Sorry for the delay posting this. I have fallen behind on my non-work life. Rest assured that the story is actually *done*. The only delay is in my posting.

x-x

Malcolm stood, leaving Trip's body where it lay on the ground. He stepped away, holstering his weapon as he returned to the controls, sinking into the pilot's seat with a sigh.

It was kind of too bad, what he'd had to do to Trip. He'd almost found himself liking the man, despite his many annoying qualities, including the incessant talking. Having to shoot him, in the end, was, in a way, disappointing. Too impersonal. Too quick. Still, it was done. Now, to focus on the task at hand.

The ship rocked and shook, then pulled up sharply. He grabbed the edge of the console, anchoring himself there.

The comm. came alive, the automated voice saying, "Landing privileges are revoked. You are unauthorized."

Malcolm swore aloud as he felt the ship accelerate, and the ground fell away as the shuttle was pushed up into the outer atmosphere again.

Bloody hell. Bugger. Bollocks. Fuck him from a height. He'd thought he'd been in, there. He'd introduced himself as Malcolm Reed from Enterprise, and that seemed to have worked. He'd thought all was well. What had happened?

As the shuttle broke through the atmospheric barrier and entered space, he caught sight of a large ship looming into view over the planet's horizon and his heart sank. Enterprise. Of course. He'd thought he'd evaded them. How had they…? Madly trying for evasive manoeuvres, the controls ignoring his every move, he realised what had happened: tracking. They'd tracked him here, despite the distance, via the beacon that he himself had installed on each shuttlepod. He should have known that. He growled his frustration, pounding his fist on the console. *Malcolm* knew that. Somehow, Malcolm must have shielded that information from him. That should not have been possible. Malcolm should be fully subsumed into the whole.

All wasn't lost quite yet. He still had this body. Enterprise would bring him on board, and between Malcolm's skills and his own, he'd manage an escape. He'd been trying to get away on the shuttlepod, avoid the muss and fuss of taking over Enterprise herself. But if pressed; if he didn't get away today; if they forced him… Exhaling loudly, he returned his focus to the controls. If not today, then soon enough.

It wasn't until he felt the knife plunge into his back that he realized how foolish he'd been.

He turned toward his attacker, and felt it again, in his ribs. Sharp pain gone dull; hot to cold in an instant. He looked from the knife, to the hand holding it, and up into the face of the man who'd struck him. Trip. He wrapped his own hand around where Trip's was clenched on the hilt of the knife, thinking he might push it away, but somehow, he couldn't quite manage.

"I didn't think you had it in you," he said.

Trip looked him in the eyes. "That's because you don't know me at all." And at that, Trip wrenched the knife, turning it as he pulled it out.

Malcolm fell from his seat, lying crumpled on the floor by the console. He stared at Trip's feet. He should fight back. He should get up, and grab that knife, and… He should…

Trip squatted beside him and, with a shaking hand, pushed Malcolm's hair back from his forehead.

Malcolm's eyes slid closed. "No," he managed to say.

"Sorry, kid," Trip said softly, from somewhere quite close.

Malcolm knew what was coming. When he felt the sharp thrust of pain in his side, he let it come.

x-x

Trip pushed himself to his feet, the knife dropping from his hand as he stood. He could see Enterprise filling most of the viewscreen, and he knew he didn't have much time. He could not bring this thing aboard Enterprise.

Wincing against the pain in his side from where the alien had shot him, he gave one last glance to the body on the floor beneath his feet. "Damn it, Malcolm," he said softly. He closed his eyes tight against the sight.

Malcolm's shot felt like it had taken a chunk out of his side, but it was more of a graze; nothing that Phlox couldn't patch up. Funny, that at such close range, and with Malcolm's level of skill, his aim had been that far off. And that – that thing had just left him there afterwards. Malcolm would never have just assumed he was dead. Malcolm would have checked. That thing had not been Malcolm.

He'd been so angry. That thing had stolen his friend from him. That thing had forced him to… He hissed in a breath, pushing that memory aside for now. He had too much to do.

God, he hoped this worked. He knew the alien could get into humans. Sure, it had said that it had chosen Malcolm because of the ceremony, and the fear. He was feeling plenty of fear himself, and he had no idea if that thing could really only go into Malcolm, or if it could go into any human, travelling at will from host to host as each one died. Or maybe there was something about the ceremony itself that was needed in order to do the transfer. He had no way of knowing, but he had to assume the thing could go in any human; that it was in him now. How long he had left – how long he'd be able to control his own actions, he had no idea. Not long, probably. Not long.

His solution was not a pretty one – he could imagine the reaction he'd get from Jon if he told him about his plan - but it might just work, and it really was the only thing that might. He looked down to where Malcolm lay crumpled on the floor, blood staining his uniform. With a shaking hand, he reached over and turned off the shuttle's atmospheric controls.

He triggered the comm., and held his voice steady as he spoke. "Hoshi," he said. "Is the captain there?"

x-x

Trip stood at the front of the shuttle, staring out at the great ship beyond. His Enterprise: she truly was beautiful.

Trip knew it would take Enterprise at least ten minutes to bring them on board. He hoped that was both enough time, and not too much. He'd told the captain that Malcolm was dead; that the thing inside Malcolm was dead. He'd asked if he could have a few minutes alone, just to… He let out a sigh, wrapping his arms around himself for warmth and something else. He'd deliberately sabotaged the shuttle's drive system, so Enterprise would have to tow her in. All in order to buy himself – to buy Malcolm – some time.

He and Malcolm had gotten fairly close over the past year. It had surprised him. Malcolm had come across as such a stuck up bastard when he'd first met him, and he knew he himself had bothered the hell out of Malcolm at first. Who'd have thought they'd end up being friends? But Malcolm actually had a sense of humour underneath that uptight exterior. You just had to get to know him.

Trip smiled wanly at the memories. Turning away from the viewport, he sank to the floor beside Malcolm, resting a hand on Malcolm's unmoving shoulder. Friendships won and lost.

Friends. Jon. He knew what he was about to do would abuse that friendship – perhaps damage it beyond repair – but he saw no other option.

He could tell Jon. Perhaps, with enough time, he'd be able to get Jon to go along with his plan. But he really didn't have the time, and more than that, he didn't want to make Jon complicit in this. The man had enough on his shoulders already, without having to – No. Just, no. This was his decision. His alone. He'd live with the repercussions.

He could feel the cold seeping into him, the floor beneath him already gone icy; it reminded him, again, of his and Malcolm's last adventure on Shuttlepod One. That had been the true beginning of their friendship. That this could be the end… somehow, it was fitting.

He looked down at his friend. "Hope this works," he murmured, voice tight, from the cold or the emotion, he wasn't sure.

The ship jerked, then began moving. Enterprise must have locked on. Breath pluming out before him, Trip stuck out one leg, and used his foot to move the knife across the deck. When it was close enough, he grasped it in a shaky hand. He stared at the knife, then again at Malcolm. No soft puffs of breath, fogging in the chill air. No movement. No life at all. Still, he reached out a hand, cupping it over Malcolm's mouth for a moment, checking for breath. He let his hand fall away. "Sorry, kid," he said, not sure what for – for what he'd already done, or for what would happen next.

Trip lifted the knife, trying vainly to hold the thing steady despite the cold making his fingers clumsy. He stared at the weapon, winced, and then rolled his eyes at himself in exasperation. Biting his lip, he looked over at Malcolm. "You better hope to hell this works."

Yeah, he thought. The both of them.

x-x

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