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Chapter 26

"How do we know you're telling us the truth?"

Jonathan Archer and Trip both turned their heads. Malcolm had spoken little since the Captain had arrived, had hardly said anything at all. He had listened to the Captain's story in silence, and at some points Trip wondered if Malcolm was still too groggy to fully comprehend what Archer was telling them. Maybe the chaos of memories and information was too much, and he was merely lying there letting the words flow past him without really listening. Trip would not have blamed him. Malcolm's precise, almost hard voice told a different story, though. He had understood very well what the Captain was saying; he just wasn't happy about it.

The Captain considered him for a moment. "Well, you're here, for one thing. You're no longer on Earth."

"There are ways of altering someone's memory," Malcolm said quietly, but with a decidedly hostile undertone. "You might as well have planted wrong information in our minds about all of this." He nodded jerkily at their surroundings. "We have no way of finding out whether we're no longer on Earth and have traveled more than a hundred years into the future, as you say. You're keeping us in here, sedate us-" Malcolm broke off, obviously struggling for a calmer tone as he continued. "I'm not sure whether I can believe you or not."

Trip remained silent. He sensed that Jonathan Archer was waiting for him to say something, maybe even tell Malcolm that he was mistaken. Yet he couldn't. The Captain's story did make sense, in a strange and absurd way, and every memory that returned to him seemed to confirm what Archer had said. But that, of course, was what they would be aiming at. If someone had indeed altered their memories, they would be careful not to leave any inconsistencies for them to discover. No, he couldn't really tell Malcolm to hell with his paranoia. Back in the... other time, he had relied on Malcolm's instincts more than once, and it was a good thing that he had. He was ready to do it again.

Archer sighed. "I can see why you would think so. Maybe I should have waited a few more days before telling you all this, but-"

"You said that you had to keep us sedated for the last six days," Trip said. Part of his mind objected that he would not normally interrupt the Captain, but how could he tell what was normal and what was not? Maybe paranoia was the only possible response to this situation. "Why is that? Why couldn't you just tell us right from the beginning?"

"Dr. Phlox and I agreed that it would be... easier if you had regained at least part of your memories before waking up. As I said, you've been getting injections for the past six days to remove the chemical inhibitors that were planted in your brains. The doctor said that it should be another six or seven days before the process is complete."

"Assuming that you're telling us the truth," Malcolm said. "Why didn't you come to get us earlier? Why wait for several months?"

There was a certain accusation in his voice, and from the expression on Archer's face it hadn't gone unnoticed.

"We would have," the Captain said quietly. "You... were missed, by all of us. But we had no idea where you were. We thought you were dead."

A moment's silence followed. There was an undertone in the Captain's voice that would have been hard to fake, and it reminded Trip of the way Archer had hugged him when he had first returned from that horrible place where he had almost drowned. Jon, his mind corrected him. This man was Jon to him, not Archer. And he was his friend.

"So how did you find out where we were?" he asked softly.

Jon looked at him, obviously surprised by Trip's less-than-hostile tone. "Maybe we can leave that question for another time."

"I don't think so," Malcolm said. There was nothing conciliatory about his tone, although Trip knew that most of it was probably just Malcolm being scared out of his mind. "You said you were going to answer all of our questions, back at River Valley. Well, now's your chance to do so."

The Captain hesitated for a moment, then he nodded. "Fair enough. I told you that Daniels came here to let me know that he had found you. Up until then, we had no idea where you were."

Malcolm nodded in acceptance, and Jon continued. "Daniels was able to locate you because you created a disturbance in the timeline. It appears that you somehow caused the death of Paul Lendon."

He said the name very neutrally, as if to distance himself from the person as well as the fact that he had been killed.

"You mean, we killed him?" Trip asked after a small pause.

"We don't know," the Captain answered. "All we know is that Lendon was dead at a point when he should have been alive, and that it happened because you were present at the time. It could have been an accident," he added, although he didn't sound convinced.

Trip was silent. Technically it could have been an accident. Lendon might have slipped on the wet tiles and broken his neck, or he might have suffered a sudden coronary attack and died. He might even have slipped, hit his head on the way down and drowned in the vat he had prepared for Malcolm. Malcolm, with his hands tied, wouldn't have been able to pull him out in time. Classic case of poetic justice. It sounded like the version of events he would like to believe in.

Malcolm was avoiding his eyes, and Trip knew that the other man was thinking along similar lines. Malcolm didn't believe in poetic justice any more than he did.

"We prevented Lendon's death by intervening when we did," the Captain said. "The timeline's been restored."

Yeah, and everybody lived happily ever after. Except for Chayton and Toby and the others who were tortured by Lendon for another ten or twenty years.

"Do you know what happened to Lendon after we were gone?" Malcolm asked quietly.

"I asked Hoshi to try and find out. She had to dig through a lot of old newspaper archives until she found an article that mentioned the incident. It seems that Lendon was sacked after you'd escaped a second time. Shortly after, Social Services got an anonymous tip that River Valley were mistreating their patients and using them as slave labor." Jon looked at him, and Trip averted his eyes. There wasn't much he could add to that. After a moment, the Captain continued. "They closed the place down only a year later. It was quite the scandal at the time."

"What happened to the patients?" Trip asked.

"They were evaluated and sent to other asylums, except for those who were cleared for discharge. It seems that River Valley had kept a lot of them even though there was no medical reason to."

Like Chayton, who had been no more a lunatic than Trip or Malcolm. Trip thought of Toby, who had considered River Valley his home, despite of the miserable life he led there. He must have been devastated to be sent away.

It was ironic, in a way, that Lendon should be the one responsible for the exposure of River Valley's system of exploitation. Of course, he had only done it to get his revenge, not because he gave a shit about the patients. Then again, maybe it wasn't him after all who had delivered the tip. Helen had said something about calling Social Services when Lendon and his orderlies had dragged them away. Maybe it had been her, although it seemed unlikely that she had somehow found out about the "work program". He supposed that in the grand scheme of things, it didn't really matter. She and everybody else, people he had talked to not so long ago, had been dead for more than fifty years... if the Captain's story was true. And Trip had little doubt left that it was.

He glanced at Malcolm. The other man's face was tense, but the anger of before had disappeared. Mostly, Malcolm looked tired, and Trip knew just how he felt. His mind was brimming with memories, swirling with images that were both old and new, and he knew that it wouldn't take much to push him over the edge. All he really wanted right now was to go back to sleep and forget about timelines, River Valley, Enterprise and sorting out which belonged where. He was just so damn tired.

Jon laid a hand on his arm, and Trip raised his head to find the Captain smiling at him. "It's good to have you back, Trip," he said, then turned to Malcolm. "And you. We missed you."

Malcolm smiled very slightly in response. "Thank you... sir."

The Captain inclined his head in acknowledgement, both of the address and its implications. "Get some rest. I'll be back later to check on you."

They nodded and the Captain left, resting his hand briefly on each of their shoulders. Trip watched him go, remembering that this was something Jon would do: a quick pat on the shoulder or the back, sometimes even a hug when someone returned from a long absence. Physical contact came naturally to Jon, and always had.

"Trip?" Malcolm asked quietly from the other bed.

Trip turned his head. "Yeah?"

Malcolm glanced at the curtain the Captain had closed when he left. "Do you believe him?"

Trip nodded. "Yeah, I do. I think I remember too much not to believe him."

The statement sounded strange in his ears, but Malcolm didn't seem to think so. "Yes, I believe I do, too... Commander."

It drew a smile from Trip to hear the title from Malcolm, of all people, although he remembered that Malcolm would often call him "Commander" even when they were off duty.

"I think you should call me "Trip"... Loo-tenant."

Malcolm winced. "Don't do that."

"Only if you drop the "Commander", Loo-tenant."

"Well, if you insist, sir, then I shall call you "Trip", sir."

Trip rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help grinning. Some things, it seemed, hadn't changed even now that they were back. He was beginning to remember more about Malcolm; that he was fond of explosions, that he liked to listen to classical music and strange British hard rock, that he spread peanut butter on his pancakes. But these things only added the final touches to the Malcolm Trip had known all along, the man he had met in a dark and smelly backstreet about a hundred years ago. He smiled inwardly. Now that sounded weird, even though it was technically the truth.

"You do that," he said quietly.

Malcolm leaned back on his pillow, pulling up his blanket until he was covered up to the chin. "I think I'm going get some sleep," he said. "I'm knackered."

Trip nodded and lay back himself, turning onto his side. For a moment, he toyed with the idea of asking Phlox if he could take a shower; he was sure that the doctor had taken care of their ablutions while they had been sedated, but there was a difference between bedside hygiene and the luxury of a long, hot shower. Well, maybe later. Give him something to look forward to when he woke up again. Right now, he was feeling far too tired to do anything but lie here and let his thoughts drift.

Suddenly there was a very faint shudder, and Trip smiled a little. His engine was in good working order, it seemed, and it was reassuring that he would recognize the transition from Warp 2 to Warp 3 just like he used to. Before. Engineering appeared before his mental eye, and he walked his usual route in his mind, climbing the steps to the upper level. Yes, everything was there... the controls, the displays, the steady hum he was so used to... he remembered all of it. He smiled. He might not have recalled Liz Cutler's name, but he knew how to do his job.

The smile lingered on his lips as he fell asleep.

Someone shook him. It was Lendon, had to be. He was back in seclusion and there was a knife poised over him, its blade flecked with blood. Lendon grinned and shook him harder, and suddenly Trip was no longer lying on his back but floating, tossed back and forth by dark waves, pulled under and pushed into cold emptiness...

"... wake up," a voice said, and he was no longer floating. There was a soft surface under him and he was dry and warm. Hadn't he been drowning? And wasn't Malcolm dead, his body half immersed in the water, floating face-down? "Wake up, Trip," the voice repeated and Trip recognized a familiar British accent. Malcolm sounded hoarse and tired and very much alive.

He opened his eyes. He was in his sickbay bed and there was Malcolm standing next to him, clad in his green patient gown, his hair mussed from sleep. One of his hands was resting on Trip's shoulder.

"You were dreaming," Malcolm said quietly as he pulled his hand back.

Trip nodded. It hadn't felt like a dream; the details had been far too vivid and ugly. "Yeah," he said. "I... I was back there."

Malcolm didn't ask where. "Want some water?" he asked, and Trip nodded.

"Yeah, thanks."

Malcolm took a glass of water from the bedside table and gave it to him. Sitting up, Trip took a sip, then handed the glass back.

"Sorry if I woke you up."

"You didn't." Malcolm glanced away. "I wasn't asleep for long."

Trip said nothing, sensing that Malcolm wasn't in the mood for conversation about nightmares and sleeping problems. And neither was he, to tell the truth. "How did you get out of bed?" he asked instead.

Malcolm frowned, then, realizing what Trip was referring to, grinned a little, although it turned out more like a tired grimace. "It seems that Phlox took them out while we were asleep."

Trip shifted and noticed that Malcolm was right; the catheter was gone, as was the IV line. Good. He hated not being in control of his own body functions.

He watched as Malcolm padded back to his own bed on bare feet. His movement were sluggish, and he seemed to have difficulties climbing back in.

"You okay?" Trip asked.

Malcolm awkwardly pulled the blankets back into place and settled down on his pillow, bunching it up so that his head was slightly propped up. "Yes, I'm fine."

Trip sighed. He didn't need his returning memories to know that "fine" could mean everything from "peachy" to "my intestines are dragging on the floor, but it only hurts when I breathe". "Malcolm."

It was Malcolm's turn to sigh. "My ribs are... aching a little. It's not that bad, but I can't really get comfortable either."

Trip was silent for a moment. The memory of Malcolm curled up on the floor, trying to protect himself from Lendon's kicks, was a little too close to his dream. It was getting hard to distinguish what was what – memories, dreams, figments of his imagination. They all seemed to overlap and blur into each other, and he was no longer sure if some of the things he remembered had really happened at all. Maybe this was how insanity started. Maybe it was nothing more than an overload of information.

He pushed the thought aside before it could take root. "D'you want me to ask Phlox to give you somethin'?"

Malcolm shook his head, his eyes half-closed. "No, thank you. It's probably just..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but Trip knew what he had been about to say. If it were only for his aching ribs, Malcolm would have no trouble falling asleep.

He lay back on his own pillow and pulled the blanket up to his chin. "Thanks for wakin' me up," he said softly.

"That's all right," came the sleepy reply, and Trip nodded to no one in particular. He was still tired, and the blanket seemed warm and heavy, luring him back into sleep. No, he thought, shaking his head a little as if that would help keeping him awake. He didn't want to go back to oblivion, back to the dreams. After six days of sleeping, it shouldn't be too hard to stay awake for a while.

Reality. That was what it came down to, really. He just wanted to stay with reality for a while. He had dreamed enough to last him for a good long time.

Trip reached out for a padd someone had left on his bedside table, switched it on and began to read.

TBC...

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