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x-x
Malcolm pushed his book aside and, springing up from his mattress, began pacing the distance of his room. Fourteen steps to one wall. Turn. Fourteen to the other. Turn.
He was going stir-crazy. He'd been confined to quarters for days. He'd been blocked from accessing ship's systems, his computer disconnected from the ship's network. He'd read all his books. He'd even gone through his laundry, sorting out the items that needed repair. And it was now... he glanced at the clock on the nightstand ...Oh-Three-Hundred hours, three in the bloody morning, and he... God, he was exhausted, but he'd really rather not... the dreams alone...
The isolation and boredom were combining to drive him to madness. He spent the best part of each day alone, and he was running out of things to do. What little he did find, he couldn't manage to focus on; a combination of restlessness anxiety and too little sleep.
Four days, his only visitors being Archer - those visits a formality - and Trip.
He wasn't sure why Trip came.
Their meetings were always short and formal, no more than an official-seeming check in, and yet behind the formality, Malcolm could read Trip's anguish and confusion. Malcolm never spoke of what he saw, knowing that Trip preferred to keep the distance he'd established. It would be pointless anyway. Malcolm would be gone soon enough.
Being confined to quarters was entirely understandable. Hell, he'd have done worse: put himself in the brig. No - any traitor he'd discovered, he'd have... Being in the brig would be a blessing when weighed against what he'd probably do to someone who'd...
He froze in his tracks. Spinning, he entered the lav and faced himself in the mirror, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the weary slump of his shoulders.
They didn't trust him. They shouldn't trust him. Hell, he wasn't sure that he could trust himself. Lifting a hand to his temple, he pressed his fingers there. He could still feel the cool of the device, a ghost of sensation against his skin. It was phantom. But the headache was real enough.
Opening his medicine chest, he pulled down a bottle, shaking a couple of pills into his hand. Popping them into his mouth, he leaned down and swallowed them with water from the tap.
He stepped back into his room and grabbed the liquor bottle from his desk, downing the rest of its contents in two fast gulps.
Returning to his bed, he dimmed the lights and sat back against the wall. He stared into the darkened room, trying not to think...
...Releasing his grip, he left Trip on the floor, dead. Grabbing the man's weapon, he turned and...
Hoshi was there, surprise on her face. The blue globe was still in her hand.
He frowned. Then he smiled. He'd be glad to see her dead. What she'd done to him, torturing him, he'd be glad to see her...
Lifting the weapon, he...
He fired.
Two-hundred-thirty metres long, one-hundred-thirty-five-point-eight metres wide, four impulse torpedo launchers...
x-x
Malcolm woke, facts and figures tumbling through his head, Hoshi's and Trip's faces before his eyes. Frantic, he pushed away from the bed and started pacing. He marched to one wall, placed both palms against it and pushed off. He turned and paced to the other wall and repeated the process, stalking like a caged animal, which in a way he supposed he was.
He needed to get away from all this. Maybe he could take leave?
He shook his head, still moving. There was no way they'd grant him leave; not now, not with the disciplinary filings coming up. He'd have to wait until they returned to Earth to make a formal request, and that would be too long.
And what was the point of taking an official leave? His career was already falling in shards around him. It was pointless to take leave and then come back to all this.
Turning toward the door, he slapped his palm against the comm. on the wall. "Phlox?" he asked, his voice raspy from disuse.
"Yes, Lieutenant?" Phlox replied after a moment.
"I could use something to help me sleep." He leaned a bent arm against the wall and let his forehead rest against it, not bothering to listen to the doctor's reply. Perhaps Phlox's drugs would numb him enough that he wouldn't dream, and he could get some bloody sleep. To sleep and forget, if only for a few hours.
x-x
Malcolm woke feeling drowsy and lethargic. Glancing at the clock, he was grateful to see that he'd been asleep for several hours. He still felt tired, although he was unsure if it was from Phlox's medication, or if forgotten nightmares had plagued him despite the drugs.
He shifted his hands on the blanket and hissed in pain. Arms up in front of his face, he saw long red welts on the back of his left hand, going from his knuckles, down the back of his wrist, and up and under his pyjama top, lines tracing the pattern of his imagined scars. With an intake of breath, he noticed blood under the fingernails of his right hand. Good lord.
There was a knock at the door, and he realised that's what had woken him. Almost no one knocked.
"Yes?" he called out in response, sitting up on the bed. He tucked his left hand under the blanket.
The door slid open and Trip stood there. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." He glanced at the clock, the bare hint of a smile on his lips. "I didn't expect you'd be sleeping at noon."
"I've not much else to do," Malcolm said, his voice flat.
Trip's smile flew away. "Can I come in?"
Malcolm shrugged, knowing that he wasn't making this easy, and watched as Trip entered. As Trip approached the desk, Malcolm saw him notice the empty liquor bottle tipped onto its side, and he saw something flicker briefly across Trip's face.
By the time Trip had sat in the desk chair, he'd slipped back into his formal "commander" guise.
"What happened on the planet?" Trip asked, his face a study in granite.
"You know I'm not supposed to discuss this until the formal investigation begins," Malcolm said, just as he realised that this was the first time he remembered Trip actually asking this question. Until now, he'd simply stood silently behind Archer as the captain had interrogated him.
"I thought you were my friend, Malcolm. You disobeyed my order, then you..." Trip's formal demeanour crumpled, leaving him looking betrayed and defeated. "God, you told them where Earth was." He leaned forward in the chair. "How could you?"
Malcolm stared into Trip's eyes, unable to answer. He didn't know how he could have done that himself. He had come out of there with barely a mark on him, Phlox saying that he'd found no damage, no traces of chemicals, nothing that would have caused him to... But then there were the half remembered drugs, and the torture, and... His left hand flew from under the blanket and up to his temple as he felt something cool being placed there.
He'd simply broken, shattered there before them, and told them everything - the location of Earth, the specs on their weapons programs, everything they asked.
Trip's expression shifted to one of disgust, and he got up. He shook his head and his eyes closed briefly before he turned away.
Hesitating in the doorway, his back to Malcolm, he made a sound as if he were about to say something but had cut himself off. Triggering the door, he left.
x-x
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