A/N: Thanks to The Libran Iniquity, volley, and General Kunama for their lovely reviews. Hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Disclaimer: Zilch.

Chapter Eight

Six months had passed since the death of Malcolm Reed, and no one talked about him any more, except perhaps with a wistful tone and a knowing smile. The Xindi mission had continued, and as Enterprise surged through the Expanse all thoughts of happier days were lost. The bitterest thing of all was the fact that the scans which had cost Malcolm his life had turned out to be nothing more than a ruse, a decoy to set the brave crew of the Earth starship off track. It was Trip that felt this hardest of all, but soon enough even his grief began to fade, replaced by nothing more than memories. And Captain Archer, silently fearing that his sanity was at stake, pushed all thoughts of his mysterious encounter with his dead crewman and the being from the "other side" to the very innermost recesses of his mind.

And Malcolm Reed still hovered on the strange border between alive and dead.

"You know, this afterlife lark is getting a tad boring." He commented to Trip one day as they both sat in the engineer's quarters. Trip, of course, did not respond, and Malcolm sighed. "Damn rude to keep ignoring me, Trip." He said, but still the engineer did not raise his eyes from his PADD. Malcolm leant over, and let out a short bark of laughter as he realised what it was. "The Adventures of Superman, Trip? Goodness, you Americans have bad taste."

If he had stopped to think about it, he would probably have thought it vaguely disturbing that he spent so much time around Trip, but he didn't. He was too busy trying to keep a hold of what little reason he still had left after all the blows of the past few months. Dying was bad enough, but being stuck in the world of the living, unable to be heard, unable to be seen? And what was even worse was the fact that he knew that somewhere, in another world, Cathy was waiting for him.

"Hey, handsome." A teasing voice spoke up and he turned, well used to Cathy's on-off appearances by now. She too was standing by Trip's shoulder, looking across the hapless engineer who had no idea that there were two ghosts holding a conversation across his head.

"Catherine." Malcolm responded with a smile, before nodding towards Trip. "Or was it to our southerner here that you referred that remark?"

Catherine laughed, but as always it was a sound that only seemed half-there, like a comm link with a weak and fading signal. These stolen moments, half glimpses every few weeks, had become almost all that Malcolm lived for... or rather, died for.

"I don't know." She said, reaching over and laying an un-felt hand on the mortal man's head. "He's kind of cute."

"He's a bloody pain." Malcolm shot back, smiling wryly as Trip, yawning, put aside his PADD and lay down on his bed. "And he still reads comics, for heavens sake."

"Better than you, then! I remember when we were first married you used to read weapons reports in bed!" Catherine eyed the drowsy engineer before looking back up at Malcolm and shaking her head. "Did absolutely nothing for my woman's ego, I must say."

"And what about my ego?" Malcolm retorted, his eyebrows raised. "You beat me to that position on the Sovereign. If you'd still been alive you'd have got the position on Enterprise ahead of me, I'm sure."

It may seem to us, living beings that we are, that to speak of another person's death in such a way is rather insensitive. But Cathy and Malcolm were on the same playing field, as it were; they had both died and were both confident in their knowledge of the afterlife, though Malcolm was beginning to find his spell in purgatory somewhat trying.

"Well," Catherine drew away, briefly patting Trip – who was by now fast asleep and snoring loudly – on the arm. "I'd best be going."

"Yes." Malcolm nodded sadly, and she slowly faded from view. Malcolm turned away from where she had been standing and looked down at the sleeping Trip with a quiet smile. "Pleasant dreams, Commander."

And he turned and walked out of the room.

888

"So, it's a pre-warp culture?" Archer frowned at the read-outs on the viewscreen, accompanied by a view of a slowly rotating reddish planet, and T'Pol nodded coolly.

"The dominant species appear to be humanoid." She stated, her ever-unflappable gaze upon her own monitor. "The atmosphere is similar to Earth's own." She paused. "It is highly unlikely that such a planet would evolve within the disturbances in the Expanse."

Archer turned and looked his science officer straight in the face.

"You mean the existence of this planet preceded the Expanse?" T'Pol cocked her head to one side.

"It would certainly correlate with the evidence we have discovered to show that the disturbances within this area of space are manufactured rather than natural occurrences."

"I agree, sir." Lieutenant Chez, Malcolm's replacement, spoke up hesitantly. Archer turned to him and nodded, glad that the younger man was finally working up the confidence to put his own opinion forward. It had been hard for him, Archer thought, to replace his own commanding officer.

"Anything else?" He asked, sensing that behind the man's nervous agreement there was something more he wished to add. Marcus Chez looked relieved that he did not have to volunteer the information.

"Well, sir, there are signs of disturbance down on the surface, and of weapons use similar to those used in Earth's First World War." He paused, looking hesitant. "I'd suggest taking a security detail with you if you plan to go down there."

Archer nodded, thinking for a moment just how like Malcolm such a suggestion was. And there, standing at the side of the bridge, unseen by all, the ghost of that very same man grinned.

"Atta boy, Chez." He said. "Good man."

888

The Enterprise crew materialised into the midst of a wasteland. Trip looked round, eyeing the sparse, dry vegetation and deep bomb craters with wry distaste.

"Cheerful place, ain' it?" He remarked. Malcolm, who was as ever, unseen within their midst, silently agreed with them. As he had learned over the past six months, ghosts could not be transported as living bodies could – but he could go anywhere he willed with but a small effort of thought. He had willed himself with the away team, and there he was.

There were six living people on the away team, not counting their unseen and unnoticed ghostly member. Hoshi (in case they bumped into any locals, since the UT was struggling with the more difficult subjugations of the language), Trip (Archer couldn't keep him away from the transporter pad), the Captain, Mayweather (who seemed to be doing very little on the away mission except making cheeky asides to Hoshi), and Lieutenant Marcus Chez with a concealed phase pistol and an extremely burly MACO by his side. Chez had attempted to take a much larger firearm but Archer, much to Reed's amusement, had forbade him. "We don't want to go in looking for a fight, Lieutenant." He'd said, and Malcolm had paused for a moment, shocked because it sounded just like something Archer would have said to him, Malcolm Reed.

A sudden movement to port – west, man, he thought, you're on land now – caught Malcolm's eye and he turned, squinting against the setting sun. And there it was again – a slight disturbance, marked by a brief rising in the dust. People. And they did not seem to be too keen to advertise their presence. Malcolm looked to Chez, biting his lip, but no, the man hadn't seen anything – damn him, he was admiring a bloody bird, for heaven's sake!

"Chez!" he hissed. "Open your eyes, for goodness sake, man! Have you forgotten everything they taught you in basic training?" But Chez, of course, heard nothing. Mayweather and Hoshi had headed off together, gazing out across the land, which in the blood-red sunset looked eerily beautiful. Trip and Archer were yet again further away, both looking grateful for a quiet moment and drinking in every detail of the alien world. The MACO had wandered off somewhere, Reed couldn't see him – typical of anyone trained by Hayes. It was a security officer's nightmare.

Just then the hidden watchers stirred, rising up, and this time Chez did notice them, but it was too late – they had already pulled their guns up and shot... straight towards Commander Tucker and the Captain.

And for that moment - a moment which seemed to stretch on to eternity - Malcolm forgot he was a ghost and did the only thing his instincts and training could tell him to do. He sprinted, as fast as he could, to place himself between the two officers and the fast approaching bullets.

888

A/N: Please tell me what you think!