"Malcolm."
The soft breath was a caress against his ear; a voice he thought he would never hear again, sweet and musical, ethereal in quality.
"Hoshi," he croaked out desperately.
"I'm here, Malcolm," he heard her say.
"How?" He answered his own question. "I'm dreaming."
"Yes," was her sad reply.
"Well, if I'm dreaming, I want to see you," he demanded stubbornly.
Hoshi Sato appeared before him, kneeling beside his bunk. She wasn't in her Starfleet uniform, but in a soft, flowing white gown, her dark hair unbound and flying freely. Her eyes were luminous and her smile was as sweet as he remembered it. In the dark, foreboding brig cell she appeared to be bathed in a soft, warm glow, a star in the darkness.
"I'm so sorry," he cried out. Tears began to run down his face as the emotion of seeing her again overwhelmed him.
"I know, Malcolm," she replied gently. "I know."
He let out a choked sob. Only his victim forgave him. Only his victim remained his friend. How could he have even contemplated hurting this woman? Malcolm looked at her from behind the veil of tears in his eyes.
"Please, I never wanted to hurt you," he whispered. "Please, believe that."
"I do, Malcolm," she said quietly. Sadness settled over her delicate features.
Her expression sent a pang of pain through him. Great Malcolm, kill her first and then make her upset, he thought wildly to himself. I would do anything to see her smile again; that sweet smile that she gave me when she first appeared.
"I'm so sorry," he repeated as his tears began again. He clamped his eyes shut in an attempt to stop them. "You didn't deserve to die!"
"Yes, Malcom," Hoshi answered softly. "All you wanted was my love."
"What?" His eyes flew up in startled surprise and he stared at the apparition before him. "All I wanted was your love?" He was confused. Did he?
"My love, anyone's love," Hoshi said gently. "That's all you ever wanted Malcolm, someone to love you. To love someone and be loved back. Unconditionally."
The last of his reserves left him and ugly, wrenching sobs burst forth. It was true. He had never felt such love before in his life. The closest had been from his sister, but even she had been scarred by their upbringing, always holding back something of herself, making him wonder if anyone in his family would be capable of such love. Was he?
He just wanted to be a part of something. To be accepted. To be loved.
Had that what he had been seeking when he attacked Hoshi? There were no memories of what he had been thinking or the incident itself, save for what he saw on the tape. But Malcolm had to admit that during his time with Hoshi, he had felt a growing awareness, a closeness towards her, a bond of sorts that was unlike any he had with any woman before. Had he pursued that?
That must be it, Malcolm thought in his ill and exhausted. He was an armory officer and head of security. He was supposed to be aggressive. Trained and drilled to be that way. He must have gotten it into his mind that what he wanted was Hoshi, and he had attacked her. That must have been the motivation, and in his muddled, pain-filled state, it made perfect sense to him.
His head ached and it seemed easier to just finally accept that it all as true. Pieces were still missing, but Malcolm was too tired, too sick to fight and argue anymore.
The sadness still lingered on Hoshi's pretty features.
"How can I make it right?" he whispered wearily. "How can I make everything right?"
"You know how to make it right, Malcolm," Hoshi said.
His eyes slid over to the hypospray. It remained in the same spot where Archer had thrown it down earlier.
"Hoshi-," he reached out to touch her, but she disappeared in a gentle veil of smoke, her sad smile the last thing he saw, an elusive Cheshire cat never to be seen again.
"Hoshi," he whispered to the empty cell.
Yes, Malcolm Reed knew what he had to do to make it right, to remove the sadness from Hoshi's face. He pushed himself off the bunk and collapsed onto his hands and knees, too ill to stand upright. Malcolm crawled over to the hypospray and picked it.