A/N: Hello everybody! Ok, just a few responses to my lovely reviewers:

KaliedoscopeCat: Thanks, I get your point about the warning thing, but I'm not quite sure how to introduce it without mentioning the fact that someone dies, and without mentioning dear old Malcolm. Help!

Reedie: Thanks! I promise, it will be a happy ending… but I'll probably still cry writing it. It's more of a not-sad ending than a really happy one. I mean, Malcolm isn't going to come back to life or anything.

soultoast: Intriguing, you say? I like the sound of that…

jani: Sorry, I'm not that good at updating quick, especially as this is an extremely long chapter for me!

Jazzy: Thanks, and I promise, I will finish this. Whether it be before the end of the next century has yet to be seen… lol.

loz_5us: Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou! I will be continuing in the same sort of vein… ya know, peoples thoughts and feelings and all that.

cillian4: Thanks, and yes, there is more. *coughs*. A lot more… lol.

Sorry if I've forgotten anyone!

So… onto chapter two. This is perhaps one of the longest chapters I've ever written on ff.net, but I couldn't seem to be able to stop typing! Like the opposite of writer's block really… too many ideas! LOL. Anyway, this chapter is a bit weird, a bit spooky. A lot of inspiration drawn from Eoin Colfer's The Wish List. Hope I don't confuse ya too much! I have also written in a sort of secondary plot, you know, something else going in which is in the background to the main storyline… yeah, I'm confusing myself too!

So, we left Malcolm in the middle of an asteroid field on the search for an undercover Xindi military operation. What will he find? And how will he – and the people he cares about – be able to cope with the sudden and frightening circumstances which are threatening to engulf them?

Disclaimer: I own nothing whatsoever, so don't sue. I haven't seen any of the episodes after The Expanse, so don't flame for any weird discrepancies. And don't try to help me correct them by telling me what happens! So… on with the fic. I would say "enjoy", but it's not exactly that kinda story…

Chapter Two

Malcolm Reed shivered slightly as he gently manoeuvred the cloaked cell ship through the chaos of the asteroids. He bit his lip to keep himself from crying out in fear as he stared down at the monstrosity before him. An atom bomb. His mind was numb with disbelief. He had heard the stories of Hiroshima, of course, as a child, but the stories could never quite get across the true horror of what it must have been like. It had been distant history for him and his friends, sitting in a brightly-lit classroom. Here, in the dark, un-loving vacuum of space, it was all too close. How? How can someone hate another race so much they want to annihilate them in such a way? Malcolm hadn't understood it as a young boy, and he didn't understand it now. He wouldn't have believed it himself had it not been right in front of him. And even now he was filled with numb disbelief. If they succeed – if they manage to get this weapon undetected into our Solar System - Malcolm shook himself. He couldn't think about that. It was too big for him, too overpowering. He glanced anxiously at the monitor telling him how far he was from Enterprise – still out of communications range. Malcolm swore. His body was on auto-pilot by this time, too full of thoughts of the horror he had just witnessed being prepared to worry about anything else. Dazedly, he turned the cell ship around, and headed back the way he had come, pausing for only a moment to check that all the scans were complete. He took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. Keep your mind on the job now, son. The part of his mind which spoke to him in his father's voice told him sternly, and he clenched his teeth angrily.

"I am keeping my mind on the job!" He said hotly, before catching himself. First sign of madness, that, talking to an empty pod. Malcolm giggled slightly to himself, before grabbing a bottle of water from a shelf beside the controls. He was getting dehydrated. And probably suffering a little from lack of human company. Keep your mind on the job. You want to live, don't you? He told himself again, his sweaty hands slipping slightly on the joystick which Trip had modified for the cell ship. "Easier to do sharp degree turns wi' one o' these, ya know. Jus' another thing to try and keep you alive out there." His friend had told him, his blue eyes filled with concern. Malcolm shook himself again. There you go again, daydreaming! He rebuked himself in annoyance, but it didn't last long. Things like this do tend to be pushed to back of one's mind when two heavily armed warships decloak barely a kilometre off one's port bow.

*

Hoshi jumped in shock as an alarm went off at her panel. She glanced quickly at the readout.

"Oh, no." She murmured. "Sir!" She said, louder this time. Archer was at her side in a flash.

"What is it Hoshi, what's wrong?" He asked quickly, and Hoshi realised by the look in his eyes that she wasn't the only one who was concerned about Malcolm, alone somewhere in the midst of the asteroids.

"Sir, I'm receiving a mayday call… it's the cell ship." Archer stepped back in shock, but quickly regained his composure.

"Can you triangulate its position?" He asked, his voice wavering ever so slightly. Hoshi frowned as her hands flew across the keys. She shook her head.

"Negative Captain, the signal is extremely weak – only just in range, I'd guess." Archer made a split-second decision. The life of his officer, or the success of the mission? There was no competition. Jon would have rather faced a hundred court martials than have a man's life on his conscience. He turned to his science officer.

"T'Pol, I want you to run a level two scan for any sign of weapons fire inside that asteroid belt, and I want it done fast." T'Pol gazed at him coolly, one eyebrow raised.

"Captain, you are making an illogical decision based on your emotions - " Jon glared at her.

"T'Pol, I will not give up on one of my officer's that easily. Understood?" T'Pol nodded slowly, clearly hesitant. Jon turned away. He had no time for T'Pol's "logic" just now.

"Trip." He shot his friend a look. Trip was manning the tactical station. "Charge up weapons. Time to test those new torpedoes." Trip nodded.

"Already online, sir. Malcolm's "tactical alert" took care of that." Archer nodded. Typical Malcolm, leaving nothing to chance. He turned back to the viewscreen, trying not to think about what might be happening inside the asteroid field.

"Set a course, Travis." The helmsman nodded, subdued. The air was thick with tension. Jon took a deep breath. Jonathon Archer was not the type to give up on anything, especially not a member of his crew.

*

Back in the asteroid field, all hell was breaking loose. Malcolm tried to charge weapons, only to find that they had been taken offline to accommodate for the energy-draining cloak. He groaned. He remembered now, Trip telling him that the weapons would draw too much energy away from the cloak. This had meant to be a stealth operation, not a fire fight.

"How the hell did they know I was here?" Malcolm muttered through clenched teeth. And he was sure that they did know he was there – the surest hint was the beam of concentrated energy flashing towards his bow. Malcolm tried to power up the shields, only to find that they had been knocked out over an hour ago when he had accidentally scraped a piece of rock jutting from an extremely nasty asteroid. Malcolm swore. Nothing to do except hold on. Which he promptly did, for all the good it did him. He was thrown around the tiny cockpit like a rowing boat in a stormy ocean. Malcolm groaned as he righted himself, blood streaming from a battered nose. Suddenly the comm crackled to life and a very welcome voice filtered over the speakers.

"Enterprise to pod three, please respond. Malcolm, do you read?" Malcolm could have cried with delight. He must have only just been in range when he'd sent out the "message in a bottle" distress signal. It was a stroke of luck greater than he could have ever hoped for that Enterprise had picked it up.

"I read you Hoshi." He swallowed, glancing nervously at the readout on the monitor before him. He guessed that the pod would only last about three more charges before it gave up and headed, with Malcolm in it, into the oblivion. "I've got two hostiles coming up on my port bow. I have no shields, and no weapons." He heard a sharp intake of breath at the other end and knew it was the captain.

"Hold in there Malcolm. We're coming in to get you." Malcolm swallowed. He'd been expecting this, and knew that he couldn't let it happen.

"No sir. I can't let you do that." He took a deep breath, took another glance at the two warships, which were for the moment blessedly still and silent, and hurriedly continued. "They're building a weapon, sir. An atomic bomb, large enough and powerful enough to wipe out the entire solar system." He paused for a moment, listening to the reactions of his crewmates at the other end of the comm channel. He didn't wait for a response. "If you come in they will be aware that someone from Earth is monitoring them, and may attempt to speed up their operations. At the moment all they know is that one small, unarmed Suliban craft has infiltrated their operations. I'll send you the data, you stay at a safe distance…" He trailed off. He didn't really want to think about it. Then he hit upon an idea.

"Sir. The transporter." He heard a whoop of relief from someone on the other end – probably Trip.

"Of course!" His friend exclaimed. "I'll get straight down there, Malcolm. See ya soon." Malcolm nodded, foolish, really. No one could see him. He was scared, he had to admit it. There was another barrage coming in from one of the warships and he knew that the chances of the transporter succeeding at such a distance were slim, at best. Odds were, he'd be meeting his Maker soon. Either that or an appointment with old Lucifer.

The second barrage hit, and as soon as it did, Malcolm knew he was gone. It was stronger than the first, and the control panel in front of him exploded, flames lashing out at his uniform, just as the dancing sparkles of the transporter began to take hold of his body and pull him away…

*

"Come on, Malcolm." Trip muttered fervently through clenched teeth. He stared, transfixed, at the transporter pad as a figure began to appear on it. In that moment, a thousand fears erupted in Trip's mind. What if the transporter had malfunctioned, and what was coming through now was in fact the twisted, mutilated body of his friend? What if Malcolm was already dead? No. Trip shook himself as the figure began to solidify. Don't think like that. He hurried to the pad, ready and willing to give any help he could to his friend. Then the figure solidified completely, the transport complete. Trip gasped in horror at what appeared before him. It was Malcolm, but he was horribly burnt, fresh blood streaming across his face…

"Oh, Malcolm." Trip breathed, as he hurried to his friend's side, cradling hi limp body in his arms. "Just you hang in there Malcolm." He sobbed, "It's gonna be alright, Phlox will be here in a minute." Malcolm gave a choke which may have been a laugh.

"Trip…" He whispered hoarsely, every word a battle. "Thankyou. For… for everything." Trip shook his head furiously.

"Don't do that Malcolm! Don't you say goodbye!" But it was too late. He was gone. Trip stared in shock at the body in his arms. His best friend… dead. First Lizzie, now Malcolm. Would the pain and grief never end? The comm chirped beside him.

"Have you got him, Trip?" It was Archer, his voice full of worry. Trip bit his lip, tears streaming silently down his cheeks.

"I got him sir." He heard a sigh of relief on the other end. "But… he… he's…" He couldn't say it. Saying it would make it real. If he didn't say it then perhaps his friend could still, somehow, wake up.

"But?" Archer prompted, his voice full of dread, and Trip took a deep breath.

"He's dead."

*

Whilst all this was going on, the entity which had been Malcolm Reed was crying out in pain. The pain didn't, as Malcolm had thought it would, fade into nothingness after death, along with the rest of the eternal soul, but in fact intensified until it reached such levels as were unbearable. He was in some kind of swirling vortex, both infinitely tiny and yet infinitely large. The entity was everything, and nothing, all at the same time. He was everywhere in the entire universe, and yet he was nowhere. His mind, brain, soul, whatever it was, fought to get itself around this oddly complex sense, but to no avail. What am I? The entity that had once been Malcolm thought desperately to itself. Suddenly, the vortex split, and he was torn apart down the middle… not that he had a middle anymore. I'm dead. He thought, realisation dawning suddenly. And if I'm dead then this must be…oh my…He gasped, and furiously tried to pull away from the terrible force from the left vortex. Heaven…and Hell. Which one am I consigned to, then? One part of the entity's mind was thinking quite calmly, but its other half was quite furious. No! Malcolm Reed raged. I am not ready to go! I will not go! Not like this! The part which was still very much gripped by the living person who had been Malcolm Reed scrabbled furiously at the edges of the mortal world, determined not to let go. There is so much I haven't done, so much I haven't said! Can I not have the chance to say goodbye?

And then, just like that, the pulling stopped. He was left floating in the middle of the vortex, which had stopped swirling now… he was floating away, back to the mortal world. Is it really just as easy as that? Malcolm thought dubiously. He felt… strange… he could feel wind rushing on his skin… heat… then he was back. Standing next to Trip on the transporter pad. It was just a hallucination, that's all. He assured himself.

"Hey, Trip, you were cutting it a bit close, weren't you?" He turned to his friend with a grin on his face. Strangely, Trip did not reply. He was bending over something, a body…

"Oh my…" Malcolm stepped back in horror. It's me, it's my body, I am dead, and this is… the afterlife? Hell, or heaven? Or neither? Am I some sort of ghost? Malcolm steeled himself and stepped round Trip. His friend did nothing to show that he had noticed him at all. Malcolm took a deep breath, looked down, and flinched. His body was burnt, battered, bruised bloody, and undeniably dead. And unless this was some kind of hallucination brought on by the long-distance transport, he was, in fact, some kind of ghostly spirit.

"Commander." Both Malcolm and Trip whirled around towards Phlox, who was approaching with a med team. His face was grave. "I see I am too late." He said heavily, and Trip nodded mutely, and in that moment Malcolm wished more than anything that he could somehow turn back time so that he did not have to die. He wasn't afraid to die, and never had been, but to watch, helpless, whilst those you care for have their lives ripped apart by your absence… it was torture greater than any the physical world could conjure up. Malcolm watched helplessly as the med team quietly and solemnly placed his wrecked body onto a stretcher, covered it with a grey sheet, and slowly walked away in a mournful procession, taking the body back to sickbay where Phlox would undoubtedly perform an autopsy.

"Doc?" Phlox turned back to Trip, a concerned frown on his normally cheerful face. Trip was still kneeling on the floor, his arms wrapped round himself, and he was rocking back and forwards like a child trying to block out the real world when it became too much for him.

"Commander?" Phlox inquired quietly, and Trip turned to him, his face streaked with tears.

"Do you think… do you think… it would've hurt him much?" Trip's voice was quiet. Phlox paused for a moment and Malcolm knew immediately what was going through the Denobulan's mind. Tell the person the truth and make them feel even worse, or lie to protect their feelings?

"I am not sure." Phlox said eventually. "I will need to run a full autopsy to find out." A lie, Malcolm knew. But then again, if it spared his friend's feelings…

"I wish you could still hear me Trip." Malcolm sighed and took a step closer to his friend. "Because then I could tell you not to blame yourself." He placed a hand on his friend's shoulder… and it went right through.

"What the -?" Malcolm said in unison with Trip, who was looking around wildly. Clearly, he had sensed… something when Malcolm had touched him… but what? Malcolm shook his head in complete confusion and helpless despair.

"Trip, listen to me! Why can't you hear me, I'm right here!" Malcolm was nearly screaming with frustration, but to no avail. Malcolm desperately tried to think of a reason… could it be that he was experiencing a transporter malfunction, just like Hoshi had, or was he really… No! I can't be dead, I just can't be! His consciousness raged. Confused, angry, and just a little bit scared, Malcolm Reed turned on his oddly transparent heel and headed to the bridge for some answers.

*

Archer sat down heavily in his command chair. Around him, the bride crew were staring dumbly at him, shock filling their faces. Hoshi looked as though she was about to cry.

"S – Sir." She squeaked, and Archer turned towards her, his body on auto-pilot.

"Hoshi?" he asked mechanically, and she brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes with a trembling hand.

"He – he sent the results from his scans just before the cell ship blew." She said quietly. "I – I think you should see them." Archer stood up, grateful for any distraction which might put off the moment he when would have to have to have face up to the fact that, a few decks away, an officer and friend was lying dead. He glanced down at the monitor over Hoshi's shoulder, and breathed in sharply.

"Oh, my…" He murmured. It was too much. First Malcolm, now this. It was all too much for one day. "Hoshi." He croaked hoarsely. "Get me Admiral Forrest." And with that, he turned on his heel, and strode into his ready room, where he promptly fell into his chair and placed his head in his hands, grief, fear and the weight of responsibility tearing around his soul.

*

Malcolm entered the bridge just as Archer left it. He had found that there was one advantage to being both invisible and amorphous – he no longer had to wait for doors to open, or for turbolifts to arrive. He could simply walk straight through the walls. He glanced around, a lump growing in his throat. Around the bridge, the crew were all in varying degrees of shock and disbelief. Hoshi was bent over her console, her shoulder's trembling ever so slightly, and Travis was staring out into space, a numb look of disbelief on his face. Lieutenant Chez, the officer who had been filling in for Malcolm whilst he was away, was burying himself in his work, but was betrayed by the slight quiver of his bottom lip. He had only supposed to filling in for a few days. Malcolm sighed a sigh which no on heard. Now it seemed that the poor man would be "filling in" for him indefinitely.

"I – I don't know how to believe it." Hoshi said suddenly, and Travis glanced up in concern. She sighed. "Malcolm always seemed so… indestructible, somehow." Travis nodded gravely.

"I know exactly what you mean." Malcolm groaned in frustration, and was about to say something when the comm terminal beside Hoshi chirped, cutting him off. Archer's voice filtered through into the bridge.

"Hoshi." His voice was thick, as though he had just been crying. "What time is it in Malaysia?" This sentence stopped Malcolm in his corporeal tracks. My parents. How are they going to take all this? And in that moment, he was swept up by a thousand regrets, a thousand things he should have said, but never did, and all the hopes and dreams which were now in a million pieces, scattered across a hundred planets, galaxies and times.

"About six o clock." Hoshi replied, her voice shaking ever so slightly. "Do you – do you want me to get a line through so you can – so you can…" Hoshi trailed off, her face pained. Malcolm squirmed. He didn't want people to feel like this, just for him.

"Please." Archer dropped the line, and Malcolm made a split-second decision. He had to see this. With only a moment of hesitation, he walked straight through the wall and into the captain's ready-room.

*

A/N: Next chapter I am intending to dig into Malcolm's past a little, mainly the issues surrounding him and his parent's and how they deal with his death. I've always thought that poor Stuart Reed has been hideously abused by us fanfic writers so I'm going to try and look at the rift between him and his son in a way different from the general norm, ie. nothing to do with child abuse, and not entirely his fault either. Please tell me what you think, both of the above ideas and the last chapter. Bye for now.