Thank you for your comments and reviews. I love hearing what you think!

I know the chapters are sometimes a bit short, so I'm trying to make up for that with frequent updates.

Note: I'm giving squick alert #1 now, due to some of the content in this chapter. There's some ouch, but it's not too bad.

x-x

Malcolm paced the small space, casting anxious glances at Trip's empty cell as he counted one two three four five steps to one wall, one two three four five steps to the other, one two three...

Malcolm spun in place and sat, hard, on the edge of his bunk. He was driving himself to distraction, he knew he was, but Trip should have been back hours before.

He stood in a rush when he saw two guards pass in front of his cell, dragging Trip between them. He watched, keeping silent vigil as one guard triggered Trip's door, then they both tossed him inside as if he were so much rubbish.

Trip lay on the floor a moment before he rolled onto his side, one hand over his ribs. He used his free arm to bring himself to sitting, then leaned back against his bunk, eyes closed.

"Trip?" Malcolm finally asked, still standing in the centre of his cell as if frozen in place. When Trip cracked his eyes open in response, Malcolm, already knowing the answer, asked, "What happened?"

"Hemsej," Trip said, and his eyes slid closed again.

After a moment, Malcolm asked, "Trip?" When Trip didn't respond - didn't even stir, Malcolm repeated his name again, a slightly frantic edge to his tone. Then a third time, "Trip?" again to no response.

He was about to shout when he heard the man let out a loud snore.

Malcolm felt a manic laugh bubbling up. God, he'd thought, he'd been afraid that Trip was, that they'd finally...but he was sleeping, and...

Malcolm found himself sitting on the floor and laughing hysterically.

He shook his head, trying to gain control. He had to get a hold of himself before this situation did him in. He closed his eyes and, between giggles, began to even out his breathing. Eventually he calmed and opened his eyes again.

He watched Trip sleep. There was a new bruise blossoming across his cheek, and even in sleep, Trip was keeping one arm tightly wrapped against his ribs. Probably broken, the ribs, and Malcolm wouldn't be surprised if the cheekbone was also broken. Malcolm felt a laugh edging up, but he tamped it down. It seemed Trip couldn't take a piss without being beaten.

Things were getting desperate. The asylum still seemed to be their only option, but Malcolm had yet to find a way into the building.

Malcolm stood and started pacing again. He stopped when he reached the clear wall that separated him from Trip's cell, and he placed one palm flat against the surface, watching his friend sleep. "I'm sorry," he murmured. He'd been all but useless to Trip.

There had to be a way. Trip was right - he couldn't just walk into the psych ward. He was constantly monitored.

Well, not really. He knew that the guards weren't always looking, but one never could tell when they were. So he needed to find a way to get in there officially. Maybe he could get himself assigned to a work detail. No, he was already on the mess, and he'd have no control over where he was transferred.

He turned and paced the cell in frustration. He'd already been through all this! There had to be something that he could do to get in there, something that he wasn't seeing. He needed to find something almost guaranteed to get him in there -

Malcolm went to the front of his cell and shouted for the guard. He glanced at Trip, and saw that Trip's eyes were now open as he stared, confused by the commotion that Malcolm was making. "Guard!" he yelled again, turning away from Trip.

When the guard finally came, Malcolm pointed at Trip. "Help him!" he began, then continued shouting until the guards opened his cell and pushed him down onto his bunk. When one guard raised his shock stick, Malcolm scuttled back on the bed, heart beating madly. When he hit the wall, he raised his hands, palms out, and the guards backed off.

After they'd left, Malcolm sat there on his bunk, head down and breathing rapidly. He knew that Trip was staring at him, probably desperate for contact, but he kept his head down.

"Malcolm?"

Malcolm stood, turned away from Trip, and started pacing again. He heard Trip calling to him softly, trying to get his attention, but he refused to look at Trip. He couldn't do this if he looked at Trip.

He slumped onto the bed, staring down at his hands. He hated that he was in this situation. He hated that he was forced to leave Trip defenceless against both the guards and Hemsej's gang. He hated feeling so bloody useless. It was time that he did something. It was time. Because if he was unable to find a way out of here, to get Trip out of here, then it would be -

He turned his back on Trip and faced the wall. "My fault," he said, his voice just above a whisper. He punched the wall, hard, and hissed against the explosion of pain. "My fault," he repeated, and he punched the wall again. Then again, and his hand started to bleed. Again, and he left a smear of blood on the clear surface. Again, and he heard activity behind him, shouts and what he assumed was Trip pounding on the wall between them. He punched again, and his cell went dark, and the guards came in, and he shouted, and he struggled.

He felt a pinch and then nothing.

x-x

Malcolm realised that he was sitting on the floor, his back to his bunk. He was holding his wrist, his bloody hand away from him. He closed his eyes.

x-x

Malcolm opened his eyes and stared down at his hand. A bloody mess. But it didn't hurt. Odd. Maybe they'd given him something. He couldn't feel.

He was rocking. He couldn't seem to stop, but that was all right. It felt all right. He blinked languidly, and when he opened his eyes, his hand had been cleaned and neatly bandaged, but it hurt. Damn. Now he could feel, but he half-wished that he couldn't.

He raised his head and caught sight of Trip, who was sitting right next to the wall.

Trip put a hand up to its clear surface and touched it gently, his face in anguish. "You okay?"

Malcolm stared at him for a moment, then said, "I'm sorry." It was his fault, all of this, he couldn't protect Trip, and even this hadn't worked as he'd hoped. He rubbed his eyes with his good hand, his movements slow and deliberate. It took all his focus simply to do that much, and his gaze followed the path of his hand as it settled in his lap. His prison uniform was starting to fray at the sleeves, and he stared at the threads.

x-x

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