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x-x

... Then, he stared into Malcolm's grey eyes and time stretched to eternity. He couldn't look away, couldn't move, couldn't feel.

A voice came from forever away. "Commander?"

The world rushed in, time sped up, and the voice came close in a whoosh, "Commander?" and it hurt. God, it hurt. Trip gasped and closed his eyes, opening them to a soft greyness, shading to blue in the corners of his vision. His eyes shut again of their own accord, and louder now, "Mr. Tucker. Can you hear me?"

Trip opened his eyes in panic, hands flailing as he tried to sit up. Phlox seemed to hover above him, the grey of the sickbay ceiling framing his concerned face. The doctor flashed a light into his eyes, and he winced and tried to push it away, his breath catching in his throat. Phlox cast a pointed glance to someone nearby and Trip felt himself being restrained. There was a soft pressure, then a prick against his upper arm.

Phlox's voice flowed past, a series of questions that Trip let pass him by. Head falling to the side, he saw Malcolm in a bed across the room. The man was intubated and hooked to a respirator, a mass of bandages rising out of his chest, tubing flowing into and out of...

Trip looked away. "What happened to him?" he asked, his voice coming out barely above a whisper. His throat hurt like he'd swallowed glass. No, like when he'd had strep as a kid. That summer had really sucked...

Phlox's voice brought him back to the present. "He was injured on a mission."

Trip nodded slightly and felt restraining hands leaving his body. "When?" he asked, confused. He'd only just been talking to Malcolm. They were... The memory slid away. Perplexed, Trip frowned and raised a hand to his forehead, only to wince at the tug of the IV. "He was shot," he murmured, not entirely sure how he knew. He looked back to Phlox.

Phlox nodded. "He was," he responded, mildly surprised. "He'll recover, with time," he added, answering Trip's unasked question. He started with the light again, but this time, Trip didn't flinch away or struggle. "Do you remember what happened?"

Trip thought a moment as Phlox bustled over him. It was like the memories were slipping away even as he tried to grasp for them. In the end, he shook his head slightly.

"You were on a mission to Relakia. There was an explosion, and you were trapped under some rubble. They brought you here as soon as they got you out."

"How long?" Trip managed.

The doctor smiled when he realised what Trip meant. "Not long. You were only unconscious for a day."

A day? Trip thought in amazement. But it had been at least... He frowned, unsure. And he'd been... His stomach dropped and the words came out before he could stop them. "I died."

Phlox paused a moment, the scanning device hanging suspended in his hand. "You were severely injured," he said with unusual seriousness. "But we were able to bring you back in the end, hmm?"

How was all this possible? Trip thought. It had been days... months since... Since... Since what?

"The Captain and Corporal Chang are fine," Phlox said, but Trip realised that he already knew that. Just like he'd known about Malcolm being shot. Just like he knew that he'd been dead. But... He flexed his fingers, blinking rapidly. He didn't feel dead. Not like before. Not like...

The memories slid through his grasp, and Trip muttered a muffled swear. He winced and let his eyes slide shut.

Lowering the lights, the doctor slipped a button under Trip's hand. "Press if you need additional pain relief," he said softly.

As the doctor moved away, Trip heard one of the medics murmur a soft "Happy New Year."

Trip's eyes flashed open. That was it. The New Year. Something about Malcolm, and... The room spun around him, vertigo hitting him hard and sweeping memories away in its path.

Ah, fuck it, Trip thought, giving up the fight to remember. Giving in to his pain, he pressed the button and let the world slide away.

x-x

Trip sat by Malcolm's bedside. He was dressed in scrubs, in pain, and still feeling shaky, but Phlox had said that he'd heal better if he was up and about. So, hand wrapped around the IV pole beside him, he was sitting there in the semi-darkness.

Malcolm looked a bit better. There was less equipment, anyway - the ventilator was gone, which was definitely a good sign, and there were maybe a few less monitors and devices. But he was still unconscious, and Trip knew that wasn't necessarily good.

He was supposed to do something here, something involving Malcolm. Something that, for the life of him, he couldn't remember. He tapped his fingernails against the pole, the sound almost lost in between the beeps of the monitors, the soft rustles of the animals, and the shuffling of the medics as they worked nearby.

There was something, though. Something important. He bit his lip in frustration. There was a reason why he'd been brought back, because he was still sure that he'd been dead. Or at least, he thought he had been. He decided not to think too hard on that.

He tapped the pole again. Whatever it was, he'd figure it out. He had to.

x-x

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