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x-x

Trip stood just outside the privacy curtain surrounding Malcolm's bed. Other than the soft light of the nightlights along the wall, sickbay was dark, and he knew it was very late from the sounds of the animals around them. He pulled aside the curtain carefully, trying not to disturb Malcolm should he be asleep.

Malcolm smiled wanly when he caught sight of him. "You know, they're never going to let me out of here."

"Sorry," Trip replied, sliding into his chair beside Malcolm's bed. "I know. But I keep ending up here." He returned Malcolm's slight grin. "You could always pretend you don't see me any more."

Malcolm sat up in bed. Crossing his legs on the mattress, he pulled the blanket over his lap. "It's all right. It's obvious the medications Phlox is trying aren't working."

"That's because I'm not a hallucination."

"Quite right," Malcolm replied. He cocked his head, a shade of amusement in his eyes. "Or so you say."

"So, how's all that going?" Trip asked, slouching in the chair and putting his feet up on the base of the bed.

"As well as can be expected, I suppose. Lots of tests, and..." Malcolm winced slightly, "...the meds are making me a bit dopey, but all in all, not so bad." He threaded his fingers through his hair. "They won't let me back on duty."

"Yeah. I know." Trip's gaze locked with Malcolm's.

"I know they can't, but..." Letting his voice trail off, Malcolm shrugged and looked away.

Trip wasn't quite sure what to say, so he filled in with, "Have Hoshi and crew been visiting?"

"They have, but..." and here, Malcolm smiled strangely, "...I don't think they know quite what to do with me."

"I can imagine."

"I suppose it's because I seem perfectly normal, but they know that I'm..."

"What?" Trip asked, leaning forward in the chair. "Seeing ghosts?"

Malcolm quirked a smile that didn't light his eyes. "I was going to say 'mad', actually."

"I don't think you're nuts, Malcolm."

Malcolm bit the inside of his lip. "Right," he said, softly. He ran a hand through the back of his hair, rubbing his neck. "Then why am I the only one who sees you, then?"

Trip couldn't answer this, so he didn't try. After all, it probably had something to do with the reason why he was still here - in terms of not being in heaven or whatever - and still here - in term of being in sickbay with Malcolm in particular. He still had no answers to those questions.

After a few moments, Malcolm broke the silence with, "Aren't you worried?"

Trip frowned. "Worried? Worried about what?"

Malcolm waved a hand vaguely. "Well, perhaps 'worried' is the wrong word. Angry, or sad, or... I don't know." He rubbed his chin. "You're dead. And you're all right with that?"

Trip blinked. He hesitated, trying to find an answer that would make sense - not just to Malcolm, but also to himself. Finally he replied, "I don't actually know. I guess I haven't thought much about that part of it."

"That doesn't seem like you. I mean, your family..." Malcolm leaned forward. "You'd think..."

"I guess that is kind of weird." Trip said. If he really were dead, and somehow stuck here, haunting Malcolm, wouldn't he be sad, or angry, or something? He was normally well known for his emotionality, but it was almost as if, ever since he'd woken up in sickbay, he'd been feeling kind of... The best way he could find to describe the sensation was 'flat'. Not about everything - he could remember getting angry at Malcolm earlier - but about his own death. It was like it didn't matter. Like it wasn't all that important.

Maybe this was a natural part of being a ghost? Maybe, in order for a ghost to get whatever they needed to get done, done, they had to put aside the grief and angst they might naturally feel about their own death? Or maybe...

He sat straight in his chair. Maybe he was going about this the wrong way entirely. Maybe he wasn't dead at all?

Malcolm's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Where do you go when you're not here?"

Malcolm had obviously decided to let that last question go, and Trip found himself absurdly grateful. He smiled and relaxed into the chair, glad to be back on more comfortable ground. "It's like there is no 'in between'. I'm just here, then I'm here again, and time has passed."

"I think I understand," Malcolm said.

"What? The ghostly reappearance thing?" Trip said, trying to lighten the moment.

Malcolm barked a laugh. "No," he said, waving a hand, his IV long-gone. "The 'missing time' thing. At least, I believe I understand what it feels like." He shifted uncomfortably. "When I was caught. The Relakians - they were trying to get information about us, and..." He frowned and continued the rest in a more subdued tone. "They heard the blast and they panicked." He bunched the blanket up in a fist. "I'm not sure what happened from there. I simply woke up here." He paused. "Missing time."

Trip nodded and, staring into Malcolm's eyes, realised that he knew. He could see it like he'd been there. He watched the scenes play out, each one separate, like a movie that had been hastily edited. The explosion. One man backhanding Malcolm. Another pistol whipping him, gashing his cheek in the process. Someone struck out with his fist. Another raised a pistol. Malcolm's look of shock as he fell.

"If only I'd -

And in a rush, Trip could see what happened next. Malcolm, or some future Malcolm, lost and broken, the weight of this guilt and so much else pressing him down. Destroying what made him him. Leaving him lost. Alone, always alone...

But that wasn't it. Or it was in part, but it wasn't all of it.

Trip closed his eyes so he could better focus, and the scene came clear before him. Malcolm changing, losing confidence in himself. He'd start second-guessing himself, and one day it would blow up in his face. Malcolm, or someone he was with, would be killed.

That was the answer to Malcolm's earlier question about why he was there. It had to do with New Years, and new beginnings, and... God, it was just so clear. Why hadn't he realised it earlier?

No way would he let that happen. Not if he could help it. He just had to find a way.

Trip looked up at the sound of Malcolm's voice.

"I should have known -

Trip stood, his chair flying back and hitting the floor in a clatter. "You're always like this," he said. He stopped, surprised at his own venom. Malcolm looked up at him, clearly surprised and confused, and he felt a twinge of sympathy. But this was important, damn it. They'd talked about this before, back before the Xindi, but Malcolm had never gotten it. Maybe Trip had been too nice. And if anger about this was the only emotion he could feel this strongly - if it took heat to get through to the man, then so be it.

Trip kept going, although he lowered his voice. "You act like everything's your fault. Hayes' death. The captain with that stupid Xindi weapon. Like it's all on your head. Like you're the only one to blame." Malcolm opened his mouth, but Trip ran right over him. "Sometimes, shit just happens, and you can't -" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "It's not healthy. It's gonna eat you up from inside, and someday you'll just -"

Malcolm blinked like he'd been blinded by the light.

Trip let out a breath and stepped close to Malcolm. "No one's to blame." Bending down slightly so that they were eye-to-eye, he leaned both palms on the bed and gave his friend a half-smile. "It's not your fault," he said in a quiet voice.

He knew it was time. Whatever was supposed to happen should happen now.

Trip clasped a firm hand to Malcolm's arm and stared into Malcolm's grey eyes. At first nothing seemed to happen, but then...

x-x

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