads nicely. By the way, I would just like to mention that this story has eighty hits and eighty reviews, which makes a review for every hit, which makes my readers complete superstars! Thankyou! And now, for my last set of little notes:

Scifi-warper: Now I, liking to think of myself as a relatively nice person, hesitated to give Ishran his comeuppance, but... well, you'll see.

spootycup: Wow! Thankyou!

Tata: I'm afraid I've left Catherine as one of the few 'mysteries' in this story. However my other story 'Guardian Angel' may clear up a few things about the character. I wrote it a while ago, though, and I think that my writing has improved at least a little bit since then.

Exploded Pen: I am so sorry I took so long to update! Please forgive me for dallying with Sherlock Holmes fanfiction rather than Enterprise; I am a bad, bad girl!

The Libran Iniquity: No pitchforks for Ishran, I'm afraid. But don't worry – he isn't getting away scot-free, far from it!

West Dean: Thanks!

jazzy: Many thanks!

tripbea: Ah, you'll find out what happened to An'Din though it may not, I am afraid, be very satisfying.

samus18: As above – and hmm, everyone seems to like An'Din or, at least, worry about him. He's great.

And special thanks to Daniela Mosetti Casaretto for once more reminding me to update. I doubt this story would have got finished without you!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. As always...

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"Give me your hand, if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends." – William Shakespeare, that not-so Scottish Play "A Midsummer Night's Dream".

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Chapter Ten

It was a bitter cold night, and Stuart Reed had yet to sleep a wink. And so – as always when he couldn't sleep – he sat at the window, and stared out at the sea. He had, of course, been adamant that when he retired it would be to somewhere with a sea view. And – as always when he watched the sea toss and turn – his thoughts turned to Malcolm, his son.

It had been the sea which had driven the wedge between them. The sea – the sea and Stuart's 'damn sense of tradition', as the boy had once put it during a particularly heated argument. But that had only been five years ago, and the boy had no longer been a boy then. He certainly wasn't now. An officer – lieutenant and armoury officer on the ship that would save humanity! After all of Stuart Reed's masquerading at playing a naval soldier, it was his son who was to now taste the true bitterness of war.

But no, Stuart could not blame the sea – a soulless, if animated, object. No, it was he, Stuart Reed, who had failed to write to his son, to speak to him –

He remembered briefly the incident which had frozen the first layer of ice between the two of them. Malcolm had been but five years old, and his grandfather – Stuart's grandfather – had taken the boy out on the sea in his boat – a storm had blown over, such a storm as Stuart had never seen, and Stuart never saw his father again, and he had never been able to take his son out on the sea again without the boy going pale and sickly...

A sharp bleep from below interrupted his wandering musings. It sounded like the comm panel, but no-one he or Mary would be ringing at such a time... except for one person who was somewhat out of touch with Earth time...

A few moments later, and Stuart Reed was sitting before the comm panel, staring at the face of a person he had scarcely hoped to see again.

"I hope I didn't wake you." His son said, his voice sounding far-off and tinny. "I forget about Greenwich meantime on a starship..." he trailed away, and for a moment Stuart had a chance to study his son's face. There was a quality there that he hadn't seen before – a tiredness, a pain which spoke of wounds which had yet to heal – but also a new hardiness. And Stuart realised that his wife had been wrong to fear that Malcolm would never return – the boy was a Reed, wasn't he? His pig-headed stubbornness would keep him alive until such time as he chose to return at last to the family fold.

"Is there something wrong?" Stuart asked, but for the first time there was no suspicion in his voice – only concern. Malcolm smiled slightly, ever so slightly.

"Not exactly." He said. Yes, Stuart thought, that's our Malcolm – ever the conversationalist. Wherever did he get that tendency from? Eventually, he stated; "A lot's happened recently. It made me think... that perhaps it's foolish to hold old grudges, especially between family."

Well. Stuart could hardly have put it more eloquently himself. He smiled at the man on the screen – the man who, after all, he could perhaps claim a little responsibility in moulding, and asked;

"So are you alright?" Malcolm smiled, and nodded thoughtfully.

"All things considered, Dad," he said, "all things considered."

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"So you're alright?" Trip Tucker asked, gazing at his friend in concern. Malcolm had entered the mess hall frowning in preoccupation – not usually a thing for concern, but recently...

"I'm fine, Trip." A slight smile accompanied the well-worn answer.

"Yeah?" Trip was sceptical. It had been but a week, a single week, since the Betazoid had come and taken Ishran away for sentencing on his homeworld, and Trip had hoped that Malcolm would slowly but surely recover whatever it was that the Betazed had taken from him. The slimy Betazoid was not to be put on trial, since his fellow-telepaths already knew him to be guilty beyond a shadow of a doubt. Trip wondered briefly how the judicial system would work in a court-room full of telepaths... everyone being able to hear one another's thoughts...

Anyway, the long and short of it was this: that Ishran of Betazed was to receive the highest possible punishment by his government's laws: death by hanging. Such a thing apparently went against the grain of the Betazed mind-set, for they abhorred violence of any sort, but a man who had committed such heinous adulterations with his telepathic powers could receive no less. It would not do to have such a man free to spread his ideas on the home-planet; for even when in a prison cell a Betazoid's thoughts cannot be inhibited.

Trip was glad that Ishran was to die.

"I spoke to my father this afternoon." Malcolm said suddenly, fiddling with his food non-commitantly. Trip looked up from his own meal in surprise and tried to sound as disinterested as possible.

"Really? How'd it go?" His friend raised an amused eyebrow.

"You're just dying to know. I can tell." Trip grinned.

"Mind-reader now, are you?" He teased, then instantly regretted it as Malcolm's eyes clouded over and he once more gained that deer-caught-in-headlights look that Trip had hoped he would never have to see again. "I'm sorry – that was stupid..."

"Don't worry." Malcolm responded quietly, still toying with his food. "And since you asked, it went well. Surprisingly so, in fact."

Trip didn't quite know how to respond. He had learned, long ago, not to press Malcolm Reed for information.

The two friends sat in silence for a while, but it was not an uncomfortable silence. Between good friends no words are needed.

Trip glanced at his friend, musing silently on all that had occurred over the past few months. There had been a time when he had been close to losing hope on any chance of Malcolm's recovery, but he had been wrong to doubt the man. Malcolm always pulled through – and he always would.

And Trip knew that, whilst by joining Starfleet he may have given up anything resembling a normal life, he had also gained something far more precious – friendship.

Malcolm caught his eye and grinned.

"Come now, Commander," he said, his eyes teasing, "let's not be getting too serious..."

The two friends shared a laugh, safe in the knowledge that should anything happen to one of them, the other would always be on hand to help them up.

After all, what are friends for?

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Epilogue

There are but a few more notes to add to this tale. Ishran, as we have already learnt, was sentenced to death by his fellow Betazoids for his terrible crimes against the human Malcolm Reed. One would have thought that it ended there for him, but it is a strange thing to note that it was from his bloodline that Deanna Troi, ship's counsellor onboard the Enterprise built two centuries later, was born. It goes some short way to proving that, after all, what we are born has little to do with what we grow up to be.

The Xindi An'Din, who made such a sacrifice for the human Malcolm Reed, was granted amnesty by Starfleet, and eventually became instrumental in the signing of the treaty between Earth and the Xindi Council. He and Malcolm Reed served together on a number of occasions, and Reed never forgot the debt he owed the rebellious Xindi. And on a long-term note, Firkal, the mutant primate, broke away from his own people at the signing of this treaty and together with fellow 'odd ones' fathered the race which would, eventually, contact the Xindi of the twenty-second century and entice them to attack Earth, killing seven million people. These descendants also sent back in time the disease which would spawn the mutant Firkal, therefore making one complete circle of bitterness and war.

On a happier note the human Malcolm Reed, through the support of his friends and fellow crewmen, eventually recovered from the events reported in this tale, though he bore the scars all his life. The exposure to such extreme telepathy heightened his own personal empathy to emotions and proved to beof great advantage when, later on in his illustrious career, he was handed the dubious honour of inviting the Ferengi to join the Federation. Needless to say, it failed.

Malcolm Reed died in the line of duty on the 5th of May, 2188, leaving behind him the rank of Field Admiral, fifteen successfuly-made treaties, four children and a very much younger wife, the daughter of an ambassador of a very powerful, very rich, and very old-fashioned and misogynistic planet. The two came to be married in a rather informal manner and came to love each other in an even more round-about way.

But that, of course, is another story.

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"If we shadows have offended,

Think but this, and all is mended:

That you have but slumbered here

While these visions did appear."

- William Shakespeare

"A Midsummer Night's Dream".

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A/N: Please tell me one last time what you all thought of this story! I hope the epilogue was alright, despite being slightly different in style from the rest of the story. And finally, I hope I haven't choked you with the fluff; I couldn't help giving Malcolm the happy ending he deserves. And really finally, my thanks to all my wonderful readers and reviewers – I hope you've all enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it!

Finis