Thank you for your kind reviews, I'm glad you're enjoying the story!

This chapter is for Gabi, who knows why :). Thanks again for a great beta job!

Enjoy!

23

Bright sunlight bathed the yard, the sky was a brilliant blue, and he was in terrible pain. Blood seemed to be everywhere, on himself, the post, the dust at his feet. He had seen drops of it fly through the air, leaving bright red stains on Silak's uniform. That had earned him a particularly vicious blow.

Rebel, are you a rebel. He couldn't answer the question, although he didn't really remember why that was. It didn't seem to matter anymore what he told them.

Silak pointed at something on the ground, and he followed with his eyes. Something dark was huddled there, something lifeless, a bright red halo spreading around it on the ground.

Are you missing your t'hyla already?

Could have saved him, remember that.

Remember that.

Malcolm, someone was saying, Malcolm.

A hand on his shoulder.

"Malcolm."

Bright light greeted him as he opened his eyes, and he instinctively shrank back from the voice.

"It's okay," the Captain said quietly. His hand was still on Malcolm's shoulder, pushing him back down on the bed. "It's okay, take it easy."

"Trip." The dark thing on the ground. There had been no life left in it. "Is- is he..."

"He's going to be okay. Phlox is taking care of him."

"What..." Malcolm wasn't sure what he had been about to ask, and trailed off. He remembered climbing into Shuttlepod II, someone taking his arm, leading him over to one of the benches. He had closed his eyes, just for a moment while he waited for his legs to stop trembling...

"You passed out on us, back on the shuttlepod."

"I..." There was something strange about his voice, Malcolm noticed, and reached for the place under his ear. Instead of the small bump under the skin, his fingers encountered a bandage.

"Phlox removed the translators," Archer said. "How are you feeling?"

Malcolm paused. How was he feeling? Terrified, was the first thing that came to mind as he remembered the still figure on the ground. But it wasn't real, he reminded himself. Trip was okay. He was okay. They were back on Enterprise.

"Fine," he said. It was strange, the Vulcan echo to his voice being gone. "I'm fine, sir. Thank you."

For some reason he couldn't fathom, Archer was smiling. "Well, at least it looks like the doctor's medication is working."

Malcolm tried to sit up again, only to be pushed down by a gentle but determined hand. "How long-"

"You were out maybe two hours," Archer said. "Sorry that I woke you, but..." He glanced down briefly before he continued. "You weren't sleeping well."

The dream. He remembered only fragments of it – the yard, the whipping post, a dead body sprawled in the dust.

"What about Trip, sir?"

"He's right next to you." A curtain was pulled aside, and Malcolm turned his head to see Trip lying on the adjoining biobed, his bare chest and shoulders glistening with some sort of ointment. The harsh, artificial light did nothing to hide the numerous welts, old and new, marring his body, or the way his ribs were outlined against the skin.

"Ah, Mr. Reed!" Malcolm hadn't noticed Phlox standing at the foot of Trip's bed. "Back with the living, I see."

"How's Trip, doctor?" Malcolm asked. Trip's eyes were closed, his face pale and still like the face of the body Silak had shown him in his dream.

"Mr. Tucker is going to be fine, don't worry." The doctor came over to look at the monitor over Malcolm's bed. Whatever he saw there seemed to meet with his approval, and he smiled. "How are you feeling, Lieutenant?"

It was the second time in less than ten minutes that someone asked him, and Malcolm still wasn't sure what to say in response. The grating pain from his broken ribs was gone, a bulky stabilizing bandage holding them in place. Something, probably the medication, had spread a blanket over all the pains and aches of his body, a feeling that reminded him of his first day in sickbay after the minefield incident.

"I'm fine," he repeated.

"Of course you are," Phlox said kindly. "Why don't you try and get some rest. Your body's still recovering from trauma."

"Doctor..." Archer's tone was apologetic. "I'm sorry, but I got a call from Starfleet Command. Malcolm needs to answer a few questions first."

"That's alright," Malcolm said before the doctor could object. "I'm not really tired."

It wasn't quite the truth, but he didn't want to go back to sleep, not now. Images of a sun-filled yard, of blood trickling through the dust still haunted his mind, and he had no desire to revisit the place any time soon.

Phlox didn't look happy, but he merely motioned for the Captain to take a seat on the chair between the two bio beds. "Not too many question, hmm, Captain? As I said, Mr. Reed needs his rest."

Archer nodded. "Understood."

Malcolm watched as the doctor slid a surgical drape under Trip's left foot, a tray with medical instruments waiting next to him on a table. The old bandages had been removed, and it was only now that Malcolm got a good look at the foot. He'd seen it look worse – at least the amputation stumps no longer appeared to be infected – but Phlox didn't seem too pleased with what he saw.

Archer seemed to have noticed as well. "He'll be able to walk, won't he?"

"Oh yes," Phlox said. "As for the two missing toes, they're easily replaced with prostheses if that is what Mr. Tucker wants. They won't affect his ability to walk in either case. I'm rather more concerned about the old fractures in his foot. They seem to have been treated with an osteo-repairing device that wasn't designed for human physiology, and haven't exactly knitted together well. There," he pointed at an image of Trip's foot on the bio monitor. Several small bones were highlighted red, none of them quite the shape they were supposed to be. "I'll have to reset every fractured bone, or Mr. Tucker may yet lose the use of his foot."

"The Healer at the holding pen," Malcolm said. "She had something that she called an osteo-restorer."

Phlox inclined his head. "Vulcan bone structure is more resilient. The device must have been designed for a rather aggressive therapy, which is fine for a Vulcan but can be quite detrimental when used on a human."

As the doctor set to work on Trip's foot, Malcolm noticed Archer's eyes on him. There was pity in his expression, among other things, and Malcolm didn't like it. He didn't need anyone to feel sorry for him.

"Sir," he said, and his voice sounded stiff even to his own ears.

Breaking the eye contact, Archer took out a padd and put it on the bedside table. "Whenever you're ready, Malcolm."

Malcolm nodded once, and the Captain reached out to switch on the recording mode. "For the record, this debriefing falls under Starfleet regulation 21 Beta, and is to be considered classified information," Archer said, dropping the formal tone when he turned back to Malcolm. "When did you and Commander Tucker first notice that there was something wrong with the shuttlepod's systems?"

Malcolm answered to the best of his knowledge, although the events Archer was asking him about seemed to have taken place a lifetime ago. The Captain asked only few questions, mostly about their crossing the "doorway", as he called it, and whether any of the Vulcans knew about its existence. Of course; after receiving Archer's report, Starfleet Command's first concern would be the possibility of an invasion.

"The Vulcans are putting the planet off limits," Archer said after he'd deactivated the recorder. "Forrest says that the High Command expressed their "concerns" after they'd read our first reports, which is as close to panic as they get. Halan and Mevak's ship received orders to stay in orbit and keep an eye on the anomaly. They're going to try and find a way to close the rift for good."

Malcolm was silent for a moment. "The Vulcans on the other side aren't interested in the anomaly. And T'Var isn't going to tell anyone about us."

"I know she won't. But Starfleet and the High Command feel they can't take any risks, and frankly, after what I saw over there, I tend to agree with them."

Malcolm nodded. Archer was right, of course.

"Captain," Phlox raised his head. "Mr. Reed needs to rest now."

"Of course." Archer got up, giving Malcolm's shoulder a quick squeeze. "It's good to have you back, Malcolm."

"It's good to be back," Malcolm said softly. "Thank you, Captain."

Archer left soon after that, and Malcolm lay back down on the bed, wondering if the Captain had noticed that nothing he'd said had really registered with Malcolm, the words flowing past him as if they didn't concern him at all. He'd answered mechanically, saying the things he knew the Captain wanted to hear, hiding behind the mask of Lieutenant Reed.

In his mind, sunlight filled a dusty yard, and tiny red flowers blossomed into life on the ground, beautiful in their own, bizarre way.

"Malcolm?"

The voice was only a whisper, but he heard it all the same. Phlox had dimmed the lights in the intensive care unit before he left, and for an idle moment, Malcolm wondered if hearing voices whisper his name in the dark was a good sign. Probably not, but his mind was far too sluggish to worry much about details. The voices could go on whispering, as long as they didn't make too much of a racket and let him sleep.

"Mal?"

Malcolm turned his head towards the voice, and realized that he hadn't imagined it, after all. Trip's eyes were open, his head turned towards Malcolm's bed.

"Hello Trip." There was a film of sweat on the other man's face, Malcolm noticed. Phlox had mentioned earlier that someone had developed a fever, but he didn't quite remember whether the doctor had been referring to him or Trip. Must have slipped his mind, along with the greater part of the conversation that had taken place.

"You lied," Trip said. "You told them you were a rebel."

"Yes."

"Bastard."

"Yes."

Silence followed after that, and Malcolm saw that Trip's hands on the blanket were trembling. Fever chills, or maybe just chills. The small room did seem strangely cool.

"Thanks," Trip said finally. Malcolm wasn't sure why he said it, and he had a feeling that Trip didn't really know, either.

"We're back," he said, not quite sequitur, and it elicited a chuckle from the other bed.

"Yeah, I noticed."

"Smart arse."

"That's me."

They were silent again, and Malcolm wondered if Trip felt it too, that comfortable haze the medication seemed to have wrapped around his mind. It cushioned his thoughts and emotions, took away their sharp edge and at the same time brought them very close to the surface. Saying hello to Trip had left him with tears in his eyes, and he hadn't cried since... since some time, no need to think about it now. Reeds don't cry. Right, Father. Who had first established the Reed rules, anyway? Had a bunch of his ancestors met in a secret gathering place to pledge their loyalty to the Reed clan and its many commandments? The image of bearded, grave-looking men assembled around a stone tablet with the words "Reed Rules" chiseled into the soot-blackened surface appeared before his mental eye, and he blinked. Apparently, some of the doctor's medications tended to have rather strange side-effects.

"You awake, Mal?"

Trip's voice sounded slurred; it seemed that he, too, was feeling the effects of the happy juice.

"Yes," Malcolm said, wincing at his dreamy tone. "Yes," he repeated, more firmly this time. "I'm awake."

"Good," Trip said, then: "My foot feels kinda strange. Kinda numb."

"The doctor broke some of your bones," Malcolm said, and instantly regretted it.

"What?!"

"I mean, he had to reset some of the bones in your foot," Malcolm hastened to explain. "I suppose the anesthesia hasn't worn off yet."

"Oh."

There was some scrabbling from the other bed as Trip tried to get a look at his foot. He didn't quite manage to sit up, though, and eventually let himself fall back with a sigh.

"Damn."

"Phlox said your foot's going to be fine," Malcolm said, wondering whether he should tell him about the toe prostheses Phlox had mentioned. Maybe not. Trip wouldn't want to think about it right now, and Malcolm didn't trust himself to render the doctor's diagnosis correctly – not in his current state of mind, that was.

"The Cap'n and the others okay?" The question came quietly, and Malcolm sensed that he wasn't the only one whose emotions were close to the surface, medication-induced or not.

"Yes, they're fine. The Captain's been here to see you earlier."

"See us," Trip corrected gently.

"See us," Malcolm acceded.

"Jackson?"

"He decided to stay behind."

There was silence after that. Malcolm wondered where Jackson was now, if he had found refuge with the other runaways. Giving him the phase pistol hadn't exactly been Starfleet protocol, but Malcolm knew that he would do it again. In fact, he'd gladly leave all of his phase pistols to the humans hiding in the forest. Not something Lieutenant Reed would do, but Lieutenant Reed hadn't been there, in the sun-flooded yard under the blue sky.

"You think he's gonna make it?" Trip asked softly.

Malcolm nodded. "He's going to be alright."

He'd never been entirely sure whether he liked Jackson or not, but he knew a survivor when he saw one. The man would have made one hell of an addition to his Armory team.

Trip said nothing for a long time, and after a while Malcolm assumed that the other man had fallen asleep. He was about to drift off himself when a quiet voice brought him back.

"Kinda cold in here, isn't it?"

"Do you need an extra blanket?"

Trip eyed him for a moment. "Yeah, that would be nice. Thanks."

Malcolm sat up, the room blurring before his eyes. Patiently, he waited until his surroundings had slid back into focus, then swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Somewhere along the line, his knees seemed to have turned into gelatinous sponges, or at least that was what they felt like. Good thing that he wouldn't have to walk far. Slowly, tackling each step as an individual operation, he made his way over to the drawer where the doctor kept spare bedding, and took out two blankets. Same kind of blankets they'd had back on the shuttlepod, he noticed, almost amused. Well, maybe this time around they'd actually manage to stay warm.

He padded over to Trip's bed on bare feet, his legs protesting against the weight he was putting on them. Surely there was some sort of Reed rule stating that Reeds didn't stagger their way across a room, or wasn't there? Maybe they'd forgotten to carve that one into the stone tablet. In either case, there wasn't much he could do to help it. He had almost reached Trip's bed when he stumbled, or rather, when his wobbly knees decided that they'd deserved a break after all the hard work. He caught himself on the edge of the bed, clutching it tightly. If he fell down, he doubted he'd be able to pick himself up again.

Trip frowned at him. "I could've called Phlox, y'know."

Malcolm deposited one of the blankets on the engineer's stomach. "Well, there's no need to now."

"Smart ass."

"That's me."

They shared a grin, then Malcolm eyed the two meters' distance to his own bed. It might as well have been two hundred meters, for all the strength that was left in his legs.

"Mal?"

"Yes?"

Trip lifted a corner of his blanket. "Come on in."

"Trip..."

"I know you're not gonna make it back to your bed. Might as well stay here before you pass out on the floor."

Malcolm hesitated; there must be about two hundred Reed rules against this, etched into the often-cited stone tablet. Then, he decided that the Reeds, and everybody else adhering to stone-carved rules had better turn the other way, for there was no way he was going to make it back to his own bed.

With a final effort, he managed to heave himself onto the bed and stretched out with a sigh, careful not to bump against Trip's injured foot. Quite a tight squeeze, admittedly, but it was warm; a different warmth than back in the sun-filled yard. This kind of warmth, he was okay with.

As Malcolm drifted off, he was comfortably aware that next to him, Trip had already fallen asleep.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!