Thank you so much for your comments and reviews. It's great to know that you're reading this.

Some have commented about the surfing reference. I hope that comes clear in the last chapter.

x-x

Trip ducked into an alcove, pulling Malcolm in beside him as the rumble of artillery fire echoed through the otherwise empty street. The night was made darker by the shadows, and Malcolm heard feet running by their hiding space, then on.

Malcolm had found himself focused on sound as they'd escaped from the remains of the hospital: the smashing of glass as the concussion of the blast broke the windows on the ward; the rumble as parts of the structure began to collapse; the shouts of the medics and the patients; Trip's frantic voice as he called out for Malcolm; their footsteps slamming against the pavement as they ran.

They couldn't have gone far from the hospital, winding their way through a few chaotic streets before they found relative peace. Malcolm had followed Trip without question, Trip pulling at his arm as they went, guiding him.

He'd left the ruins of the hospital feeling dazed, although he didn't think he'd experienced any further injury from the blast. He'd simply been...unfocused, unable to help Trip or even himself as they ran. Instead, he'd blindly followed Trip as the sounds of artillery, so typical of night time combat, pursued them.

Another set of footsteps passed their alcove, and Malcolm heard someone settling in nearby, a metre or so away. He concentrated on the sounds around him and realised that they were just two among many finding shelter in this structure. He pushed his head out of the alcove and looked up to the moonlit sky, surprised to see his view was blocked - the shelter they'd found was actually part of the structural support for a huge bridge, which arched in shadowy traces above them. Perhaps not the safest place, strategically, but...

His thoughts were interrupted when Trip pulled him back under the alcove with a sharp tug. "Stay here," Trip said, keeping his voice low.

Malcolm could just make out Trip's form in the darkness. "Sorry," he replied, matching his tone to Trip's. He should have known better than to reveal himself that way. He was so tired, though. It was probably affecting his thinking.

As if reading his mind, Trip said, "You should try to get some sleep." Trip twisted his body to better fit into the small space, ending up close beside Malcolm. "I'll take first watch." And Malcolm, too tired to argue and already feeling halfway between reality and dream, complied.

x-x

Malcolm woke by degrees, the following day dawning bright and clear, although he still felt groggy, his thoughts cloudy and half-formed. Feeling Trip shift beside him, he muttered, "You didn't wake me."

Trip turned to face him, tucking his legs up between them. "I thought you could use the rest."

"I certainly could have -

"You're not in any shape to -

Malcolm was about to respond when he saw the corner of Trip's mouth turn down.

"Malcolm, you look like crap," Trip said.

Malcolm didn't doubt it. He looked away from Trip and stared at the roadway just outside their alcove.

"I figured you needed it more than I..."

As Trip continued speaking, Malcolm watched someone's feet as they passed by their alcove and noticed the sun lighting up the road's surface and causing it to sparkle. Probably broken glass, he thought, although it certainly was beautiful.

He moved slightly as he tried to stretch the stiffness away. He'd slept in an awkward position and his side was aching again, probably from the running. His head hurt - not as much as it had done when he'd first been injured, but enough so that he wouldn't say no if Phlox offered him an analgesic.

Pulling his legs up in front of him, he wrapped his arms around them, letting Trip's words flow past him and nodding where he thought he needed.

"So, what do you think?" Trip asked.

Malcolm jerked back to the conversation. "What?"

Trip stared at him for a moment, then said, "What do you think of my idea?" When Malcolm shrugged apologetically, Trip raised an eyebrow and, pointing outside their alcove, said, "There haven't been any blasts since last night, and we're just a few blocks from the hospital, where Enterprise is probably going to be looking for us. At least, once they get our message, which should be today." He winced. "I hope. I was thinking that we should go back there."

"Yes," said Malcolm. They really weren't far from the hospital. He could see the remains of the roof from here. Why hadn't he noticed that before?

Trip grimaced. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Malcolm said without thinking, his eyes still on the smoky remnants of the hospital.

"Don't do that," Trip said sharply.

Malcolm looked at him in surprise. "Do what?"

"Just..." Trip threw his hands into the air, and then let them drop with a sigh. "...pretend you're fine when you obviously are not."

Malcolm stared at his friend. Trip was clearly frustrated with him, and he was unsure of how to respond.

"I need to know if you're okay," Trip said, more gently.

"Sorry, yes. I'm all right."

"Okay," Trip replied, his voice showing his doubt. He slid out of the alcove and stood. Holding a hand up over his eyes, he squinted against the glare, peering at something just out of Malcolm's view. "I thought I saw a vending machine over there..." Trip said, pointing to where he was looking. "...outside some sort of transport shelter. I'll get us a couple drinks, and some for the others."

"Others?" Malcolm asked, looking at Trip with confusion.

Trip nodded. "I figure there's a dozen or so other people under this bridge."

Malcolm remembered the sounds of others in the night, and the person he'd seen pass earlier. "I remember now."

Trip looked down at Malcolm, concern clear on his features. "You stay here."

Malcolm nodded and leaned back against the stone of the wall behind him, its coolness coming through his thin shirt. And he watched as Trip stood and left the café table...And he watched as the restaurant crumbled to wreckage around him... And he yelled, no, screamed Trip's name... And he screamed...

Malcolm woke to find Trip kneeling in front of him.

"Malcolm?" Trip asked. His voice seemed calm on the surface of it, but underneath Malcolm could feel the anxiety thrumming, the strain also showing in Trip's eyes.

"Trip?" Malcolm replied, his voice broken and empty. Then he stopped, surprised to find his throat so sore. There had been another time, not long ago, when he'd woken like this, but the memories were vague and dream-like, and they rushed away from him when Trip reached a hand towards him. Only then did Malcolm's vision expand. He noticed bottles of water scattered on the pavement around them. Looking at Trip again, he saw strangers' faces peering over Trip's shoulder, their eyes holding a mix of alarm and concern. He felt his body crammed against the hard stone wall behind him, the tension flooding him, and his heart pounding in his chest. His arms were still tightly wrapped around his knees, just as they'd been when Trip had left. "I'm sorry, what?" he asked, his voice cracking on the last word.

"You were shouting," Trip said. He inched forward, letting his hand rest on Malcolm's arm. He looked back over his shoulder and said a soft, "Shoo," to the people around him. "Seems you had a nightmare," he said, coming in closer and settling directly in front of Malcolm, blocking Malcolm's view of the others as they moved off.

Malcolm unclamped his hands from around his legs and laid a hand to the stone below him. It was almost as if he could feel the last remnants of the dream leaving him, flowing out through the palm of his hand and down through the earth. He looked down at his fingers, splayed on the ground. "I'd thought you were dead. I watched as you left, knowing that the blast was coming, that it would bury you." He looked up at Trip, pinning him with his gaze. "That you'd die. And I did nothing. I just sat there, knowing. But I was powerless."

"It was just a dream, Malcolm."

Malcolm shook his head. How could he explain? He didn't even understand it himself.

Trip leaned in closer, his body blocking most of the sunlight, casting the alcove in shadow. "Listen, I think you've got Post Traumatic Stress," he said, his voice just above a whisper. "And if ever there was a good reason for a PTSD, um, thing, it's all this."

But Malcolm wasn't sure it was all that simple. Not that PTSD was simple by any means, but... he wasn't sure that this, whatever this was, was PTSD.

He felt as if his entire life, his entire reason for being, had been shot out from under him. Literally.

He smiled at that thought, and Trip gave him a strange look.

Trip turned to gather up the stray bottles and, handing one to Malcolm, slid in beside him. Stretching his legs out, he opened the top of his water and took two quick sips, downing most of the contents.

Malcolm opened his own container and lifted it, tapping the mouth of the bottle against his lips thoughtfully. He was so used to being in control, of being in command of his own destiny and often that of others. He was used to being able to fight his way through almost anything, no matter how difficult. Eventually, he'd master whatever it was, and gain control of it. Even with his fear of drowning, he'd purposefully sought to learn surfing. He'd fought his fear and mastered the waves, gaining a sense of power over his phobia. This recent loss of control was like a loss of self, and he found it deeply unsettling. He wasn't sure what had changed, or why, or what he could now do about it to get back to...

His thoughts were interrupted when Trip stood abruptly. "I just need to..." Trip raised an eyebrow and nodded off to the right.

"Right," Malcolm replied, placing his bottle on the ground. "Good idea, that." He tugged himself up with the aid of Trip's outstretched hand.

As Trip stepped behind one of the nearest bridge supports, Malcolm paused just outside their alcove. He arched his back, trying to stretch away some of his stiffness and tension.

Malcolm heard voices from somewhere beyond Trip's pillar, and his breath hitched. He glanced in that direction in alarm and hope. The voices were speaking English.

Trip must have heard the same thing, because the next thing he heard was Trip's shout of "Captain?" Then there was a whoosh and Malcolm was thrown, spinning, the force of the blast slamming him into the wall behind him.

He was aware only of pain and cold. There was a grey haze across his vision, and then darkness, impenetrable and shadowed. He noticed copper on his tongue. With effort, he slid a numb hand up to his chest, feeling warmth and liquid on his fingers as they moved.

There were voices around him, shouts of alarm and despair.

He could feel it pulling at him, the darkness, pulling him under.

He couldn't fight it. He wouldn't. He was done fighting.

x-x

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