Thank you again for all your comments and reviews. This story is getting close to its end. I'm almost sad to see it go!
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Malcolm was on a ship, flying to who knows where for his meeting with doctors from the mental health division of the prison board. Staring down at his shackled wrists, he tried to ignore the guards sitting to both sides of him on the bench. He felt - nothing, he felt nothing. They'd dosed him with something just before he'd entered the transport, but so far, all he felt was numb. With his fingers, he fiddled with the healing skin on his injured hand, pressing a nail against it until blood began to well.
His doctor had told him that such a lack of feeling wasn't due to the medications. She said he was doing things like this - cutting himself, like now, or smashing his hand into the wall - to counteract the feelings of numbness and depersonalisation. That it was part of his illness. He wasn't sure that he believed her but of course, since he wasn't talking, he couldn't exactly argue the point. So he sat in silence as her words flowed over him, trying not to listen, trying not to believe. Because if he believed her, that meant that she was right. And if she was right, then he really was mad.
Speaking of madness...He had to go before this board and...he wasn't sure what. If he acted too crazy, they'd probably transfer him. But if he didn't act crazy enough, they could recommend that additional years be put on his sentence.
He scraped a nail across the old injury, watching it bleed. Groggy, lethargic, and stupid, stupid, stupid, that was how he felt. He thought he'd had a plan to save Trip, but he'd only ended up making the situation worse. From what he could tell, it was quite possible that this board wouldn't send him back to the same prison as Trip. They could very well be split up.
The quality of the light in the transport changed, and Malcolm glanced out the window at the front of the ship. They'd broken the cloud barrier, and the sky before them was a brilliant blue.
The sky looked exactly like that of Earth and a hundred other planets they'd visited. Malcolm snorted.
Again he looked down at his hands. It probably didn't matter how he "planned" to act in front of this board. He could barely control himself. Maybe the doctor was right.
The ship went slightly hazy around him, and he closed his eyes slowly. He had to admit, he'd been given some very good drugs. He could feel them now. He heard himself laugh. He should tell Phlox. These most recent ones beat anything that Phlox held in his arsenal. He was starting to feel...slow and sleazy. Sleazy? He wasn't sure that was the right word, but he smiled, letting the feeling flow through him. His head fell forward and he let it stay there, swaying with the movement of the transport.
He heard one guard say something, and he felt a shove against his shoulder, but he couldn't be arsed to react. He'd been thinking of...someone. Wasn't there someone, back at the prison? He...couldn't remember. God, he was...he felt...bloody hell...
Something jarred the ship, sending his head slamming back into the wall behind him. It didn't hurt, or maybe it did, but he didn't care and he couldn't have reacted anyway. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were too heavy, so he stopped trying.
There was a flurry of activity around him. He heard shouts. The ship jerked again and his head slammed back. He felt himself sliding down in the seat, but he couldn't stop and he slid to a heap on the floor.
He couldn't move. It was as if he was buried alive, six feet of solid earth above him, pressing him down. He felt himself sinking further, further down. Six feet, seven, eight.
Darkness surrounded him. He heard far-away voices, some of which almost seemed familiar. There was a gentle hand against his neck, but he was slipping downwards, and he couldn't...
x-x
Malcolm woke to a strangely familiar alien face above him. The person was saying something, and Malcolm almost recognised the voice, but he was unable to understand what the being was saying. Then meaning came clear in a rush. "...Barely able to bring you out of that, Lieutenant. Whatever drugs they gave you..."
Malcolm tried to nod, but the room swirled around him and he lost track of the conversation. He could hear the darkness calling, and it would be so easy to just let go, to fall into it. He was so tired.
He felt hands on him and realised that he'd been struggling.
"Just lie still," the alien said. "Someone wants to speak with you."
Another person came into view above him, this one a green eyed human. "How are you feeling?"
Malcolm closed his eyes. He felt someone rubbing his arm, gently but briskly.
"Malcolm? Come on, stay with me," the human said. "I need to know where Trip is."
Suddenly Malcolm remembered: Trip, the prison, being captured, everything unreeling in high-speed against his eyelids. "Captain?" he croaked into the darkness, the images spinning in his head. He struggled against them. He needed to hold on for just one more minute.
"Where's Trip?" came Archer's answering question.
"Jesem."
"Where?"
"Prison," he whispered. "Jesem Prison." He followed the swirling images and let the darkness take him.
x-x
Malcolm came awake slowly, letting the soft sounds of sickbay soothe him. He knew that he'd woken often since Enterprise had found him, but this time he felt different, clearer. Still, he kept his eyes closed, trying to get a sense of the space around him.
He heard clicks from a padd nearby, and he opened his eyes to see Hoshi sitting in the chair beside his bed, her head bent as the device cast its glow over her face. After a moment, she looked up, then smiled cautiously at him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."
Malcolm opened his mouth to speak and ended up coughing.
Hoshi, alarmed, stood and got him some water. She held the cup for him while he took a measured sip from the straw.
"Find Trip yet?" he finally managed.
Hoshi's face creased into a genuine smile now, and she seemed visibly relieved. Malcolm could remember some bits of the last few days. Not much, but what he remembered was unpleasant. Her relief at his lucidity was understandable.
"That's why I'm here," Hoshi said, putting the cup on his bedside table. "I'd been hoping that you'd wake up so I could tell you the good news." She paused a moment. "We found him."
"Where is he?"
"They're bringing him up now. He should be here within the hour."
Malcolm nodded, his heart hammering in his chest. He should be happy, or at least relieved, but all he felt was anxious. Shouldn't he be happy?
He decided not to ask the obvious question: how Trip was. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know that just yet. He wasn't sure that he wanted to know what he'd left Trip to. His mind spun as he went over and over the possibilities. Hemsej, especially after the beating Malcolm had given him, what he may have done to Trip in retaliation. No, wait, that hadn't been Hemsej. The man he'd beaten had been...someone else. Hadn't it? Malcolm shook his head, confused, and Hoshi looked at him strangely, obviously puzzled by his reaction.
"Are you okay?"
Malcolm decided to leave all that for now, instead asking, "How long were we down there?"
Hoshi hesitated before she answered. "Well over a month, Malcolm."
Malcolm's shock must have shown on his face, because Hoshi looked even more worried. She placed a hand on his arm.
"How did you find me?"
Hoshi looked a bit relieved that Malcolm seemed to be keeping up with the conversation. "When you guys weren't at the rendezvous, we started a search. The team was eventually able to find your communicator - once they were planetside, they were able to get a limited trace on it. Later they heard of a group of people who'd been rounded up days before, so they started asking questions."
Malcolm watched Hoshi's face as she spoke, her eyes sparkling as she told the story. He watched her, tracing the movement of her hand as it rose to push a lock of dark hair away from her face, and he lost track of what she was saying. He heard the rise and fall of her tone as she spoke, indistinguishable phrases coming in waves.
"...no progress until a few days ago..."
Malcolm blinked in surprise when her words came through. "...when T'Pol was doing yet another scan of the atmosphere and actually got a ping." Hoshi smiled again. "When you were taken in that transport, they brought you up high enough that atmo was less of an interference. We were able to find your biosigns."
He closed his eyes. "You waited," he said, relief coursing through him.
"Of course we waited," Hoshi said, her tone of voice implying that he was an idiot for even thinking that they wouldn't. She rubbed his arm gently and said something about Travis, fancy flying, and the transport again, but by that time, Malcolm was gone.
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