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This is where Trip starts swearing. In his situation, I'd swear as well, no doubt.
x-x
Trip stood near the cabinets by Malcolm's biobed, aimlessly examining the objects Phlox kept on the counter, rather than stowed in the drawers below. A vial of some sort of green liquid. A padd. A medical scanner. He reached for the scanner, catching his reflection in its dark screen. He looked somewhat the worse for wear: a bruise livid on his cheek, a cut on his swollen lip. He'd taken the brunt of it in their attempts to restrain Malcolm.
That had to have been the scariest fucking thing he'd ever been through. One minute, he'd been dealing out cards, fine and dandy, and literally the next second, without warning, the man across the table from him had attacked, shouting something about aliens.
After Phlox and company had gotten to the room and Malcolm had been... Ah, Jesus, Trip thought, rubbing a rough hand across his eyes. He tossed the scanner back onto the counter. He'd done his due diligence, checking the ship for intruders, but had come up empty. He'd even had T'Pol take a pass at it, much as it wounded him to do so, but she'd also found nothing. Because there was nothing there.
He heard rustling from behind him, and turned to look at the man on the biobed. Malcolm lay there, head turned in his direction, eyes open and seeming clear.
"Hey," Trip said in greeting. It wasn't Shakespeare, but it'd do for now. He leaned his ass against the edge of the counter behind him and grasped its edge with his hands, keeping a bit of distance between himself and the man on the bed.
Malcolm looked up at him. "Hello," he said. Then his brow wrinkled, blue eyes turning stormy, and Trip assumed he'd noticed the bruises. "Are you all right?" Malcolm asked.
Trip nodded curtly and said, "What happened?" Malcolm tried to rise, but Trip stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Don't," he said, his voice coming softer than before.
"There was an alien," Malcolm said plainly, as if that fact should be apparent. "An intruder."
Trip kept his voice calm and even. "There was no alien."
Malcolm frowned. "There was."
Trip shook his head. "Hoshi didn't see it. Neither did Travis. And we checked the ship."
"You didn't see it?" Malcolm asked. "And nothing on sensors?" When Trip shook his head again in response, expression held carefully neutral, Malcolm added, "I'd thought not," his face showing that he wasn't all that surprised.
"Oh," Trip said. It was all he could think of saying in response. They lapsed into silence, Trip still standing beside the bed, hands clasped tightly behind him. Malcolm had obviously seen something - something which hadn't been there. The implications of that made him deeply uncomfortable.
Malcolm asked, "Where'd you get the bruises?"
"When you -" Trip cut himself off. He gave Malcolm a half smile as he rephrased. "Collateral damage."
"Sorry." Malcolm winced.
"Not your fault."
Trip stood in silence for a moment. Malcolm seemed okay. Alien thing aside, of course, but he was otherwise acting like his normal self. So what had happened? Trip inhaled loudly, then dragged a chair in close and sat. "Why are you the only one who can see these aliens?" He reached forward and pressed the button to raise the head of Malcolm's bed.
Malcolm nodded gratefully. "I don't know. Maybe they're doing it purposefully."
"Making it so only you can see them?" Trip said, unable to keep the doubt from his tone.
"Right."
"Because..."
Malcolm looked less certain. "I'm not sure."
Trip cast a quick glance around them, glad that sickbay was otherwise unoccupied. He dropped his voice anyway. "Why do they only appear to you? I mean, you're the tactical officer, and head of security. You're probably the last person they'd want to appear to, if they were choosing."
"But -"
Trip interrupted. "There were no aliens, Malcolm."
"But it's either aliens, or..."
Trip could practically see Malcolm's mind racing through the possibilities, and quite obviously not liking what they were.
"...Something," Trip said, finishing Malcolm's sentence for him.
Malcolm's eyes went wide, and he hesitated. "Phlox is checking?"
"For all the usual suspects, yes," Trip said.
"You're sure there was no -"
"Positive," Trip said firmly. He had no idea of what was wrong, but if anyone or anything had been on board, something would have shown in their readings.
Now it was Malcolm's turn to say, "Oh."
x-x
Trip leaned forward across the large table, eyes roaming from Jon, to T'Pol, and finally to Phlox. Malcolm was conspicuously absent.
"Is he okay?" Trip asked, cutting to the chase. He'd already told Jon that there had been no aliens, not even a glitch in the sensor readings that could be interpreted as anyone having come aboard, or been in the observation lounge or, hell, anywhere else on, in or near the ship. The only possibility left, one he didn't want to think too hard on, was that something was wrong with his friend.
"He's resting comfortably," Phlox responded. The grin that was so often present on the Denobulan's face was noticeably missing.
"So what the hell happened?" Trip asked, his words coming out harsher than he'd intended.
"Trip," the captain said firmly. He gave Trip a look that clearly indicated that he should rein it in.
Phlox went on as if nothing had happened. "He appears to have had a psychotic episode."
"Psychotic?" Jon said, his surprise clear on his face and in his tone.
"What?" Trip spat out, pulse racing as his tension increased. Seeing that the doctor was about to speak, he shook his head and leaned further forward, sliding his arms across the table. "No, that's impossible. He's been fine up until now. I mean, he's been tired, but..." His eyes rested on T'Pol. If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought she also looked surprised. His gaze returned to Phlox when the doctor spoke.
"He hasn't been fine until now. Not completely. He had been having headaches." His expression turned almost apologetic. "We'd thought they were related to his sinuses, but..." Phlox shook his head. "Those are often a first symptom, and with the rest..." He turned to Jon. "It's too soon to tell."
"Tell what, exactly?" Trip asked, not liking where this conversation was going.
Phlox seemed unwilling to say more. "Captain, I'd rather wait until I've done more testing."
"Worst case, doctor?" Jon said, expression sober.
Phlox's light eyes glanced over Trip before they returned to Jon. "It could be schizophrenia."
Trip sat back in shock, unable to respond.
It took T'Pol to bring up the obvious. "That seems unlikely," she said, her calm voice in direct contrast to the heat Trip was feeling. Trip found himself suddenly and absurdly grateful for the quiet logic with which the Vulcan would likely approach this situation.
Phlox turned to T'Pol. "As I'd said, it's too early to tell, but he's at the right age for onset, and his symptoms do fit. He's showing significantly elevated dopamine levels, and with the paranoid delusions and the hallucinations -"
T'Pol arched an eyebrow. "But if it is mental illness, could it not be schizophreniform disorder, or even a brief psychiatric disorder?"
Phlox nodded, glancing down at the padd in his hand. "It very well could be; thus the need to proceed with caution. In any event, treatment is the same: medication, psychotherapy and, in extreme cases, hospitalization."
Trip couldn't help but interrupt. He waved an arm, taking in the room. "It has to be something else: stress, or something. Isn't there some kind of test? I mean, I just saw him. Other than the alien thing, he's..." He threw his hands up. "He's normal," he said, stressing that last word.
Phlox shook his head. "I've already ruled out other possible causes - issues with his thyroid, a metabolic imbalance, infection, disease, brain lesions, drug induced psychosis, amongst others."
Trip splayed his fingers on the tabletop, feeling completely lost. "But it was only one incident." He could actually feel his heart beating, and he had to force himself to take a breath before he could continue. "In the observation lounge."
Phlox's gaze turned sympathetic. "Not according to him, no."
Trip sat back in disbelief, letting the rest of the conversation wash over him. This was not possible. He'd known people with schizophrenia; hell, his step-aunt had it. It was not pretty. Even treated, people were never... Damn it, there was no nice way to say it, but they weren't normal. And it was scary as hell if untreated. But most people with schizophrenia weren't violent. Best he knew, only paranoid schizophrenics got violent. Is that what Malcolm was? Damn it, what kind of life would the man have? Even with drugs, this disease was bad news, and the drugs themselves did a number on you.
Trip clenched the edge of the table. "So, what now?"
"We'll medicate him, and he can rest in sickbay for now." Phlox said. "We'll observe him. If it continues or gets worse, or if he becomes a danger to himself or others, we'll have to return him to Earth at our first opportunity."
"But it could stop," Trip said numbly.
"It could," Phlox responded, but he didn't seem convinced.
Trip let his head sink into his hands.
x-x
The next day brought Trip to sickbay once again. Approaching Malcolm's bed, he nodded to one of the medics, who was across the room bandaging Ensign Ramirez's ankle.
The meeting with Phlox had shaken him deeply. He refused to believe that Malcolm could be that ill. It just didn't seem possible. It didn't seem right. It couldn't be right. Hell, right now Malcolm was sitting up in bed, reading something from a padd. Other than being dressed in sweats, the man appeared completely normal. Phlox had to be wrong.
Trip took a deep breath, relaxed his shoulders, and schooled his features carefully.
Malcolm looked up at Trip's approach.
"What's going on with you?" Trip asked, keeping his tone as close to normal as he could. He spun the bedside chair around and slid into it. Draping his arms across its back, he rested his chin on them and peered at his friend.
Malcolm gave him an odd look. "Phlox told you?"
Trip nodded.
"I'm feeling fine," Malcolm said, emphasising that last word. He let the hand with the padd drop into his lap.
"But you're not." Trip said, a statement rather than a question. He kept his voice low to shield their conversation somewhat from the people across the room.
"I'm not," Malcolm replied in the same tone. "I've been seeing things."
"Like back in the observation lounge?"
"Yeah," Malcolm said, arms flying up and wrapping around himself. "Yes."
"Are you still seeing them?" Trip asked cautiously, trying to keep his voice calm and even.
Malcolm actually looked around the room before he responded, "Not right now, no. I feel fine," he said, insistently. "Normal. Not..." He waved a hand round his head.
Trip could tell now that his friend was a bit off, but it wasn't necessarily because of what Phlox was thinking. It could be excessive stress, or lack of sleep, or even the meds that Phlox had put him on. Who the hell knew?
"Phlox had said that the observation lounge wasn't the first time."
Malcolm frowned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Earlier, after I touched the basin, and then..." He looked up at Trip. "Later, they said they wanted me, and -"
Trip covered his own nerves by straightening up. He found himself loath to ask the obvious question. "Voices?"
"Yes," Malcolm replied, suddenly seeming reluctant to go on. "From earlier, in my shower."
"In the shower?" Trip asked dubiously.
Malcolm cocked his head. "That doesn't sound right, does it?"
"No. Not exactly." Trip tried to smile, but he knew it probably came off weak, so he gave it up as a lost cause and rested his chin on his arms again. "Why are you the only one who can see these aliens? Or who hears these voices?"
Malcolm sat up straight and turned to fully face him, legs over the side of the bed, one hand keeping the padd on his lap steady. "I've been thinking about it. What if I was exposed to something down on that planet, some sort of drug or the like, and it affected me, or made me able to perceive, or see things that others..."
Trip looked up through raised brows.
"That must sound mad," Malcolm said.
Trip held up a hand, index finger and thumb an inch apart. "Little bit."
Malcolm leaned forward. "But stranger things have happened out here."
"True," Trip replied, hesitant. "So, what next?"
Malcolm gave him a wry smile. "Phlox has already got me drugged to the gills, and he'd like me to stay here for now." His smile had dropped away by that last bit, and Trip remembered how much Malcolm hated sickbay. "Commander..." The corner of his mouth quirked as he rephrased. "Trip, can you do me a favor?"
"Maybe." Trip said, not wanting to promise anything he couldn't deliver. "What do you need?"
"If I'm going to be here for a while," Malcolm slid forward on the bed, and the padd clattered to the floor, unnoticed by him. "Talk to the captain, will you? Maybe just... just see if they'll release me to my quarters. Post a guard, or monitor me, or something of that sort, I don't know." His eyes darted around the room frantically, resting briefly on Ramirez and the medic. "Find a way to take me off display. Please." Gaze returning to Trip, his lips twisted into an odd smile. "If have to spend much more time in here, I really will go mad."
x-x
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