A/N: As you've probably figured out by now, I'm trying to post one chapter a day until this is finished. And again, thank you for all the lovely reviews!

CHAPTER 5

"I don't want to do this," Malcolm protested.

Neither Hoshi nor Trip said anything. Hoshi was beside him, keeping a light grip on his elbow, and Trip was walking behind them. His companions may have reached the limit of their patience with his protests, but they weren't giving in. In fact, whenever he slowed his pace, he'd feel a hand on his back, encouraging him to keep going. He knew Trip, at least, was annoyed with him because the last push had been more of a shove.

They were walking down the corridor outside sickbay on their way to the mess hall. Phlox had told him that his stay in sickbay was coming to an end. As much as Malcolm would have liked to remain in a place where he felt reasonably secure, at least until he was returned to Earth, the doctor had insisted he begin "getting out and about."

The captain had been more blunt. They weren't returning to Earth right away. A single crewman with a non-life-threatening condition was no reason to divert a starship that had more important things to do. Malcolm would be on board until Enterprise was called back to Earth, or until they met up with a ship bound for there. The captain had been unable to tell him when that would be. In the meantime, the captain had said, he was to cope as best he could with his circumstances.

He'd been in sickbay several weeks. His physical injuries had healed. Blindness wasn't a good enough excuse to remain as a patient in sickbay when there was nothing else wrong with him. Tomorrow he was to return to his own quarters.

So it was that Malcolm was in an irritable mood when he'd changed from sickbay pajamas into civilian clothing for this sojourn to the mess hall. At least the clothing that Trip had stopped by his cabin to get was fairly easy for him to put on. He was able to don the T-shirt after Trip put it in his hands. The trousers didn't prove difficult, either, although he had to sit to get them on his legs before he could stand to pull them up to his waist. Completing the outfit were socks, which he was able to adjust on his feet by lining up by the seams at the toes, and a pair of slip-on loafers.

The only qualm he had was that Trip had selected his clothing. He was almost glad he couldn't see what glaring colors Trip might have combined. A quick question to Hoshi before they left sickbay got him an answer -- dark brown pants, olive green shirt -- and Malcolm realized his clothing wouldn't be a spectacle that would attract the attention of everyone in the mess hall.

No, it would be himself struggling to act normally that would be the focus of the pitying looks that he couldn't see.

Once again his steps slowed, and once again he was given a firm reminder in the middle of his back to keep going.

A few steps more and Hoshi, in a cheerful tone, said, "Here we are. We're right outside the mess hall. Trip, can you get the door?"

"Sure," came the engineer's voice, and Malcolm felt Trip's hand on his upper arm, moving him to the side.

Given the volume of the conversations drifting out when the door opened, the mess hall must be at least half full, Malcolm estimated. Hoshi, keeping her hand on his elbow, moved him back over to the doorway.

"Lift your foot over the threshold," she told him.

He took a deep breath and stepped forward, but the bottom of his shoe grazed the lip of the threshold. Momentarily thrown off balance, only Hoshi's grip on his elbow kept him from stumbling.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, aware of a drop in the noise level around him. So much for an inconspicuous entrance.

"Come on," Hoshi said quietly. "I'll tell you what's on the menu."

He allowed her to lead him over to the food cabinets where the aroma of various dishes assailed his nostrils. He tried to sort them out, but they were overriden by one particularly nauseating odor.

"Chef made liver and onions tonight, didn't he?" he said, his stomach going slightly queasy.

"Yes, he did," Hoshi said. "Do you want that?"

"No! That's the last thing I want." He paused, careful not to inhale too deeply. "For some reason, it smells stronger than usual."

Sniffing noises came from behind him. "Smells the same as usual to me," Trip said. "I think I'll have that."

"You do and you're not sitting with us," Malcolm said. Turning his head toward Hoshi, he asked, "What else is there?"

"Hmmm." There was a pause during which Malcolm imagined she was surveying the selections. "Chicken and rice. Pork chops. The usual vegetables and salads."

Although he would have preferred the pork chops, Malcolm told Hoshi he'd have the chicken and rice. There would be no cutting involved since Chef's version of the dish had chunks of chicken mixed in with the rice, and it would be easier for him to eat. He didn't want anything that would cause problems on his first outing from sickbay since the accident.

"What do ya want to drink?" asked Trip from behind him. "I'll go get it."

"Just water, thanks."

Hoshi put a plate in his hands as Trip moved off. He could tell by the smell as well as its weight that the plate had food on it. He waited as Hoshi made her selection, snippets of conversation coming to him from the other diners.

"...never know to look at him..."

"...would have been embarrassing if he fell..."

"...can't believe..."

"Malcolm?" Hoshi's voice broke his concentration on the voices around him. "I'm going to guide you over to a table."

"Fine," he said tensely, taking care to keep his plate level as Hoshi took his elbow again and they began walking. It was only a few steps before she halted, took the plate from him, and put his hand on the back of a chair. He eased himself into it.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"You're more than welcome," she replied. "Your plate is in front of you on the table. The cutlery is to the right side of your plate."

"Oh. Thanks again. I forgot about getting that."

Trip's arrival at the table was announced by a scraping noise as he pulled out a seat.

"There ya go, Malcolm," he said, and Malcolm heard a dull thunk on the table. "Your water."

Malcolm nodded, reminding himself how he had learned to eat in sickbay. Starting at the edge of the table, he moved his fingertips carefully along the surface until he encountered his plate. Then he slid his hand to the side and found a fork and knife on top of a napkin, right where Hoshi said they would be. He pulled the napkin out from under the utensils and put it on his lap. Then he found the fork again and moved it toward the plate, letting one finger trail along the tabletop until he encountered the plate again.

The most difficult part was getting something onto the fork. He used the fork tines to probe what was on the plate, able to tell by the slight resistance when he found his food. Then it was simply a matter of sliding the fork under some of it, lifting it with a slight shake to make anything in danger of falling off do so on to the plate instead of his lap while it was on the way to his mouth.

He could hear the clinking sounds of utensils as Trip and Hoshi began eating. At least they weren't watching him eat. At least he didn't think they were. That was one of the most uncomfortable aspects of being blind -- wondering if people were watching you but not being able to see if they actually were.

He chewed and swallowed the first bite of his food, then took a deep breath. "I appreciate you not getting the liver and onions, Trip," he said.

"No problem," replied the engineer. "But how'd you know? I mean, I coulda gotten that and not told you."

"I don't smell it," Malcolm said with a lift of his eyebrows.

Hoshi delicately cleared her throat. "You know, Malcolm, people who lose their sight often find that their other senses become more acute."

"Yeah, I've heard that, too," Trip chimed in. "No wonder you could tell I didn't have the liver."

Malcolm snorted. "I seriously doubt that I've been blind long enough for my other senses to start improving. But liver has such a...unique...odor that it's easily identifiable. Besides, it's always turned my stomach."

Trip and Hoshi laughed. They ate in silence for a minute or so before Hoshi spoke again.

"I was serious about what I said before, Malcolm," she said. "I think you will notice that your hearing in particular is going to become much better than it was."

"There was nothing wrong with my hearing to begin with," he muttered, stabbing at his food with the fork and not caring if he knocked some off the plate.

"I didn't mean to imply that," Hoshi said softly, hurt clearly evident in her tone.

Malcolm sighed. "I know you didn't, Hoshi. I'm still rather new at this 'blind' stuff. It's going to take some getting used to." He let his hand explore the tabletop past his plate until he touched his glass. Unfortunately, when he picked it up, he didn't lift it high enough, and the bottom of the glass slammed against his plate, sloshing water over his hand and onto the table. "A lot of getting used to," he amended.

"Let me wipe that up," Trip said.

"No," Malcolm said, holding up his other hand. "You or Hoshi, or Travis or Phlox, aren't going to be around every time something like this happens. I need to learn to handle it by myself."

"Surely just this once--"

"I mean it, Trip," Malcolm said testily. After carefully putting down his glass, he took the napkin from his lap and swiped the puddle next to his plate. "I appreciate your offer, but I can do this."

He finished wiping up the mess, leaving the napkin on the table instead of putting it back on his lap. The last thing he wanted was to walk out of the mess hall after dinner with a big damp spot on the crotch of his pants from a wet napkin.

Trip's low-pitched comment carried to his ears. "Missed a spot."

Malcolm grabbed the napkin again. He felt around the area he'd wiped but couldn't find anything. "Where?" he asked.

"Your plate," Trip said.

Sure enough, upon cautious investigation with his fingers, he found his dinner was now floating around in its own little plate-bound sea. "Why didn't you say so before?" he demanded, his earlier irritability returning.

"You said you didn't want any help," Trip said calmly. "Thought I'd wait this time until you asked."

"Would you like me to get you another plate?" Hoshi asked in a neutral tone.

Malcolm smiled ruefully, unaware of Hoshi and Trip's relieved expressions when he said, "Only if you can put up with me possibly doing that again."

"I'll get it," Trip said. His chair scraped the floor as he pushed back from the table, and Malcolm could feel a breeze as Trip passed by on his way to the food cabinets.

"You're doing very well, Malcolm," Hoshi told him softly. "I thought...Well, I didn't know what I thought."

"That I'd be a right arse about not being able to see?" Malcolm asked with a vehemence that surprised himself. Moderating his tone, he continued, "That I'd be sunk into a deep, dark depression? That I'd be feeling sorry for myself, and would want to stay hidden away somewhere?"

The silence from Hoshi was answer enough. He apparently was dead on in his assessment of how others expected him to react to his sudden blindness. One thing about being blind -- it gave him more time for introspection than he was comfortable with.

"You're right if you thought any of those things," he said, "as well as some others that probably haven't occurred to you yet. That's exactly how I feel. But the captain practically ordered me to deal with it. So that's what I'm going to do."