They were at a standoff. The woman was visibly shaking with fear; her baby was screaming and wriggling in her arms, but she couldn't, in her predicament, do much to quiet it down. Three soldiers had their guns pointed straight at Trip and Malcolm. Another armed man was on the vehicle. They all wore black uniforms and a helmet with a visor that covered their faces. They were short and sturdy, and looked dangerous and ruthless, real war machines.

"Lieutenant?" Trip asked in a tense voice. He allowed himself a quick glance to his side. Malcolm was staring unblinkingly at their foes. He didn't even appear to be breathing.

The soldier who threatened the woman shook her and shouted something in their direction, shoving his weapon hard against the poor thing, and though their UTs did not translate, the message of those harsh guttural sounds was rather clear: drop your weapons or she dies.

"We must stand down," Trip heard Malcolm mutter. He watched in a daze as the man slowly lowered his weapon and let it drop to the floor.

Trip's heart hammered painfully against his ribcage. He felt unable to move. "Do it, Commander," Malcolm said hoarsely. He placed a hand on Trip's arm and pushed it down, and Trip let go of the phase pistol, which fell to the ground with a clang. Cold sweat trickled down the side of his face. So, after going through hell and back, it would end like this, with the searing pain of bullets running them through!

But it didn't.

The man who held the woman, unexpectedly, gave her a violent push that almost made her fall. When she regained her balance and realised that the soldiers' attention was no longer on her, she started running up the access ramp, her baby's crying growing fainter as she gained her freedom.

The man who seemed in command raised his visor. He had large eyes, as black as pitch, unfeeling. His face was angular, with high cheekbones and an aquiline nose. He barked an order to his subordinates and two soldiers quickly came to pick up the phase pistols. Then a sharp tug as one of them grabbed Trip's arms, and he and Malcolm were dragged to the vehicle.

For the umpteenth time, Trip paced the length of the room where he'd been locked. He couldn't chase from his mind the look Malcolm had cast him before he'd been escorted away by two of those soldiers. A look where all the uncertainty of the past couple of hours had left, replaced by a conscious resignation.

Trip got to the end of the room and banged the heel of his hand on the wall, then leaned with his forehead on it. Dammit! he cursed inwardly. Malcolm had willingly stepped into the fire to protect him. The memory kept playing in his mind, like a never-ending film: once they'd been brought to this building, one of those soldiers had come up to him, Trip, and had barked "Follow me." The words had been spoken in a cold, metallic voice. Obviously, they had somehow managed to rig up some type of translator. And that's when Malcolm had quickly come in front of him and said in his most dangerous voice, as he looked straight into the soldier's black, bottomless eyes, "You really want to speak to me. He knows nothing."

Trip resumed his pacing, unable to stand still. He raked a hand through his hair, feeling it sticky with sweat and dust. Anger had surged though him. He had sidestepped Malcolm throwing him a cutting, "What d'you think you're doing?" and had met the soldier's gaze squarely, barking, "Whatever you want to know, you ask me." But the soldier, after a moment of hesitation, had grabbed Malcolm by one arm and pushed him towards the door, and Malcolm had stumbled on and… And that had been… Damn! That had been ages ago!

"Come on, Capt'n," Trip muttered under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, "we need a hand here."

The door of his 'cell' suddenly opened, and a moment later someone was being thrown unceremoniously inside. Trip turned just in time to recognise the blue uniform and managed to catch Malcolm before he collapsed to the floor. He felt like dead weight, and Trip lowered him gently down, bile rising in his throat as he took in his friend's bloodied and battered face. Malcolm's head lolled to one side and Trip hurried to feel for a pulse. He found it, but the man was unconscious.

"What have you done to him?" Trip snarled, looking sharply up. The two soldiers who had carried Malcolm back silently looked on; then banged the door closed and were gone.

For a long time, Trip stared at his injured friend, almost afraid to touch him. A feeling of total helplessness seized him: there was nothing in the room, not even a bit of water with which to wash the blood and sweat off Malcolm's face. He tried to remember the field medicine he'd been taught at the Academy, but his mind was a blank.

Endless minutes passed by. At long last he heard a moan. Slowly, Malcolm tried to curl up on himself.

"Easy, Malcolm, hold still," Trip urged, trying to stop him. Malcolm immediately grabbed Trip's arms, as if to draw strength from him, trembling. The worst scenarios began to pass through Trip's mind: broken bones, internal bleeding, perforated lungs, concussion... All he knew was that the less Malcolm moved, the better. It was clear that he badly needed medical attention, but Trip didn't know how to get it for him.

After a moment, Malcolm cracked his one serviceable eye open – the other was a purple mass – and it looked unfocused. He mumbled something that sounded vaguely like Trip's name. His breathing was a hitching affair that was painful to hear.

"Yeah. I'm right here," Trip said, and felt Malcolm tighten his grip. He racked his brain for something to say but his mind was just going around in circles trying to find a way out that didn't exist. So, silence fell again, and Malcolm's eye drifted closed. He became disturbingly listless. His hands slipped off Trip's arms.

"Malcolm," Trip called, stopping himself at the last moment from giving him a shake, "stay with me!" Inside he felt torn to shreds. "Lieutenant!" But Malcolm had lost consciousness again.

Suddenly Trip was hit by the notion that he might be holding a dying man, his dying best friend. He squeezed his eyes shut against it. Not that he expected a better fate for himself. No matter what Malcolm had or hadn't revealed, those soldiers would come for him as well.

Barely had he formulated the thought than there were sounds outside the door. Trip tensed. The soldiers were back sooner than expected.

Trip felt the well-known tingling all over his body, and the next he knew he and Malcolm were on the transporter pad on Enterprise, in the exact same positions they had been in that cell.

Before Trip could say anything, Jon had taken in the scene and banged his palm on the comm. link. "Archer to Sickbay," Trip heard him shout. "Medical emergency. Report to the transporter room!" Then the man rushed towards them.

"What took you so long?" Trip said through gritted teeth. It wasn't much of a greeting, considering that the Captain had just rescued them, but he couldn't help himself.

Jon winced as if the words had sent a stab through his heart. "Phlox is on his way," he said, putting an arm on Trip's shoulder as he looked in worry at Malcolm's injuries. The man was slumped in Trip's arms, unconscious.

It wasn't long before Phlox rushed onto the scene. He immediately bent over Malcolm with his tricorder. Lifting dark eyes on Archer, he said, a moment later, "He took a nasty beating. I'll know more after I get him into the imaging chamber." And with that, he motioned a couple of medics who were waiting nearby; they delicately lifted Malcolm and put him on a gurney, and they were gone.

Jon helped his Chief Engineer to his feet. "You okay?" he enquired, running his eyes up and down him. "Let's get you to Sickbay too."

Trip shook his head. "I'm alright."

"I'll make it an order, if I have to, Commander," Jon warned.

Jerking his head sideways, Trip relented. He might not need a gurney, but he must look a mess. Besides, he wanted to be there when Phlox told Jon about Malcolm.

They started along the corridor.

"We detected explosions but couldn't get in touch with you or with any government officials," Jon said after a few steps. "I was worried as hell."

"Believe me, not as worried as we were," Trip commented sarcastically. He pinched his nose, and with an apologetic grimace added, "I'm sorry, Capt'n." He threw an arm in the air. "One moment we were walkin' in the street, the next all hell had broken loose, and we found ourselves in the middle of… I dunno, a revolution, a war!"

"T'Pol says it is probably a coup," Jon said.

"We just tried to stay alive," Trip went on darkly. He bit his lower lip. "We got captured. Malcolm…" He hesitated, looking for the right words.

Jon furrowed his brow. "What about Malcolm?"

Trip filled his lungs with air, then blew it out. "Hell, Capt'n, for a while he seemed… not himself down there," he reluctantly went on.

"In what way?"

Trip winced. "Ah, forget it," he muttered. He was still pumped full of adrenaline and didn't trust himself with commenting on Malcolm's actions right now.

Jon didn't push him.

"There was this woman and her baby," Trip blurted out after a beat, because keeping things inside was not an option either, "Malcolm tried to save her, and that's when we were captured."

"Sounds like typical Lieutenant Reed to me," Jon commented.

Trip knew that Jon would see the clouds in his gaze and lowered his eyes.

And then the Sickbay doors were there. Trip slowed down and stopped, almost afraid to go inside. He turned to face Jon, troubled. "They came to get one of us. To interrogate. And Malcolm of course wanted it to be him, and…"

Jon waited patiently for him to continue.

"I was the ranking officer," Trip croaked out. "I told those soldiers… but they grabbed him."

Jon put a hand to his arm. "It was out of your control, Trip."

"What took you so long?" Trip asked again, an undercurrent of anger still in his voice.

"We couldn't hold your life signatures long enough for transport," Jon replied tautly. "The signal kept being disrupted, we couldn't risk it. The moment we had a window, we took it. From what T'Pol could tell of what was going on down there, taking the second Shuttle wasn't an option."

Trip shook his head. "I was afraid that he might have internal injuries, that he'd…" He didn't finish the thought, but it was clear enough.

"Come," Jon said straightening his shoulders and casting a glance at the Sickbay doors. "Let's find out how he is."