Malcolm sat on a biobed, kicking his feet against its base, finding the rhythmic movement calming. Trip had at least given him the chance to go home, shower, and change before they'd grabbed the transport to Starfleet Medical. And Trip wasn't asking him to stop with his legs, even though he'd imagine that what he was doing was annoying. It's not that he didn't know it was. It's not that he hadn't tried to stop. Even had done, a few times, only to start up again. This whole thing was – he should not have come.

He shifted, thinking he'd stand up, thinking he'd leave, only to find Trip's hand on his leg, anchoring him in place. "It's gonna be fine," Trip said, looking at him carefully.

Malcolm slid back slowly. Maybe he could do this. With Trip here, maybe he could.

At least they hadn't made him change into a gown – he still had on what he'd come in, including a hoodie and a long sleeved shirt, both right now hanging open over a tee. One never knew, in San Francisco, if it would be cold and foggy or warm and sunny, so he'd felt it best to dress for both, and now he was glad. He was cold, he was nervous, and the extra layers were helping with both. He played at the hem of his shirt, his fingers picking at the seam, tugging a loose thread there. Trip was sitting in a chair nearby, leg bouncing on his knee, looking just as nervous as Malcolm felt. He could still see a bit of sand on Trip's legs. He already missed home.

There was a knock just as the door slid open, revealing Phlox. Malcolm hadn't seen him in a good year, and he remembered those smiles, overly broad by human standards, but sincere. "How are you, Mr. Reed?" the doctor said, stopping near where Trip was sitting. With a nod to Trip, to which Trip replied with a casual wave of his hand, Phlox again looked to Malcolm with a smile.

Malcolm tried to smile back. Perhaps he even did. He pulled his sleeves down over his hands, pushing his fists into the surface of the biobed, pressing down. Nervous. He tried to calm his breathing. He liked Phlox, but last thing he needed was to… he did not want to be… oh, bloody hell – he pushed himself off the biobed and around the doctor, moving to the door, making to leave.

"Malcolm," came Trip's soft voice from beside him. "It's going to be all right. Phlox just wants to talk to you, that's all." He felt a hand on his arm, and after a moment, let himself be lead back toward the bed. But he wouldn't sit. He couldn't. Instead, he stood in front of the bed, head down. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and focused on his breathing. In, and out. Counting. In for three breaths, out for three.

"So what's going on, Doc?" Trip asked, giving voice to Malcolm's own question.

"There has been a development." Phlox said, getting right to the point.

Malcolm raised his head and peered through his hair to look at the doctor.

Phlox nodded to him, all seriousness. "I've been working with the Vulcans." Phlox picked a padd up off a nearby counter, glancing down at it, then up. "You remember, we'd run tests. I'd kept the samples and data." He paused a moment, tapping a finger against the padd. "I recently found something."

Phlox held up a hand as if to calm him, and he felt Trip's hand on his arm.

"It's okay," Trip said. Then to Phlox, "It's been four years, Doc," Trip said earnestly. "Why now?"

"As you said, it has been four years," Phlox replied. "With advances in technology, we can sometimes see things in new ways." He turned to face Malcolm. "You were infected by an engineered... for lack of a better term, I'm calling it a virus."

Malcolm backed up slowly, until his legs hit the edge of the bed. That was... new. He blinked rapidly, hands grasping at the edge of the surface behind him.

"Why would anyone...?" Trip let that trail off, seeming at a loss. "Why Malcolm?"

"We don't know that it was specifically targeted to Mr. Reed," Phlox said, raising one finger to make his point. "It certainly..."

He'd been the tactical officer on Earth's first warp 5 capable starship, Malcolm thought, as Trip and Phlox's conversation flew around him. Of course he'd been a target. They all had been targets. Enterprise, its crew, the Earth. This had been brought home for all of them when the Xindi had attacked. That, perhaps more than anything - the whole planet had grown up overnight.

He heard Phlox say "Terra Prime". That phrase, he caught.

Terra Prime, the xenophobic, "Earth First" terrorist organization, and the Enterprise, a ship with a Vulcan first officer, a Denobulan doctor, and a mission to reach out to new species. If not Terra Prime, then someone else. For a while, it had seemed like attacks had been coming from all sides - from both inside and outside of Earth. In one of the attacks, Trip had died. Malcolm looked at the engineer, then away, and rethought that. He'd thought Trip had died. His illness had made him think that his friend was dead.

These experiences had changed him. Changed them all. Years had passed since then. He wondered what his life would have been like, had this not happened, had he not become ill. He wasn't entirely sure it mattered, now. Except that it did.

Malcolm pushed away from the bed and was quickly across the room, not sure where he was going, just that he had to go somewhere. The conversation around him stilled, as did he. He stood with his back to the others, hands wrapped around himself, staring at nothing, and yet seeing... Trip dying, the Xindi destroy southern Florida, himself in the cell at Starfleet after having gone AWOL, flashes of memory. The thought that, after so long, Phlox may have found, have figured out, something, anything; that it maybe wasn't PTSD, or not entirely; that all this... He wasn't sure where to start, or what it all might mean.

"Are you all right, Mr. Reed?" That was Phlox.

Malcolm wasn't sure if he was all right. He wasn't sure... hands fisted around the cloth of his shirtsleeves, he held himself still.

He heard Phlox crossing the room, stopping several feet behind him, as if being careful not to come too close. "I can't make any promises," the doctor said, voice low. "The effects of the virus have been with you for several years now. And it's possible that you do actually have PTSD in addition to this virus."

So even if Phlox could cure the virus, which was apparently a big "if", there was no guarantee that he'd go back to being the man he was, before all this happened.

"What have you got to lose?" Trip said from beside him.

Exactly. He exhaled audibly, closed his eyes, and nodded.

x-x