Oh, Malcolm! Ack!
x-x
When Trip entered sickbay, Hoshi at his side, he found the place bustling with activity, motion, and people. It was a small space, and between the flurry of medical staff and patients, he wasn't even sure where to look.
Hoshi murmured, half under her breath, "Maybe this isn't such a good time."
"I'm sorry, Commander, Ensign," Phlox said, having noticed them from his position beside a patient. "There is an upper respiratory virus going around, and it seems that half the crew is suddenly under the weather. I'll be with you in a moment."
"No," Trip said, waving a dismissive hand. "We're fine. We're just here to visit Malcolm."
Phlox nodded toward the bed in question, which had been curtained off. "I've put an isolation field up around him, to keep him from catching this. So long as you stay beyond the blue line you'll see around his bed, you are welcome to visit."
Thus when Trip, leading the way, stepped through the opening in the curtain, his eyes were on the floor, looking for the line Phlox had mentioned, and not on the man on the bed in front of him. It wasn't until he heard Hoshi's gasp that he looked up.
Malcolm was lying on his bed, eyes open and looking somewhere to his right. His arm was raised, fist wrapped so tightly around his IV pole that his knuckles had gone white.
"Lieutenant?" Hoshi asked.
Malcolm said something, but he didn't look at them.
Trip sent out an anxious call, "Phlox?" as he moved toward his friend, careful of that blue line. "Hey, Malcolm, are you okay?"
Malcolm blinked, and his eyes slowly tracked to meet Trip's gaze. "Trip," he said, voice rough. He held Trip's gaze unblinkingly, staring at him as if he didn't know him.
"Hey," Trip said uncomfortably, breaking eye contact as Phlox entered the area.
The doctor did something to one of the devices on the bed, and the isolation field dropped. He exchanged a meaningful look with Trip, and Trip gave him a nod before moving away. He'd been in sickbay himself enough to know that Phlox would want some measure of privacy while examining Malcolm.
As they moved through the curtain, Hoshi smiled. "Good news," she said firmly.
"Good news," Trip echoed, although he knew he sounded a bit less sure.
"Phlox'll probably be a while," Hoshi said. "All right if I check back later?"
Trip nodded absently, eyes on the curtain around Malcolm's bed. There had been something about Malcolm – something in his eyes, in his demeanour, that made him suspect that all wasn't quite well with his friend.
x-x
Malcolm sat propped up on the biobed as Phlox asked him a series of questions. He answered absently, his focus more on the pound of the blood through his veins, the feel of his heart beating, the tension in his chest as he breathed in, then out.
He stretched his fingers, spreading them wide against the blanket. It had been so long since he'd had a body. This one, albeit not quite the shape or style of the one he'd been used to, had its merits. The feel of the cloth under his hands, of the air on his skin… He shivered, and Phlox gave him a concerned look.
"Are you cold, Lieutenant?"
"Perhaps," Malcolm answered, enjoying the vibration his voice made in his throat, his chest, his head. He knew it well, of course, from his memories, those he'd assimilated from this being, but it was something else to actually be experiencing such things himself.
This was his first time merging with a human, and he had to admit, so far he liked it. He grasped the blanket the doctor draped over his legs, nodding gratefully, as Malcolm normally would in this situation. Pulling the blanket in close, he rubbed his fingers against the soft fabric. Lovely. Truly lovely. It had been so very long since he'd actually felt anything, the tactile sensations were almost overwhelming.
Phlox's gaze moved from where Malcolm was fingering the blanket, to the device in his hand. "I'm seeing some unusual readings," he said. He looked up and smiled. "Nothing to worry about; just mildly elevated levels of certain neurochemicals. Otherwise, you seem in good health. How are you feeling?"
Malcolm cocked his head in thought, paying careful attention to the aches and pains of this body. "My neck hurts. My head."
"Possibly after-effects of the seizures," Phlox said, peering at him carefully. "I will give you an analgesic."
"Thank you," Malcolm said. As Phlox administered the dosage, Malcolm asked, "Can I leave?" He might actually be able to get started sooner than he'd thought.
"Not quite yet." Phlox said absently, accepting a padd from a passing medic. "You'll need to stay for a bit, for observation more than anything," he said reassuringly.
Malcolm nodded and settled back into the bed. Later, then. Later, it would start.
x-x
Trip looked up as the curtain around Malcolm's bed shifted, and was pulled open. His friend was lying on the bed, eyes shut, seemingly dozing.
Phlox murmured something to a medic as he came forward, and then, brightly, said, "Commander, if you would." He waved Trip over, and then actually grabbed Trip by the arm and drew him away. "We're quite busy here, and I have some medications that really should be delivered…"
Trip followed, too surprised to react. Phlox was extremely averse to casual touch. That the doctor had grabbed him by the arm meant – well, he wasn't sure what it meant, but it couldn't be good.
They entered Phlox's office, and as the door shut behind them, Phlox dropped all pretence of joviality. "I do not think that is our Mister Reed."
"What?" Trip spat out.
"I am not sure of what is going on," Phlox said, eyes moving from the closed door back to Trip. "The readings are odd, different from what they were when he was unconscious. It's not conclusive, I admit, and yet…" The doctor seemed uncomfortable. "I've known him for a year, and although I feel I know him fairly well..." He frowned slightly. "He didn't even ask why he was there. I mentioned the seizures, and got no reaction. And then, when I said he could not leave, he simply accepted that. Very unlike our Lieutenant Reed."
"After everything he's been through, I'm not surprised if he's acting kind of funny," Trip said, tension making his words sound clipped.
Phlox waved him off. "The seizures, his behaviour, the readings I am getting… It is as if there is someone else…" Phlox waved a hand vaguely, and sank down into one of the chairs flanking the desk. Trip followed suit.
"I am seeing changes to his scans which can not be due to brain damage, or illness." Phlox leaned forward across the desk. "From what I am seeing, we have cause for concern."
Trip cocked his head, crossing his arms over his chest. He sighed loudly. "I thought he was acting kind of weird." In his tension, he curled one hand into a fist, rubbing his upper arm with it. "Does he… it… suspect anything?"
"No," Phlox said. "I made sure to act as if nothing was amiss."
"We should call security," Trip said, already up and moving toward the comm. on the wall.
"I do not that is our best option," Phlox said with a glance toward the door. "Sickbay is full of patients at the moment."
Trip nodded thoughtfully. "Let me call the captain."
x-x
Phlox looked about as serious as Trip ever remembered the Denobulan being, trademark grin entirely absent as he stood stiffly in the captain's quarters. "I asked a medic to keep an eye on him, but I am not comfortable leaving him in sickbay for any longer than necessary."
"I agree." Jon looked torn between concern and anger. "Release him," the captain said, his voice sharp. "Trip, you can escort him to his quarters. I'll have security monitor the corridors as you move, and set something up in Malcolm's rooms."
"I can have him wear a monitor," Phlox said. Jon answered with a nod.
Trip bristled at that idea. "It may not even be that he's –"
"I understand," Jon said. He began his habitual pacing, ducking almost without thought as he dodged the beams. "But between what you said, and what Phlox observed," the captain shook his head decisively. "I'm not willing to take that risk." He stopped his movement, and his expression softened. "Let's get him to his quarters, away from the people in sickbay, and then we'll decide next steps."
x-x
"You're really a lucky bastard, you know that?" Trip said, casting a sideways look at Malcolm as they moved through the busy corridor.
"How so?" Malcolm asked, keeping his tone neutral. He remembered Trip having quite the sense of humour, but at the moment, he was having trouble reading the man. He wasn't sure if that was due to his own change, or if Trip was acting differently.
"Phlox letting you go," Trip explained. "If he didn't have so many patients, I bet there's no way he'd have released you so soon."
"It's not as if I'm truly free," Malcolm said, raising his arm to indicate the portable monitor that Phlox had placed there. "And I am to remain in my quarters."
"Still, that's better than sickbay, isn't it?"
Malcolm shrugged. Then, seeing the surprised look on Trip's face, quickly added, "Yes, of course." He stopped outside his door, and ran a hand through his hair, purposefully mimicking one of Malcolm's habits.
It wasn't unusual, when he merged with another being, for him to sometimes have trouble incorporating how the being would have acted in a certain situation. It took time to fully incorporate such behaviours into his own persona, and until he did, it was best to step carefully in situations such as these, and ideally, to minimize interactions with those closest to the being. "I'm sorry, I'm just tired," he said in explanation, hoping that would assuage any doubts that Trip had about his manner. "It's been one hell of a day."
Trip blinked at that, then said, "Speaking of which." He leaned against the doorframe. "I should probably tell you, the captain had me turn off your computer's access to the network."
"What?" Malcolm said, trying to cover his alarm. Did they suspect…?
Trip gave him a sly smile. "He knew if we left it on, no way you'd rest."
Malcolm deflated with a laugh. "He's right."
"I know," Trip said, humour lighting his eyes. "Which is why I didn't bother arguing, and neither should you." He made shooing motions with his hands. "Off to bed with you."
Malcolm triggered the door with a smile. "Good night, Commander."
"Night, Malcolm," Trip replied. "Sleep well."
"Somehow," Malcolm said as he entered his quarters, "I don't think that'll be a problem."
x-x
As the door closed behind Malcolm, cutting him off from view, Trip let the smile drop from his face. "One hell of a day?" Since when had Malcolm said stuff like that? But even with that, he still wasn't sure. It could just be nothing. Malcolm had been on this ship long enough that he probably was picking up phrases from his crewmates.
Maybe. But there was something there, something he couldn't put a finger on that was not quite right.
Trip pushed away from the wall and began a slow walk back toward his own quarters. As he passed the security staff that Archer had placed in the corridor, he gave them a brief nod.
Sure, Malcolm was usually so eager to get out of sickbay that he'd gnaw off his own right arm to get out of there, and to see him simply shrug as if it didn't matter was more than a bit odd, but it wasn't as if what Malcolm had said wasn't true. It wasn't as if he hadn't been through a lot, and wasn't tired.
Or maybe he was sick, or something. It's not as if that wasn't a realistic possibility. Sure, he was no doctor, but couldn't things like brainwaves – or whatever it was that Phlox had mentioned – be affected by illness? But Phlox had said no, not in this case.
They'd experienced some pretty strange things since Enterprise had launched. But Malcolm, possessed or… whatever? How realistic was that?
God, his mind was going in circles. There was no way he'd sleep like this. Maybe he should go to engineering instead, work on something mindless for a bit, and that'd take his mind off Malcolm. No. Better, he thought, snapping his fingers. Shuttlepod One. That stupid shuttle's long-awaited and newly-installed lav was acting up. Nothing major, not enough for him to put it high on the engineering schedule, and no one on his staff was exactly chomping at the bit to spend time working on what was, in reality, a glorified portable toilet. It'd be perfect. A couple hours there, working alone and in peace, should calm him down enough that he could sleep.
Trip made an about-face in the hall, almost knocking into the person behind him. "Sorry," he said sheepishly as he stepped to the side, then kept going back toward the shuttle bay.
x-x
As soon as the door to his quarters slid shut, Malcolm set to work. His first task was to rid himself of the wrist monitor. He spent a few moments at it, calling on Malcolm's skills to reprogram the thing so it would still read as if he was wearing it, then he called on his own skills to simply compress his hand and slide out of it, placing it on his bed so it would seem as if he was sleeping.
Rubbing away the ache in his palm – the human hand was not designed to do what he'd just done – he strode across the room toward his bureau. Quickly, he changed out of the scrubs that Phlox had provided, and into some close-fitting clothes. Next, he stood tiptoed on the bed and reached, stretching until his fingers brushed the edges of the ceiling vent. He pulled it free, then was up and through the vent and into the crawl space, moving quickly toward his destination.
He'd be gone hours before they even began to suspect.
In his natural form, he'd been flexible, and he'd used that to make this human body more so, allowing him to move through the densely packed crawlspace far more quickly than Malcolm Reed alone would have done. The endurance natural to his own form helped as well, as this human was tired – he'd not been lying when he'd said that to Trip.
In short order, he reached the ceiling above the armoury. Placing himself over the vent that he knew was directly in front of the weapons locker, he shifted it aside and peered through. Coast clear – the closest personnel were across the room, looking at the monitors – he hooked his ankles on the edge, hanging upside-down from his feet as he disengaged the alarms, then the locks with a quick twist of his hand. He'd grabbed a weapon and disappeared up through the vent in mere moments. Replacing the vent cover, he checked the weapon, making sure it was set to stun. He smiled at it speculatively. He probably wouldn't need it, but if he'd learnt anything from Malcolm Reed, it was that it was best to be prepared.
Through the ceiling's crawlspace, then up through the walls, he knew that his next destination would likely be far more populated than his last. His advantage there would be in the unexpectedness of his attack.
He came out of a ventilation grate along the floor, replacing it behind him with a soft "snick". Squatting there, one hand held to the grate, he listened. There were voices coming from the other side of the shuttle… four crewmembers. Footfalls from across the launchbay… two over there. That was it. Six in total.
He stepped from behind the shuttle, revealing himself fully, weapon already drawn. He stunned the two by the door as he moved through the group nearest him, not bothering with his weapon for them, instead relishing the feel of his fist against flesh, the movement of his legs as they scissored, taking out one after another, moving faster than the humans could react. Heart beating madly, breath coming in gasps, he took them down in seconds that felt stretched, compressed, and then stretched into something more, and he remembered how all this had felt, how good it felt to hurt, to cause pain, to take life.
In the ensuing silence, he stepped through the open door to the shuttle, sliding into the pilot's seat and beginning the power up process. He triggered the door closed, trying to even out his breathing, regain his calm before he proceeded. The engines hummed, and he heard another noise, this one from the back.
"Malcolm?" That was Trip's voice. Malcolm kept his focus on the instruments before him. He heard someone from the bridge calling through the comm., but shut that off with an impatient hand. He wiped blood from his knuckles onto his trousers, and, pushing his hair impatiently from his sweaty forehead, prepared for launch.
Trip stepped behind him and pulled hard at his shoulder. "Malcolm? What the hell are you doing?"
Malcolm looked up into Trip's concerned eyes. "Language, Commander," he said admonishingly. Raising one brow in amusement, he raised his weapon and shot him.
Malcolm turned back to his work, huffing a soft laugh. He'd known that weapon would come in handy for something.
x-x
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