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x-x

Malcolm ran down the corridor toward the shuttle bay, his bare feet sounding loud in the empty space. As he rounded a corner, someone slammed into him, pushing him into the wall with enough force to daze him. Next he knew he was on the floor.

Trip leaned over him and smiled. "Hello, lover," Trip said. He lifted a weapon and brought it down on Malcolm's temple.

It was a while before Malcolm realised that he'd been moved. They were now inside a room - he thought it might be one of the labs. His head hurt. It was hard to focus.

He realised that Trip was standing over him, the weapon pointed directly at his head.

"Where'd you get that?" Malcolm asked. He forced himself to remain calm, despite the fact that he could clearly see that the weapon had been set to kill, rather than stun. He pushed himself up on his arms, raising his back off the floor, stifling a groan as the effort caused his head to spin.

"This?" Trip asked, raising the gun slightly. "Took it from him," he added, nodding back over his shoulder.

Malcolm looked where Trip had indicated. He saw one of the security staff, Ensign Gupta, slumped against the far wall and obviously unconscious.

Trip squatted beside him. Reaching out with the weapon, Trip used it to caress the side of his face. "You really are pretty, do you know that?" Trip asked, an edge entering his tone when Malcolm flinched.

Trip moved the weapon so that its barrel brushed Malcolm's lips in a metallic caress. He had to steel himself in order not to recoil or turn away.

"I should never have broken things off with you, but it had been so long since I'd had any..." Trip paused and smiled coldly. "...fun." He lowered the gun to Malcolm's chest and pushed firmly, causing him to fall back and lie flat on the floor. Leaning in close, Trip whispered in his ear, "What I'd planned to do with Hoshi was only an appetiser."

Trip lowered himself to the floor beside him and, lying on his side, used the gun to trace a trail down Malcolm's chest, across his stomach, and then lower. "I know you liked what we did back in the brig," Trip said, smiling fondly. "I could tell." Trip adjusted the weapon in his hand and used his newly freed fingers to touch Malcolm's thigh. "I could feel it," Trip said, leaning in and sending ghosting kisses down the side of his neck.

Malcolm lay frozen, fear cold in his throat. He was trying hard not to show any sort of reaction, but his breath was coming fast and harsh.

"What I plan to do to you, you have no idea," Trip murmured. He cocked his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. "To you, my pretty thing. And then to others." Trip dipped his head down.

Malcolm took that chance. He shoved Trip away. Rolling, he tried to knock the gun from Trip's hand while pinning the man to the floor with his own body.

Trip fought back with force, bucking and trying to throw him off. Trip's knee impacted with his stomach. A fist hit his temple, and he bit back a groan as his headache exploded.

He forced a blow to Trip's nose, maybe half what he could have delivered, because no matter who was inside this body, this was still Trip, damn it. He followed through with another, dazing the man.

He grabbed the weapon and jumped up. With Trip lying there between his feet, he switched the weapon to stun. Squinting at the being on the floor, he blinked and tried to clear his vision.

Trip stared up at him. "Malcolm?" he said softly, a hint of desperation in his tone. "Please. Don't."

Hand shaking, he fired.

x-x

Malcolm moved quietly around the tiny cell, bare feet making soft susurrations against the hard floor. Placing the candles he'd brought on one of the benches, he risked a glance at Trip. He was still unconscious.

Sitting beside the pile of candles, Malcolm watched the rise and fall of Trip's chest. Slowly, he let his eyes drift to Trip's face. The man looked so calm, lying there on his side. It was almost as if he were sleeping.

Shaking his head, Malcolm pulled twine from one of his pockets. Placing it on the bench, he followed with several small packets, each a different size and colour. He'd shut off the cameras. Next were the lights. Reaching up a hand, he turned them to their lowest level, and the dim light cast the room in shadow.

He and Trip were alone in the cell. No one could hear them. No one could see them. They had to be alone in order for this to work.

Malcolm almost smiled. He'd made one concession - they'd rigged the comms. so that, if he said Phlox's name, he'd be directly connected to the doctor. Just in case.

It had taken some convincing to get Archer and Phlox to let him try this. Malcolm had ended up practically begging them. Archer's main fear was that he and Trip would be in here, alone, and unobserved. Phlox's had been that they'd had no time to test the chemicals that the Bechovian, Carevial, had sent up.

Malcolm had to admit the whole process seemed both a bit odd and a bit risky, but after all, what were his other options? He knew of no way to get this being out of Trip, and Phlox's tests had shown nothing. At least the process Carevial had outlined allowed him to have some hope. The whole thing seemed to be just a strange, slightly spooky ritual. What harm could there be?

He saw Trip stir on the floor. His eyes flashed open and he tugged at his arms, bound behind him.

Stepping to him, but keeping his eyes averted, Malcolm helped Trip kneel on the floor, his bound ankles under him. Trip said something but Malcolm ignored it, instead beginning to murmur the foreign words he'd learnt from Carevial. To Malcolm's ear it was simply a series of syllables that he'd memorised phonetically, but he'd been told their basic meaning. "Fix together twelve tapers of equal height and light them...," he said, hands moving as he gathered up the candles and wrapped them with the twine. He'd only been able to get six candles, and those he'd borrowed from T'Pol. They weren't quite of equal height, either. Still, they would have to do. He twisted the tie around them, binding them together. He placed them upright on the bench.

He dared a glance at Trip, only to find him staring up from his position on the floor, his eyes distant and angry.

"I don't know if you can hear me, Trip," Malcolm said, hoping against hope that his words could reach beyond the being inhabiting Trip's body, to the heart of the man he had once known so well. "There may be a way," he whispered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter, touching the small spark to each wick and watching them catch. Once they were all in flame, he took a moment to note the way they bathed the tiny space with their odd, flickering glow. They cast their light around him and upward, touching the walls and ceiling in an uneven, flickering circle.

"What is this, some sort of ritual?" Trip spat, his voice interrupting Malcolm's reverie. "A charm? You gonna cast a spell on me or somethin'?" he said, a slight laugh entering his tone. "I think you've been watching too much Buffy."

Unsure of just who this "Buffy" was, Malcolm continued his work.

"It's a stupid superstition," Trip said after a long while, his voice gone serious. "This will do nothing."

Standing, Malcolm tore open one of Carevial's packets. He began pouring the white powder in a circle around Trip, big enough for them both to sit in, knee-to-knee. As he walked the path, he repeated meaningless Bechovian words under his breath, feeling slightly foolish but desperate enough to try. He was unsure of which aspects of this ritual would work, if any, so he was doing it all.

The sharp smell of the powder rose around them. Casting another glance to Trip, he caught a bit of nervousness as it flickered across his face, only to disappear into bravado once Trip realised that Malcolm was watching him.

"You've lost him, you know," the being said. "It's too late. He's gone."

When Malcolm looked away, Trip continued almost gently. "Removing me now, even if you could, would kill him."

At that, Malcolm stopped his pacing. He knew Trip well enough to know that he'd never want to live this way. Staring into the being's eyes, he said. "It's worth the risk."

Stepping over the line of powder that outlined the circle, he sat cross-legged, knees almost touching Trip's. Reaching a hand over, he lit the powder. The circle sent up a bluish puff. He pulled back at the sharp tang, rubbing his nose to relieve it.

There was a flash and the powder was gone. In its path was a charred circle on the floor.

Trip caught his eye. "Archer's gonna kill you," he said, a hint of amusement in his eye.

Malcolm ignored the comment, rubbing his nose again. He pulled his best knife from his boot and began carving small, swirling lines into the ash, following the patterns that Carevial had indicated, paths that would lead the being away. His work done, he replaced the knife.

He murmured another series of words as he reached to the bench for one of the tiny bags. Licking his finger, he thrust it inside, coating his finger in the grey powder. He touched it to his tongue, ingesting the bitterness. Finger in the bag once more, he spread the powder across his lips, then reached over and put the rest on Trip's.

Trip spat, but Malcolm knew it didn't matter. The stuff was already working. Head spinning, he could feel his entire body loosen, his hold on reality slip. Leaning forward, closing the distance between them and nearly tumbling into the other man, he kissed Trip.

For a brief moment, he let himself fall into the sensations: lips and tongue, and heat. The drug and the feeling of the other man almost allowed him to forget. Almost.

Their bodies came closer and they were chest to chest. His arms went around Trip without conscious thought and he pulled Trip to him, holding on as hard as he could. Head swirling, senses on fire, he let himself remember other times, better times when he and Trip had been lovers, when they'd been together, when he'd thought that...

When they'd been family.

With that thought, he realised what the Bechovian, Carevial, had actually been trying to tell him. It was so clear. Why had he not seen it before? Of course it needed to be him. Only he could make this decision.

The room spun past him.

There was no other way.

He slid one hand into his boot. Lifting it, he triggered the knife and thrust it deep into Trip's side.

He felt Trip's body jerk. Malcolm held tight. Still close, he moved the knife.

Trip let out a sigh, a puff of breath against his lips, and looked at him in surprise. "Didn't think you had it in you," he said.

The rest flashed by in a blur. Malcolm holding Trip in his shaking arms. Trip's blood on his hands. His hand still clamped on the knife. Trip staring up at him.

He saw the light leave Trip's eyes, felt the life leave his body. Now, he thought.

He was just about to call for Phlox when a force slammed into him, making him cry out wordlessly. He realised what was happening in an instant - the thing, leaving Trip, had entered him.

He hadn't expected...he should have...

In the last seconds he had left of himself, he pushed the knife, still wet with Trip's blood, into his own stomach. And across. And down. Inartful, but effective, he thought vaguely.

It was a moment before the pain hit, then it blazed through him, deep and choking, and he knew, he knew he'd gone too far, but he'd had to. There was no other option. Even if they couldn't save themselves, perhaps they could save the ship.

He felt the knife slip from his fingers, his hand go up to cover the wound. He watched Trip slide away from him and fall to the floor. He knew he couldn't shout for Phlox, not now. The being would probably jump to the doctor.

He must give it no place to run.

He could feel the being struggling within him, wanting to escape. He felt its sorrow as it realised it had used most of its energy for these transfers; that it would probably cease to be if it left him. He heard the being's mournful cry as he felt himself fading. Curling in, he let himself fall, landing softly beside Trip.

x-x

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