The darkness receded.

It was not that it became brighter, and more that he became aware of the darkness and himself within it. It seemed less oppressive as soon as he recognised that it was there. He cast around for some sensation, whether touch, sound, or sight, to ground himself on.

He was lying on something not too soft, but not uncomfortable either. There was someone sitting by his side, holding his hand. He could feel the soft warmth distinctly. "Malcolm?" a woman's voice asked, high with surprise and anxiety. Squinting against the brightness of the light, he managed to slit his eyes open.

"Malcolm? Can you hear me?"

"Yes," he croaked. His throat was painfully dry.

"Do you know who I am?"

He blinked to clear his vision and stared confusedly at her. What a strange question. "Hoshi?" he asked uncertainly, wondering if this was some kind of trick. Why should she ask if he knew her?

Sato beamed, her eyes filling with happy tears. "Oh, thank god." She stood up, letting go of his hand. Reed missed the warmth immediately. "Phlox," Sato called softly through the curtains around the bed. "Phlox, he's awake."

He was in Sickbay, then. The white curtains were familiar, as was the biobed he lay on. Dizzily, Reed tried to sit up. Sato came back over and pressed him back down.

"None of that, now."

Reed sank back submissively. Given how strange his head felt, it probably wasn't the brightest idea to try to get up just yet. Phlox came through the curtains, in a hurry.

"He knew who I am, Phlox," Sato said, quietly joyful.

Reed's confusion was beginning to turn into irritation. Sato was acting as if he was some trained pony that had just performed a wonderful new trick.

"Of course I know who you are," he grumbled, wincing as his voice scraped uncomfortably against his sore throat. "Why wouldn't I?"

"That's a story for another time, Mr. Reed," Phlox said. He, too, seemed relieved. "If you would excuse us, Ensign," he said to Sato. "Please inform Captain Archer that I will update him in a few minutes. I don't need anyone rushing in and causing a disturbance at the moment."

"What happened?" There were no immediate clues in his surroundings to suggest to Reed how he had been injured, aside from a general achiness all over, worst in his shoulder, and a sharper throbbing in his side. He tried instinctively to reach for it and in doing so realised that his wrists were tied, secured to the frame of the biobed with leather bands. He was trapped. He kicked fitfully at the blankets imprisoning his legs. "Why…"

"Please relax," Phlox said soothingly. He moved slowly forward and unfastened the bonds around Reed's wrists, watching him carefully as if he expected his patient to attempt escape as soon as he was untied. "Just a precaution."

A precaution for what? Reed struggled for the last thing he could remember and came up with a strangely indistinct recollection of a wire cage in a badly-lit room. He couldn't place where the memory might have originated.

"Why am I here?"

"Relax, Mr. Reed," Phlox soothed. "You've had a bit of a head injury. I assure you, everything will be clear in time."

Reed wanted everything to be clear now. He wrestled with a confusing barrage of half-formed images as he tried again to force his mind to divulge what had happened to land him in Sickbay again.

"Where is the Captain? Let me speak to Captain Archer."

"I need you to rest," Phlox said gently. "You can speak with the Captain later. Lie back, hm?"

"I want to know what happened," Reed insisted weakly. In the very den of the Doctor, he was powerless and knew it.

"I expect you'll remember soon," the Denobulan told him. "If not, perhaps that's for the best." He pursed his lips disapprovingly.

Further protest was useless, and he lacked the energy anyway. Reed subsided resignedly onto the biobed and gave up the argument.

On the Enterprise's main viewscreen, Archer watched the nearest Vulcan ship rising from the planet Haliia to re-enter orbit. Over the last two days since the arrival of the fleet, the Vulcans had delivered hundreds of tons of relief supplies to the inhabitants of the planet. The Orions had occupied the planet several years previously, overthrowing the Haliian government to set up a Syndicate operation in its stead. The planet had become a hub for slave trade, while the Haliians themselves suffered almost complete economic collapse. Many of them had worked for the Orions simply out of desperation. Those who could not pay taxes imposed by the Syndicate were sold as slaves in Orion markets. Organized resistance had been efficiently and ruthlessly suppressed.

Since the departure of the Orions only a few days ago, the Haliians had begun remarkably concerted efforts to rebuild. A temporary government was in place, and with help from the Vulcans, former slave markets were being converted into hospitals and housing. The High Council had agreed to provide aid to the planet until the government and economy of Haliia was stable enough to support its people.

The Enterprise, in the meantime, waited. Back on Earth, a diplomatic war raged between Starfleet and the High Council. The Vulcan seizure of the Enterprise, however temporary, had sparked outrage and suspicion. An upsurge of xenophobia on Earth had led to protests in several major cities. Within Starfleet, there seemed to be no consensus concerning the Enterprise. Gardner had informed Archer that there was a disagreement over whether the Enterprise should be recalled to Earth to help with diplomatic efforts, or whether abandoning the Enterprise's mission of exploration would be a dangerous concession to Vulcan dominance. For the moment, the Enterprise waited in limbo, a symbolic if not practical human presence in the rebuilding of Haliia.

"Malcolm's awake!"

Sato burst onto the bridge without warning, her announcement eliciting impromptu cheers from the bridge crew. Even Covan joined in the celebration.

"He's a bit disoriented but he's recognized everyone so far," Sato added joyfully.

Archer rose to his feet quickly, but Sato held out a hand of warning.

"Phlox says no visitors yet."

Archer subdued impatience. "Of course. Did he say for how long?"

"No. Sorry, Captain."

Phlox couldn't very well deny access to the Captain if he demanded it. He could cite a Starfleet investigation, or simply pull rank. However, he wouldn't put it past the doctor to have an equally valid citation for enforcing his patient's quarantine; and, as ignoble as it was, Archer wasn't entirely opposed to the idea of postponing for a while the problem of dealing with Reed.

"Patch Phlox through to my ready room." Archer realised, after a second of confusion, that Sato wasn't on duty, and redirected his request to the acting communications officer. He stepped into his ready room as Sato left the bridge, and activated his monitor screen.

"Captain Archer, I hoped I'd be hearing from you soon."

Archer narrowly avoided a flinch of surprise. He glared at the face on the screen.

"What the hell do you want?"

"Such hostility, Captain." Harris's smile belied the sincerity of his words.

"I don't appreciate having my communications diverted."

"I'm sure." The agent leaned forward. "Tell me, how is Malcolm?"

"Alive," Archer said deliberately. "No thanks to you."

"I never meant for him to die, Captain. I knew he would show up again somewhere."

"You sold him to the Romulans," Archer accused.

"That, Captain, is a matter between myself and Malcolm. What is his condition?"

"I assume you're already aware, otherwise you wouldn't ask." But there was, Archer realised, a faint possibility that Harris actually didn't know. Not all of Reed's treatment had been in official reports.

"Contrary to your beliefs, Captain, I am not all-knowing. Your doctor's reports to Starfleet have been somewhat lacking."

Good for Phlox. "Is that so?"

"Concealing information about Malcolm is unhelpful to both of us," Harris told him reproachfully.

"You don't say," Archer snarled. "Perhaps you should have thought about that before you tried to convince me that he was dead!"

"Please, Captain, the symbiot was never meant to convince you. It was only to appease Malcolm's guilty conscience and give Starfleet an excuse to ignore your accusations."

Archer summoned a convincing amount of righteous wrath and chose his words with care. "What did you do to him? Phlox said the neural damage could be permanent."

"I did nothing to him," Harris said coolly. "You have been informative, Captain, if not particularly truthful. I'm well aware of the measures your first officer took to ensure Malcolm's recovery. I'm pleased S'Trep was able to help."

Archer gritted his teeth in frustration. Harris seemed always to be one step ahead of him, manipulating him easily into every trap he set. He'd been foolish to think that the agent wouldn't already know of Reed's condition. "S'Trep was yours?"

"That is not what I said."

It wasn't what he'd said, but it would make sense. "It's what you meant."

"No, Captain. As much as I would like to have a spy among the Romulans, S'Trep is not mine. Unlike on your ship, I do not have eyes everywhere."

"Malcolm isn't yours," Archer said, with far more conviction than he actually felt. Harris gave a comfortable smile.

"No? Perhaps you should ask him. While you're at it, please relay my best wishes for his recovery."

The screen went black. Archer straightened with a long, aggravated sigh. It was not the first time he'd suspected that Harris's conversations with him were fuelled largely by the agent's desire to bait him. He wondered if the agent had gotten anything at all out of their interaction apart from personal satisfaction. Feeling paranoid, Archer opted not to trust the Enterprise's internal communications systems to be uncompromised, and instead headed down to Sickbay in person. The sound of the sliding door opening brought Phlox hurrying to meet him.

"Captain, I must insist that Lieutenant Reed be allowed to rest."

"I know," Archer assured him. "I came to talk to you. How is he?"

"It appears that S'Trep's procedure was at least partially effective," Phlox explained. "Lieutenant Reed seems to remember everything before the away mission on which he went missing. I suspect some of his memories will return, given time. Since waking he has begun to remember a few scattered details about what happened since the away mission. However, he's somewhat disoriented and can't place when or where the events he recalls took place. My hope is that this is temporary, but even if it is permanent, he does appear to be of sound mind."

It wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing if Reed didn't remember the last few weeks, Archer knew, but he didn't like the thought of never knowing what had really happened. Not that Reed's version of the story would necessarily be accurate. Still, he hoped Phlox's assessment that Reed's memories would return was accurate. Whatever he had done, Archer thought, uncomfortable with himself for thinking it even as he did, Reed deserved to remember all the consequences.

"I understand, Doctor. And physically?"

"The infection has responded to antibiotics. He's healing, if slowly. I suspect that the drugs in his blood may be inhibiting the healing process. They appear to be breaking down more slowly than anticipated."

"Is that a problem?"

"I still cannot give Lieutenant Reed any painkillers, so he is in some discomfort. As far as his long-term recovery goes, however, it should not pose a significant issue."

Reed's comfort was not, at the moment, high on Archer's priority list. "Good. Thank you, Doctor."

As he turned to leave, Sickbay doors opened once more to admit T'Pol. After her return from the Surak, Archer had offered her as much time off-duty as she needed. Thirty hours of rest and meditation had done a world of good. She now seemed none the worse for her exhausting ordeal of a few days earlier.

"Captain, I have a matter of some importance that I wish to discuss with you."

"This is not a conference room, Sub-Commander," Phlox said patiently. "Unless you require my expertise, please relocate your conversation elsewhere."

"What is it, T'Pol?" Archer asked when they were outside.

T'Pol clasped her hands behind her back in a motion that reminded Archer of that informal at-ease position Reed used when reporting in to him. He dismissed the thought, irked.

"It concerns S'Trep," T'Pol said. "I do not believe he is who he said he is."

"Really," Archer said, not without sarcasm. He began walking back to the bridge. "That's new." T'Pol ignored the impoliteness.

"He is not a Romulan, Captain. He is a Vulcan."

"What?" Archer stopped, staring at her in disbelief. "That's not possible. What are you talking about?"

"It is quite possible. I performed a meld with him," T'Pol reminded.

"Yes, two days ago," Archer said sharply. "If you thought this, why didn't you say so then?"

"Because I did not remember."

"It just slipped your mind? I thought Vulcans had eidetic memories!"

"If you will restrain your emotional reaction, I will explain," T'Pol said firmly. "Some time ago, I asked you for help with a personal matter. A man named Menos was involved. Do you remember?"

Archer did remember. The incident had been one of the first times he had come to appreciate the high regard that T'Pol held him in. Since then his trust in her had only grown. He wasn't sure she could say the same about him.

"Yes."

"At that time also I suffered difficulty remembering past events. I was subjected to a procedure called the Fullara, which involves the use of a mind meld to suppress memories."

Archer was beginning to understand. "So you're saying S'Trep used this Fullara on you?"

"Essentially yes, Captain. However, it takes more than one experienced melder to perform the Fullara correctly. Had I never experienced the procedure before, I have no doubt that his technique would have been successful. In my meditations I noticed symptoms similar to those caused by the first Fullara. I recognized them only because of my previous experience. Still, it has taken me several sessions of intensive meditation to be certain of this, and I still lack many details."

"What's a Vulcan doing mixed up in all this?" Archer asked helplessly. "And why does he look like a Romulan?"

"Physiologically altering Vulcan agents of the Ministry of Security is hardly an uncommon practice," T'Pol pointed out. "Menos was only one of many similarly disguised Vulcans. I suspect the Ministry is capable of effecting physiological changes on a deeper level than simply the aesthetic. To all but the most intensive scans, he would appear to be a Romulan. It is entirely possible that he was undercover in the Star Empire for many years. If anyone did discover the deception, he could simply meld with them and induce forgetfulness, as he did with me."

"Why would the High Council want a spy among the Romulans?"

"I believe the relevant question is, why would the High Command want a spy among the Romulans? As you know, there have been dramatic political changes among my people in recent years. It is possible that the High Command desired a spy among the Romulans, while the High Council prefers to pursue more diplomatic measures. Because S'Trep was so deeply undercover, it may have taken years for the High Council to safely contact him. I suspect that Lieutenant Reed provided a welcome opportunity to escape the Romulan ship without exposing S'Trep's true identity, which would most likely bring the Romulan Empire once again to the brink of war with the Vulcans."

"I suppose that's why the High Council was so eager to get their hands on him," Archer observed.

"It would put the Council in an undesirable position to have their agent publicly exposed," T'Pol agreed. "Such an event could instigate an interstellar war."

The phrase caught Archer's attention. A long time ago, it seemed now, Harris had also spoken of an interstellar war. He filed the thought away for future examination.

"There's something I don't understand. Why did S'Trep help Malcolm? Surely he risked exposure by melding with you."

"He did not realise his procedure would not succeed on me. He had every reason to believe he could help Lieutenant Reed without being revealed. I see no reason why he would not take advantage of every possible opportunity to encourage good feeling towards himself and to alleviate suspicion. My presence allowed him a safe way to access Lieutenant Reed's mind."

"Phlox should have seen this," Archer growled. "I don't care how good the disguise is."

"I believe he did," T'Pol said sombrely. "Mind melds are effective on many humanoid species, not only Vulcans."

Archer remembered suddenly the Denobulan's request to discuss S'Trep with him and his accompanying reluctance to speak in front of the supposed Romulan. He'd been confused when approached about it later, seeming not to remember the conversation.

"He wiped Phlox's memory."

"It is possible, Captain. Even likely, in my estimation."

If he had stopped to listen to Phlox's warning, Archer realised, he would have leverage against the High Council, to protest their seizure of the Enterprise – and he could have prevented an assault on one of his staff. With difficulty he subdued the unproductive guilt welling up. Suspicion took its place all too willingly. Had T'Pol truly only just managed to decipher what S'Trep had done to her? Or had she intentionally waited until the supposed Romulan was out of his reach before telling him?

"Is there any way to know for sure if he melded with the doctor?"

Back in Sickbay, Archer and Phlox retreated into the doctor's office with T'Pol.

"Is there a problem, Captain?" The Denobulan seemed surprised and faintly exasperated to see them back so soon.

"There may be." Archer nodded to T'Pol. The First Officer relayed as succinctly as possible her conclusions about S'Trep's identity

"We think S'Trep may have altered your memories to prevent you from realising he was a Vulcan when you examined him," Archer explained. Phlox was taken aback, but dutifully considered the suggestion.

"I suppose it's possible," he admitted thoughtfully. "I was alone with S'Trep on several occasions during and shortly after my initial examination."

"T'Pol thinks she may be able to find out," Archer told the Denobulan. "It will involve a mind meld."

"I see."

"T'Pol has agreed to perform the meld if you are willing. I can't order you, but I'd like for you to do this."

Phlox considered his clasped hands. "May I ask a question, Captain?"

"Of course."

"What is the purpose of performing this meld? Will any information T'Pol may retrieve help Lieutenant Reed?"

"Unlikely," T'Pol said. Archer frowned.

"We don't know that."

"Will it change the political situation in any way?"

"Also unlikely," T'Pol answered, ignoring Archer's displeasure. "Although Administrator T'Pau has changed the attitude of many Vulcans toward melding, it is still far from being admissible in court. The High Council could easily deny evidence obtained through a meld. Starfleet, too, has no official policy on melding. Given the circumstances, it is unlikely that my findings would be looked upon as anything but unfounded accusations."

"So this meld is merely a matter of curiosity?"

"It's more than that," Archer argued. "We may be able to confirm S'Trep's identity…"

"We may be able to confirm it to ourselves," Phlox corrected. "But if I understand T'Pol, information gained through a meld is useless in an official capacity."

Archer didn't have a good answer.

"I'm sorry, Captain," Phlox said softly. "I am not willing to perform the meld without a useful purpose. I understand your desire to know; however, I see no point in pursuing knowledge simply for personal satisfaction."

"Don't you want to know what happened?"

"Of course, Captain. But regardless of what T'Pol might discover, our course of action cannot be affected by it."

"Phlox –"

The Denobulan lifted his chin firmly. "If changing circumstances make it possible to use the information gained through a meld, I am willing to revisit such a question. Until such a time, Captain, this is my final decision."

Archer felt trapped. He couldn't force Phlox to undergo a meld, but the thought that he might never know the truth about S'Trep nagged at him. "Very well, Doctor."

Despite the peaceful atmosphere of Sickbay, Reed's hands and legs twitched involuntarily with restless energy, matched by his racing mind. He lay on his uninjured side under the light blanket with his back against the rail of the bed. He felt more comfortable with his back against something solid. The pain gnawing at his side and shoulder swelled up until it became almost an obsession. It was by no means unbearable, but he had little to distract him from it and his own thoughts.

Phlox came and went occasionally, often enough to keep Reed awake and wired. He wondered what the doctor thought he would do if left alone for too long. Gnaw on the bed rails, perhaps? He supposed it wasn't out of the question. There was really no telling what he might do in his current state of combined exhaustion and hyper-awareness. He wanted to get out of bed and pace, but he was too physically weary to move. Phlox told him that he was malnourished and that was why he was so weak. He didn't feel weak, just heavy with tiredness. He wanted to sleep but didn't quite dare, even if he could have with the Denobulan's regular intrusions into his little white curtain-bound shell of safety. He hadn't been able to sleep more than a quick doze here and there since he'd woken. A vague, nameless fear whispered that if he slept, he would wake to find himself somewhere other than the Enterprise.

The doctor asked him at semi-regular intervals about what he could remember. By now, the pieces were falling into place with shaky certainty. Parts of his recollection were more hazy than others; he remembered few details of the Romulan ship, but the fire-lit faces of the Orions' slaves, trapped in cages and screaming themselves hoarse as smoke choked them, stood out in stark clarity. The Enterprise had sent an away team for him, he knew now, but he hadn't recognized them. Perhaps if he had revealed himself, the firefight could have been averted. No one would have had to die. Phlox always seemed wary when he broached the question, as if he expected a violent reaction, but his concerns were unwarranted. All Reed seemed able to muster when he thought about the events that had brought him here was a sick sort of guilty unrest. It didn't seem right, how much he had done for Harris – and to what gain? The balance did not add up. He hoped that whatever Harris had gotten from the Romulans in exchange for him had been worth it.

From time to time he heard other voices outside the curtains as people came and talked to the doctor, presumably about Reed's health or what was to be done with him. He felt apologetic whenever he heard them. What was to be done with him, really? Certainly he was to be court-martialled, or discharged from Starfleet, or incarcerated, or something of that nature. But so far from Earth, it must be an inconvenience to have him removed from the ship. He wondered if Archer regretted finding him. The whole situation would have been less complicated if he had simply died out there.

No one apart from Phlox had yet been allowed inside the curtains since Reed's awakening. On the one hand, this was reassuring: the flimsy security perimeter of the curtains remained mostly un-breached. However, given how difficult it was to judge the passage of time without a chronometer and with Phlox's steadfast refusal to tell him the time – saying that he 'shouldn't worry about such things. Recovery will take its time, hm?' – Reed was constantly haunted by the notion that he should have made a report to the captain by now. He got the impression that Phlox had absolutely refused to let anyone question him yet. The isolation made him wonder if it was for his safety or for the safety of others that he was kept separated. The inability to mark time was a thorn in his side. Reed tried to count seconds by tapping on one of the bed rails, but that quickly grew exhausting; and besides, it always brought Phlox in with a pensive and doctorly expression on his face that probably meant he was drawing unpleasant conclusions about his patient's sanity. By Reed's best guess, about two days had gone by since he had awoken. But it could have been any amount of time, really.

Sometimes, presumably by night, Phlox turned down the lights to try to get him to sleep. At those times, when Sickbay was dark and quiet and he drifted on the edge of a wakeful doze, Reed wondered if anything had really changed at all. This could still be a Romulan ship, or an Orion cage, and he just a hallucinating dreamer. The clearer his memory grew, the more distinct this impression became. When the lights went back on, he tried to banish these thoughts so they would not show when Phlox came to check on him.