Squeaky

They materialized on the transporter pad, soaking wet and freezing. In one movement, the Captain scooped Hoshi's unconscious form against his chest, and broke into a run, Malcolm right beside him.

"Out of the way!" Malcolm shouted; bodily moving crewmembers aside as they charged towards sick bay. He glanced over at Hoshi as they ran. Her hair hung in heavy strands against her face and down one shoulder, the loops and braids having come undone in the storm. Her face was abnormally pale, turning her rich complexion grey as ash. The prosthetic horns, painted to match her colouring, stood out in sharp contrast against her pallid skin. Her lips were purple-blue; her lashes dark stains against her cheeks.

After an eternity, they reached sick bay, Archer barely paused his stride to accommodate for the automatic door.

"Right over here, Captain," Dr. Phlox said, indicating an empty biobed he and Liz had already set-up for Hoshi. Gently, Archer eased Hoshi's limp form down onto the bed. Her head rolled to one side, her lips parting in a parody of sleep. Archer stepped away from the biobed as Phlox began his assessment. The Captain's eyes were wild with despair, the front of his jacket drenched with water and blood.

Liz immediately set to work. She removed the fake horns from Hoshi's face and wrists, swept her wet hair up and out of the way. Her movements were precise, extremely clinical. Even her hands didn't shake as she began cutting away the thick material of Hoshi's dress. If Malcolm didn't know better, he would have thought that Liz barely knew Hoshi, that the injured woman meant nothing to her. Malcolm knew better. He could tell by the rigid set of Liz's face that she was working extremely hard to keep from crying or collapsing to the deck. She exposed the injury on Hoshi's side and turned to Dr. Phlox, dry-eyed.

"What do you need me to do?" she asked.

Dr. Phlox looked at the bleeding hole on the right side of Hoshi's abdomen and made his decision. "Help me prepare her for surgery." He looked up at the two men, and Malcolm found himself picking at his horned prosthetics, feeling strangely self-conscious and useless. "Now," Dr. Phlox continued, "could either of you please tell me what happened?"

Archer shot Malcolm a dark look, "Lieutenant," he said, with a quick gesture indicating Malcolm should speak.

Malcolm cleared his throat, his inadequacy pulsing through him like pain from a wound. He took on an 'at-ease' position. "Hoshi was hit by a projectile, fired at high speed from a distance of approximately seven metres."

Dr. Phlox looked taken aback. "Why would anyone want to shoot at the Ensign?" he asked.

"We were caught in the middle of an altercation of some kind," Malcolm said, "apparently the local law enforcement had managed to trap a criminal in a building near where we were standing." He could feel cold water dripping from his hair down the back of his neck. The wool jackets they were wearing were sopping, chilling him deep into his bones. He hoped Liz and Phlox would get Hoshi out of the rest of her wet clothes; she could catch her death. Malcolm grimaced to himself, unless the bullet had already done the job for her.

"You didn't know?" Liz said, "They didn't warn you?"

Malcolm forced himself to stand straighter. "There were warning signs," he said, "I did not recognize them as such."

Liz closed her eyes, steadied herself, opened them again and continued her assessment of Hoshi's vital signs.

Phlox looked at him. "Your arm is bleeding, Lieutenant,"

"Yes sir." Malcolm replied. "It's just a flesh wound."

"I'd like it treated, nevertheless," Phlox said. He pointed towards the back of sickbay with the instrument in his hand. "Go see Ensign Cohn. He'll clean it up for you." Phlox turned to look at Archer. "Your transport to the ship prevented you from employing the proper decontamination procedure, Captain," he said, "could you please make your way into the decon chamber after the Lieutenant has his arm looked at?"

"Right away," Archer nodded. He looked coldly at Malcolm. "Lieutenant."

"Yes sir," Malcolm replied, following quickly behind the Captain. He forced himself to not look back at Hoshi as he passed.

"Cap'n," Trip's voice stopped Archer in mid-stride. The engineer was sitting up in a biobed, PADD forgotten in his hand. The jelly fish creature, Crys, was attached to his back, healing his remaining burns. His eyes were dark with concern, "what happened? Is Hoshi gonna be all right?"

"I hope so," Archer said tightly. His face softened. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm not in any pain," Trip replied with a small smile, "Doc says I'll be able to return to duty soon." He looked between Malcolm and Archer, "how bad is Hoshi hurt?"

"She was shot," Archer said.

"Sweet Jesus," Trip breathed. He rubbed his face with one hand. "How bad?" he asked again.

"Phlox is taking her into surgery now," Archer replied, "we'll know more soon."

"What happened?" Trip's face was imploring, "Why would anyone—"

"I'll talk to you after decon," Archer said. He strode out.

Malcolm turned to follow the Captain out. He hadn't been to see Trip since the other man had woken from under Phlox's sedation just yesterday, hadn't intended to see him at all. He dropped his gaze from where he had been studying Trip's bare skin, searching for a hint of the terrible burns that had been there just three days ago. There was nothing, not a trace. It was like that awful day had never happened, except for the dark images that had been emblazoned in Malcolm's mind; images that haunted his thoughts; interrupted his dreams.

"It musta been bad down there," Trip said. "You look pretty shaken up."

"I'm fine, Commander," Malcolm replied stiffly.

"Your arm's bleedin'." Trip said, gesturing with his PADD, "you gonna get that checked out?"

"No," Malcolm said as he walked out of sick bay. He closed his hands into fists, feeling the remnants of Hoshi's blood still clinging to his palms.

***

There was so much blood.

Liz swallowed hard, forced herself to concentrate on what Dr. Phlox was doing, to anticipate what instruments he would need next. Anything to keep her mind from remembering that the naked body before her was Hoshi's; that it was Hoshi's blood pooling onto the biobed, spilling onto the deck.

The bullet had entered the lower right quadrant of Hoshi's abdomen, creating a perfect hole in the middle lobe of her liver before neatly exiting out her back, just lateral to her spine. The liver is a very vascular organ, Liz thought, that's why she's bleeding so much. For once her medical training couldn't offer her comfort.

Phlox was humming quietly as he worked, searching for bullet fragments, bits of cloth from her dress, a thread of blue from her Starfleet underwear. He irrigated and cleansed the wound, then expertly stitched up her liver, and the front and back openings.

"Barely even a scar!" he exclaimed happily, "Hoshi will still be able to wear a bikini without worry."

Liz tried to smile, faltered. She cleared her throat. "Should I hang another unit of blood?" she asked, voice only a little hoarse. Phlox nodded his consent, and she quickly replaced the near-empty bag of synthetic blood with a second, watching for a moment as the pink-coloured liquid filled the I.V. tube and continued in it's path into Hoshi's arm.

Phlox had pulled a blanket up over Hoshi and was now busy taking off his surgical gloves. "Well, Ms. Cutler," he said conversationally as he busied himself with his sterile gown, "hang another unit of blood after this one has run out, then the same routine as always. Vital signs every two hours; check her haemoglobin count and electrolytes to see if she'll need any more blood or fluid after this next unit." He threw his soiled gown into a biohazard-recycling bin, "oh, and perhaps you could give Ms. Sato a quick bed-bath, hmmm? To get the blood off?"

Liz nodded, swaying slightly. The adrenaline that had gotten her through the surgery had left her in a rush, and she was feeling light headed. There was so much blood…

"Ensign?" Phlox turned to her when she didn't answer. Liz had one hand on her forehead, the other on her stomach, praying she wouldn't be sick. Phlox came around the bed to stand by her side, quickly sitting her down into a nearby chair. "Perhaps I will ask Ensign Cohn to finish up here, hmmm?" he said.

Liz nodded, letting her head hang down.

***

Malcolm was standing in decon in his Starfleet briefs, body glistening and slightly sticky from the decontamination gel he and the Captain had just put on each other. The wound on his arm was throbbing like a bee sting from the effects of the gel, but at least it had stopped bleeding. He stood at attention, letting Archer yell at him.

"What the hell happened down there, Lieutenant?" Archer shouted, pacing up and down the small room, "one minute, everything seems fine, and the next, we're caught in the middle of a gunfight." He turned on Malcolm, "and you didn't see it coming?"

"No, sir." Malcolm replied.

"Jesus, Malcolm!" Archer spat, "you had one job down there! One! You're meant to keep us safe!"

"Yes sir."

"And the one time it matters, the one time that we could actually use your expertise in a hostile situation, you don't even notice!" Archer gestured vehemently with his hands, "what the hell were you doing? daydreaming?"

Malcolm tightened his lips a fraction. He had not been daydreaming. "No sir," he said.

"How could you not notice, not see the danger?" Archer continued, "They had guns, for God's sake!"

"Yes sir," Malcolm repeated.

"I mean, that's something I'd expect from Travis, or Trip," the Captain said, resuming his pacing, "they're not trained to recognize potentially dangerous situations. You are! Or at least, I thought you were." The last part was said with deep sarcasm, and Archer stopped to stand in front of Malcolm again. "How do you explain this?" he asked, "how can you possibly explain how you allowed Hoshi to get hurt?"

Malcolm thought back to the events as they had unfolded on the planet a mere half-hour ago. They had been walking through a small town on the planet they were currently orbiting, looking for shelter from the storm that was threatening any second. The society was pre-warp; its level of technology landing somewhere between Riann's and the planet where he and Archer had almost died for his communicator. They were dressed as locals: woollen clothes, impractical shoes, horn prosthetics on their brow ridges and cheekbones. Hoshi's hair was done up in an elaborate style, her dress elegantly embroidered. She had looked like a princess and was in a gay mood.

She'd been chattering happily at his elbow as she held his arm, pointing out things of interest. Archer had fallen behind, checking their map, trying to decide if they should look for shelter in the town, or make a mad dash back to the shuttle. Malcolm had led Hoshi out into the street, first checking that the way was cleared of carriage-type vehicles and the rhinoceros-like animals that passed as horses before they crossed.

That's when it happened.

A local shouted at them, waving his hands frantically. Malcolm had immediately pushed Hoshi behind him, interpreting the alien's gesture to mean that the danger was in front of them and they were walking towards it. But he had been wrong, and Hoshi had paid the price.

The shoot-out erupted just behind them, in between them and the far side of the street. It took the sound of the first bullet to make him realize his mistake, and he threw himself on Hoshi, bearing her to the ground. He felt a bullet slice through the skin on his upper arm as he fell, body covering Hoshi's. He lay there, half on top of Hoshi, head down, cursing his stupidity for not seeing, not understanding what the alien had meant. The local had been waving them towards him, away from the gunplay that he knew was about to happen. He had been trying to save their lives.

It was over in a matter of seconds; the local law enforcement apparently having shot the criminal to death just metres from where he and Hoshi lay huddled on the ground. Archer ran over, helped Malcolm to his feet. And that was when they had discovered that Hoshi was unconscious, a neat bullet hole in the front of her dress, her bodice covered in blood.

And that's when the sky had opened, and the rain had come pouring down.

"I have no explanation, sir," Malcolm said.

"You bet you don't." Archer snarled. He turned from Malcolm, staring at nothing on the far wall, radiating hostility. "If she dies…" the Captain let the sentence trail off. Malcolm wasn't sure if it was a statement or a threat.

"I accept full responsibility for Ensign Sato's injuries," Malcolm said to Archer's back.

"And what the hell good does that do?" Archer said without turning around. "How the hell does that help anything?" He paused, and Malcolm could see the smallest slump of the Captain's shoulders as his anger began to fade into despair. "I'm the reason Hoshi's out here," Archer said so quietly that Malcolm had to strain to hear. The Captain put his hands over his eyes, stood silently for a moment. Suddenly, he straightened and turned back towards the Lieutenant. "About your transfer request," he said, "do you still want me to put it through?"

Malcolm blinked at the abrupt change of topic. It had been three days ago that he had put in the request, and in the intense events since then, he had forgotten about it. He realized that he had actually hoped the Captain had forgotten about it, too. "Yes," he replied, "I think that would be for the best."

"Yeah, me too." Archer said.

They spent the rest of their time in decon in silence.

***

"How she doin'?" Trip asked, and put his arm around Liz's shoulders. He was clad only in pyjama bottoms; his bare feel cool against the deck of sick bay. Crys had been removed from his back a few moments before and the skin there felt tender, raw and tight like skin after sunburn. The doctor had given him some ointment to rub on his newly mended burns for the next few days, but other than that, he was better; totally and completely healed. One of the drugs the doctor had given him had even blunted the memory of the experience, changed it from a vivid nightmare to a faded dream; the kind you forgot as soon as you woke up. He was going to be fine. Liz's uniform scratched against his chest, and he shifted position to accommodate.

She looked up at him, gave a sad smile. "The surgery went well. She didn't even loose too much blood in the end."

Trip looked over to where Hoshi lay on a biobed. Her hair had been brushed out and rested soft against her cheek and on her shoulders. Her eyes were closed, their rapid back-and-forth movement visible beneath their lids. She moaned softly, shifted her head from side-to-side, a slight flush of red in her cheeks. He turned back to Liz. "She don't look well."

"She isn't." Liz agreed, her words catching. "Because of the severity of her injury, she couldn't go through decon. And now she seems to have an infection."

"But the doc can cure it, right?" Liz's crestfallen expression told Trip volumes. He pulled her closer; wrapping his other arm around her while she huddled against his chest. He rested his cheek against her temple. "He'll find a cure, Liz." He whispered into her hair, "He always does."

Liz took a shuddering breath, stepped away from Trip. Instantly, the painful rubbing of her uniform against his burns ended, and he tried not to sigh in relief. She wiped her eyes, gave him a watery smile. "Yeah, I know," she said, "but…"

"She's still sick," Trip finished for her.

"Yeah," Liz said in a small voice.

They stood side by side, watching Hoshi's fevered sleep. "The infection started at the point of entry, in her liver," Liz explained after a few minutes silence, "the liver is an open portal to her blood system, so the infection has already spread." She paused, wrapped her arms around herself. "She's beginning to go septic."

Trip raised his eyebrows, "and that's bad, right?"

Liz turned to look at him, expression bleak. "She could be dead in a matter of hours."

Trip felt his heart thump painfully in his chest. He forced the air back into his lungs. Hoshi: possibly dead in a matter of hours? He wouldn't believe it, he couldn't. "The doc'll fix it." Trip said with conviction, "don't worry."

"You really believe that?" Liz said, hope glistening in her eyes.

"Absolutely," he patted her back. "Hoshi ain't gonna die."

Liz leaned against him, and he put his arm around her again. "Thanks, Trip," she whispered, "I needed that."

They stood together for another moment, watching Hoshi. "The Captain said it was Malcolm's fault that Hoshi got hurt," Liz said finally.

Trip turned to her, dropped his arm. "What?"

"When Dr. Phlox asked them what happened," Liz continued, "Archer made a point of having Malcolm explain it, like he wanted everyone to know that Malcolm could have prevented it."

Trip shook his head, "I can't believe that. Malcolm wouldn't let Hoshi get hurt!" He gave a mirthless laugh, "the boy would rather die than let anyone else on board get a scratch!" He shook his head again, "I just can't accept that it was Malcolm's fault."

Liz lifted one shoulder and let it fall. "Malcolm said that he 'didn't recognize the warning signs,' or something," she said, "I think he's responsible for what happened. It's his fault that Hoshi got shot." She turned to look at Trip, "and I think he knows it, too."

Trip rubbed the back of his neck. "If that's true, the guilt's gonna tear the boy apart."

Liz's face hardened. "I hope it kills him."

Trip looked at her, "Liz!"

Liz didn't look at him. "Did you know that he put in a transfer request to headquarters?"

"What?" Trip said, confused. Jon hadn't mentioned it when he came to see him after he finished decon.

"Yeah," Liz snorted, "and he wasn't even going to tell me." She turned to look at Trip, "And I guess he hasn't bothered to tell you, either." She turned back to Hoshi.

"He's gonna transfer?" Trip said. It felt like someone had just punched him in the gut. "He's not gonna get it rescinded?" He pulled Liz around to face him, "he must be plannin' on talkin' to the Cap'n about it. He can't leave while Hoshi's wounded!"

"If he's changed his mind, he sure as hell hasn't bothered to say anything to me," Liz replied, "motherfucker."

"I don't believe this," Trip said, "he wasn't even gonna tell me?"

"I guess not," Liz shrugged, "I would've thought better of him."

"Yeah," Trip whispered, "me too."

***

His shift had finally ended. The longest day of his life.

Malcolm lay on his bunk, clad in his regulation blues, too worn out to change into anything else.

He had gone straight to his quarters after shift, wanting desperately to avoid the crowd in the mess hall, the sympathetic or accusing looks he was sure to receive from the rest of the crew. By now everyone would know of Hoshi's injury, would know it was his fault.

The guilt twisted inside him like a serrated blade. He had misunderstood the alien's signal, had actually pushed Hoshi into the line of fire. It was no-one else's mistake, only his. He took full responsibility.

The guilt was killing him.

He had debated going to sick bay to see how Hoshi was doing after shift. But he knew that Trip would still be there, and Liz, too. Trip would hate him as soon as Liz told him what he had done, if he didn't hate him already for ending their relationship; for refusing to leave the shuttlepod when it was sinking. He hadn't even had the guts to tell Trip he was going to transfer. Liz already had plenty of reasons to hate him. This just would be the boulder that broke the camel's back. Shame pounded through him, echoing in his head with every beat of his heart. Even the Captain didn't want him here anymore. Archer was going to accept his transfer request, wanted him off Enterprise for allowing Hoshi to get hurt. Perhaps he would go to sick bay later, when Liz might be back in her quarters, and Trip would be asleep.

He had blown it, had ruined everything. He had lost the love of his life, his best friend and the best job he'd ever had in a matter of days. He'd almost killed a good friend through a careless mistake.

Malcolm covered his face with his hands, squeezing his eyes shut against a sudden rush of tears. His father had been right about him, all along.

He wished he were dead.

He closed his eyes, tried to relax, to let sleep take him for a few hours. He hoped he wouldn't dream of Hoshi, bleeding to death in the rain and the mud.

***

Trip lay back on his bed in his quarters, savouring the feel of cool, fresh sheets against his skin. He had done the best he could in applying the ointment the doctor had given him, but he couldn't reach all the areas on his back. There was one spot, just below the middle of his shoulders that still felt raw and itchy, and he wished there was someone he could ask to put cream on it for him.

As if he needed another reason to think of Malcolm.

Trip sighed and closed his eyes, resting his hands on his stomach. It had been days since he'd seen Malcolm for more than a moment, been weeks since they had had a conversation of any kind. The few minutes on the catwalk, where he had ordered Malcolm to leave him and rescue Ensign Lawless instead, had been the most words they had exchanged since they had broken up, so many weeks ago. Correction, Trip reminded himself, since Malcolm had broken up with him. He had never wanted that, still didn't.

But now Malcolm was transferring off Enterprise, and the relationship was over; truly and completely done. In the past; history; warp residue; ion trails. Pain laced through Trip, catching his breath, stabbing him through his heart.

And Malcolm wasn't even going to tell him good-bye.

"Bastard," Trip muttered. Liz was right. He hoped the guilt would kill him.

***

"Still here, Ensign?" Phlox said, frowning as he came back into sick bay from the mess hall.

Liz looked up from where she had been studying the reading on the scanner she had just used to take Hoshi's temperature. "I was just checking her vital signs again," Liz said, "here." She walked the instrument over to Phlox, and stood by while he inspected it.

"Hmmm," he mused, "her temperature is elevated, but holding steady with the antipyretics I've given her. Her blood pressure is dropping, while her breathing rate has increased." He looked at Liz, "her infection is spreading, I'm afraid."

Liz nodded, "I know."

Phlox gave her a brief smile. "Try not to worry, Ms. Cutler," he said, "I have been analysing the bacteria for most of the shift, and I feel confident I will be able to synthesize an antibiotic soon."

Liz gave him a weak smile back, "I hope so."

Phlox eyed her critically. "I'm assuming you didn't eat dinner tonight, am I correct?"

"I wasn't hungry," she mumbled.

"-and I'm thinking it is very much past the end of your shift, correct?"

"Yes, but-"

Phlox looked at her kindly, "Ms. Cutler," he said, "I appreciate your deep feelings for Ensign Sato, but you cannot let that interfere with your health. Now, please go to your cabin and try to get some sleep." He held up his hand when she opened her mouth to protest, "I'd rather not contact the Captain and make it an order," he said, "hmmm?"

"Can I sleep here tonight?" she asked, "I could use one of the empty biobeds-"

"I'm afraid not, Ensign," Phlox answered, "that is a privilege reserved only for the Captain. I find it too distracting from my normal nightly routine." He tilted his head towards the door, face questioning.

"I'll go," Liz said, defeated. She turned back to Hoshi, leaning over and giving the other woman a gentle kiss. "Sleep well, baby," she murmured. Giving Phlox a brief wave, she left.

She tried not to think of how empty her cabin would feel without Hoshi in it.

***

It was night.

Hoshi opened her eyes and looked around sick bay. The lights had been turned down low; all the creatures were asleep in their cages. Dr. Phlox was nowhere to be seen.

She sat upright, swinging her legs off the side of the biobed and gracefully jumping to the floor, leaving her body behind like an old coat.

She felt her hair fall in waves down her back, felt a cool breeze prickle along her skin. She realized she was naked, frowned, thought a second and clothed herself in a kimono. She chose a special pattern of white cranes and pink cherry blossoms on a blue and white background. The same kimono that had been hanging in her grandmother's house when she was a little girl.

Hoshi looked back at herself lying on the biobed. Her body was hot, feverish, sweating under the light blanket, moaning softly. Gently, she brushed the hair back from her body's forehead, feeling sad to see herself so unwell. It was a strange feeling, looking down at her injured and ill body, touching her own skin like a mother would a sick child.

She had never left her body behind before, didn't even know she could.

Quietly, she drifted towards the doors of sick bay, feeling the cool of the deck beneath her bare feet. She looked back at her body before she left, biting her lip. She hoped her body would survive the night, but if not, at least she was now free to say good-bye.

***

She exited sick bay, stepping through the doors into a beautiful landscape.

There were rolling hills of lush green punctuated by thick, full trees. In the distance, the sun was setting in a gorgeous pallet of colours, touching the area with a soft, golden glow.

There was a house in front of her. As Hoshi approached, she could see it was a small, brick farmhouse with a porch. There were two rocking chairs on the porch, facing the sunset.

She knew at once she had found Trip while he was sleeping, and had stepped silently into his dream. He was sitting in one of the chairs, Malcolm beside him. They weren't speaking, merely sitting in a companionable quiet, watching the dying rays of the sun. She stayed at the side of the house, just out of their sight and closed her eyes, turned her face towards the light, feeling its warmth play on her skin. She felt an incredible sense of peace and fulfilment wash through her, the feelings Trip was having as he sat on the porch with Malcolm. Hoshi stood like that, not moving, enjoying the tranquility of Trip's dream.

A ripple of something disturbing touched her. Slowly, she opened her eyes, and turned back towards the porch.

Malcolm was gone.

Trip was on his feet in an instant, panicked. He started calling for the other man, voice harsh and frantic with fear. Hoshi felt his pain, his anguish as he stood on the porch, calling and calling for Malcolm, gripping the railing with whitened fingers. She started running towards the front of the house, wanting to reach Trip, to tell him it was only a dream and that Malcolm was safe on Enterprise, sleeping in his cabin.

Before she reached the first step, Trip had turned and ran into the house, the screen door slamming behind him. She knew he was searching room-to-room inside, but now the corridors were getting longer, the doors locked, impossible to open, the keys lost, nowhere to be found. Hoshi didn't know what would happen if she went into the house, so she stood on the porch and waited. Hoping Trip would come back out.

Time passed, the sun set further, casting long, grey shadows, turning the once stunning view into something eerie and sinister. A cool breeze began to blow, and she shivered, pulling her arms back inside her sleeves. Trip still hadn't reappeared.

The sky grew dark.

Ahead, far in the distance, she could see explosions. The bursts of lights were red and angry, illuminating scraggly, broken and leafless trees; vast twisted nets of barbed wire. They turned the sky the colour of blood. Almost beyond the range of her hearing, she could just make out the sound of voices; shouting, screaming; the staccato of gunfire; the roar of flame.

With one last glance behind her, Hoshi stepped off the porch and began walking.

***

Malcolm wasn't dreaming of Hoshi.

He and Trip were running across no-man's-land, trying desperately to reach the safety of the allied trenches before the next flare went up and their silhouettes would become visible against the darkness. Malcolm could feel his heart slamming against his rib cage, feel the searing cold of each breath he drew into his lungs. His boots slid on the muddy ground, making his run ungainly and difficult. He was nearly deaf from the howl of the explosions all around them, nearly blind from their instantaneous, scorching light. He gripped his rifle with both hands, its barrel slick with mud and sweat.

They had nearly made the trench when she appeared.

Ensign Lawless stood before them, impeccably turned out in the uniform of an enemy solider. Her eyes were cold and distant, her lips turned up in a dreadful parody of a welcoming smile. She held a flame-thrower at her hip.

"I have to kill the spiders, Lieutenant," she said with a laugh, and turned on her weapon.

Malcolm dove off to the side, feeling the intense heat of the flame-thrower miss him by inches. The rifle flew out of his hands, immediately lost in the darkness in front of him. He landed on his front in the mud, quickly rolled over onto his back. His eyes widened in horror, a scream tore at his throat.

Trip was engulfed in fire.

Malcolm scrambled to his feet, every movement agonisingly slow. After an eternity, he finally reached the other man and knelt beside him. Trip was lying face down, not moving. The back of his uniform burned away, the skin on his back charred and blackened. Choking and gagging, Malcolm gently turned him over, nausea almost overtaking him as he looked at Trip's front. The skin on his chest was hanging in strips like over-cooked pieces of meat; half his face was a blistered dark red. Lawless was nowhere to be seen.

A bomb exploded near them, and then another, the violent red light slamming into him; spraying them both with dirt and debris; metal and bone. The air was filled with the cries of wounded soldiers; the scent of blood; the taste of copper thick in his mouth.

Malcolm grabbed a scrap of Trip's uniform, dragged him forward towards their trenches on his hands and knees. Trying to keep his head down, trying to keep them both alive.

Suddenly, his hand connected nothing but air. Before he could even scream, he and Trip tumbled forward and down, falling end over end until finally hitting bottom.

They were in a deep, black ditch; its sides slick with mud and water. Above them was nothing but explosions and stars.

Malcolm rolled over onto his stomach, hands searching vainly for Trip in the near darkness. He could feel the wet and cold seeping through the woollen layers of his uniform, his shoes becoming sodden with muddy water as he crawled on the soggy ground. His breath was misting in the damp, chill air. His face was wet, his tears a strange warmth against his face, his fingers growing numb.

Almost at the end of hope, he felt the rough scratch of wool against his hand. Malcolm sat back in the ditch, pulled Trip into his arms. He could feel water soaking through his pants and the back of his jacket, its touch freezing his skin and making his teeth chatter. He held Trip against him, rocking the other man back and forth, praying as hard as he could that Trip was still alive, that someone would find them and rescue them from this hell-hole.

"Don't die, Trip," Malcolm whispered, "I couldn't bear it."

His only answer was the pounding of the guns.

***

Hoshi walked across no-man's-land, feeling the mud cold and wet against her bare feet. She lifted the hem of her kimono to ankle-height, careful to avoid dragging it in the dirt and ruining its delicate fabric. Daintily, she stepped around a corpse, his face frozen in an eternal scream of terror and pain.

It was deep night. The surrounding blackness punctuated only by the weak stars and the red flash of explosions all around. The intermittent light showed scene after scene of horror and destruction. The air was filled with the cries of the dying.

Malcolm was having a very bad dream.

She stopped for a moment, surveying the bleak scenery ahead of her. She had expected to have found Malcolm by now, but he was no-where to be seen. She could feel his fear however; feel the waves of his distress prickle at her skin, tugging her towards him. Sighing, she started forward again, wishing he were easier to find.

The ditch came up abruptly, and Hoshi stumbled, caught herself before she fell. It was dark and gloomy at the bottom, more-full of shadows than light. She squatted down, peering deep into the blackness, ears attuned for any sound, eyes searching for a hint of movement.

After a moment, she saw him, huddled against the wall of the pit, Trip's body held in his lap. She could hear him praying, bargaining with God, repeating the same words over and over until his voice had become hoarse and the words had lost all meaning. She sighed again. This was not good.

Standing, Hoshi closed her eyes for a second, envisioning warmth and sunshine, a beautiful meadow, a blanket.

She opened her eyes.

Hoshi was standing waste-deep in wildflowers. A warm breeze was blowing, and butterflies were dancing in its wake. The sky was blue, the sun half-way between early and late afternoon. There was a large, brightly coloured quilt on the ground in front of her. Malcolm was sitting on it, dressed comfortably in jeans and a t-shirt. His feet were bare; there was a blade of grass in his mouth. Trip lay on the cloth beside him, dressed snugly in a pair of sweats, whole and healthy, fast asleep.

"Hoshi?" Malcolm said, taking the stem of grass out of his mouth. He looked up at her, letting his gaze drift around the meadow. "This isn't my dream. What did you do?"

She smiled and settled herself beside him on the blanket, careful not to disturb Trip as he slept. "I thought you might enjoy this better than your nightmare," she said, "do you like it?"

"Very much," Malcolm smiled, leaning back on his hands, "it reminds me of the meadow near where my grandparent's lived in Newmarket," he took a deep breath. "The air smells good."

"I'm glad," Hoshi tucked her kimono around her feed, removing the stains from its hem with a flick of her finger. Supporting herself with one hand, she gently stroked Trip's head, feeling the softness of his hair beneath her palm. Malcolm watched her, reached out to touch Trip, pulled his hand away.

"I don't want to wake him," he said roughly. Hoshi could feel the memory of his nightmare piercing him like thorns.

Hoshi moved her hand from Trip's head and patted Malcolm's leg. "Don't worry, you won't," she said. "It's not his dream."

"Oh." Malcolm looked at her quizzically, "is it my dream?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Then, what are you doing here?" he asked. "I know I wasn't dreaming about you."

"I thought I'd come visit," Hoshi smiled at him, "I thought you'd like the company."

Malcolm eyed her, confused. "But if I wasn't dreaming of you, how did you get here?"

"I'm not sure," Hoshi shrugged, "I walked out of sick bay and found myself here. Well, close to here, anyway," she clarified with a wave of her hand, "I went to Trip's dream first."

"What do you mean you 'walked out of sick bay?'" Malcolm said, and Hoshi could see a flash of alarm in his eyes. "Are you dead?"

"No," Hoshi replied. "But I know my body is very sick, possibly dying." She picked a flower growing by the blanket, began to pluck its petals one by one. "I think my ties to the physical world are loosening. I think that's how I was able to find you here."

"Oh God." Malcolm leaned forward, head down, resting his forearms on his knees. "It's my fault, Hoshi," he whispered, voice thick with tears. "It's my fault you're going to die."

Hoshi looked at him, feeling the despair coursing through him like blood through his veins. "How can you believe that?" she asked, surprised. "You didn't shoot me."

"I didn't understand that the alien was trying to warn us," Malcolm said. He turned to look at her, his face a picture of abject misery. "I pushed you into the line of fire!" He hung his head again. "You would never have been shot if it weren't for my mistake."

"You bore me to the ground, Malcolm," Hoshi said, "took me out of harm's way, covered my body with your own." She reached out, letting her fingers trail from behind his ear, down his neck to his back in a soothing, repetitive motion. "I don't know what more you could have done."

Malcolm turned to face her again, "Don't you see?" he said. "It was my mistake that got you shot in the first place! If I had only understood-"

"People make mistakes, Malcolm," she said gently, "you did the best you could with the information you had. There's no shame in that."

"When I make a mistake people die!" Malcolm cried, standing. "I should have gotten you out of the way, protected you. It should be me dying in sick bay!"

Hoshi took his hand and pulled him down into her arms, cradling his head against her neck, feeling his tears cooling on her skin, his shoulders shaking beneath her hands. "I'm glad it's not you dying," Hoshi said softly against his ear, "I don't want it to be you."

Malcolm pulled away from her. "It should have been me," he said again, "not you. Never you."

Hoshi brushed a tear off his cheek with her thumb, "Why not me?" she asked, eyes kind, "I don't think my life is worth more than yours."

"It is to me," he whispered.

"And there's the problem." She smiled. "you don't feel your life is worth anything to anyone. You can't understand why I'm not willing to have you die in my place."

"But you're life is more important!" Malcolm said vehemently, "you're loving; and good and kind; and your linguistic skills are terribly important-"

Hoshi cut him off with a tinkling of laughter, "who died and made you the judge?" she said, grinning. "Excuse the pun."

Malcolm looked shocked, sat back on his heels. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Hoshi said, leaning forward, "that you have decided that my life is more important—more precious—than yours, and you're torn up with guilt because I'm dying and your not." She took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently, "but what you don't seem to understand is how important your life is, how much it would hurt those around you if you were dead and gone." She looked deep into his eyes, conveying the truth of her words, "you are worth everything to those who love you, Malcolm," she said. "I would give my life for yours."

"I wouldn't want you to," he said softly.

"That's exactly how I feel," she winked at him.

"But it was my fault," Malcolm said, imploring. "If I had only seen what was going to happen, predicted it, you wouldn't have gotten hurt."

Hoshi laughed again, "And if I had stayed on the other side of the street with the Captain," she chuckled, "or better yet, never joined Starfleet at all, none of this would have happened." She shook her head, "you're not omniscient, Malcolm," she said, "no one is. It's not fair for you to expect yourself to do the impossible."

"Archer thinks it's my fault."

"No," Hoshi said, "he doesn't. He blames himself for what happened, and took it out on you." She continued. "Sometimes he reacts more emotionally than rationally. But trust me. He knows it wasn't your fault." She shrugged. "It wasn't anybody's fault."

Malcolm tucked a piece of Hoshi's hair behind her ear. "I don't want to lose you," he said, a catch in his throat.

Hoshi smiled sadly, "I don't want to lose me, either. But sometimes things just happen and fate takes the decisions out of our hands." She held his gaze, "that's why it's so important to make sure the people we love know we love them. We may not get a second chance."

Malcolm's lips curved upward as he sat down on the quilt. He turned to look at the man sleeping gently beside them. "I guess I need to talk to Trip."

Hoshi smiled widely. "I'm glad you figured that out." She stood, brushing off the skirt of her kimono.

"Where are you going?" Malcolm asked.

"I want to find Liz," Hoshi replied, looking out to the far end of the meadow, "besides you're going to wake up soon." She gave him a small wave, "Bye!"

"Wait!" Malcolm called after her, "are you going to be all right?" But Hoshi had already gone.

***

She was standing on the beach in her regulation blues, wet sand crunching beneath her bare feet. The wind was blowing salt-laced spray into her face, against her body. She was shivering, cold all the way down to her bones.

In the distance, under the pale light of the moon, she could see the remains of their shuttlepod, slowly sinking under the waves. Two swimmers pulled away from it, thrashing with all their might against the swells of water, losing.

Liz ran to the water's edge, peering through the darkness towards the two men, darker shapes against the dark water. Trip and Malcolm, swimming against the current, as hard as they could.

As Liz watched, Malcolm slipped beneath the waves. She saw Trip, frantic, dive down to save him. A minute passed, then two. Neither man resurfaced. She screamed, useless and helpless on the shore.

She turned away from the water, stumbling up the beach in horror and despair. Something tripped her, something cold and solid beneath her foot. She looked down.

It was Hoshi's corpse, blood still seeping out of a bullet wound in her side, turning the sand a muddy brown.

Liz fell to her knees, face in her hands. They were all dead, gone. She was all that was left, terribly, terribly alone.

Suddenly, the cold of the wind and the ocean dropped away from her, the tangy smell of the water was replaced by that of flowers. There was a warm softness beneath her shins instead of the punishing grit of sand. Liz lifted her hands away from her eyes.

She was kneeling on a quilt in the middle of a meadow filled waist-high with flowers. The sun was warm and high in the sky, the air punctuated with butterflies. Hoshi was sitting on the blanket, dressed in a kimono, looking at her.

"Hi," she said, eyes twinkling.

"Hoshi!" Liz shrieked, throwing herself into the other woman's arms, "I thought you were dead!"

"Not yet!" Hoshi laughed, returning the embrace. "That was some dream you were having."

"Ooh, wasn't it awful?" Liz agreed hugging the other woman tight, "I'm glad I'm dreaming about you, instead." She sat back on her haunches, touching Hoshi's face with both hands. "I've missed you."

Hoshi smiled, "I've missed you, too."

"I love you," Liz said.

"I love you, too." Hoshi replied solemnly.

Liz leaned in and kissed her. Hoshi's lips were pliant and soft, tasting of raspberries. Liz closed her eyes, savouring the contact, the delicious joy of Hoshi's mouth on her own.

Liz's hands moved down the front of Hoshi's kimono, resting on her breasts, then going lower, searching for the fastenings that kept the robe together. Her fingers found the knot on the obi-jame cord and she deftly untied it, letting it fall off to the side of the quilt. She searched for the tie of the obi itself.

Hoshi laughed, "It attaches at the back." She leaned forward slightly, reaching behind her to undo the large belt. After a moment she started to unwrap it, passing it around her body twice before it was totally undone. The kimono fell open, the silk slipping gently off her shoulders, sliding off her legs where she sat. Underneath, she was naked, the pink of her nipples contracting in the warm breeze. Her skin was luminous in the sunlight, the colour of honey.

Liz licked her lips, "I never get tired of looking at you," she murmured as she pulled her Starfleet issue bra over her head. She stripped off her blue underwear, lifting one knee from the blanket at a time. She felt the touch of air against her skin: the soft heat of the sun on her shoulders. Hoshi reached out, took Liz's arm and tenderly brought her down onto the blanket, so they were both lying side by side.

Hoshi propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at Liz, her eyes dark and seductive. "Close your eyes," she whispered.

Obediently, Liz let her eyelids shut, rolled onto her back. The soft scent of roses wafted towards her, a scattering of smooth petals drifted over her skin. Liz opened her eyes. Hoshi was dropping the soft petals of roses over her body, their dark pink an exotic contrast to Liz's pale skin. Liz plucked a petal off her stomach, and ran it up the length of Hoshi's arm, around her shoulder and down her chest, letting it circle her nipple before brushing over the tip. Hoshi smiled down at her, bent towards her and kissed her a second time.

Liz closed her eyes again, turning towards the other woman. She felt Hoshi's free hand roaming over her body, sliding petals along her skin. The sent of roses became stronger, more intoxicating. Liz felt herself relax, her nightmare becoming a distant memory.

Hoshi cupped Liz's breast, played with the nipple, moved away, moved back. The sensation was wonderful, arousing, and Liz moaned against Hoshi's mouth. Hoshi's hands glided down her rib cage, along her abdomen, over her hip. Liz shifted her pelvis, anticipation of Hoshi's touch causing the blood to hum within her, creating a flickering of tension deep inside.

Their kissing deepened, became more insistent, more demanding. Liz rolled onto her side, immediately grabbing Hoshi's hip with her free hand, pulling the other woman closer. She lifted her leg, sliding it along Hoshi's thigh. Their pussies touched, sending an exquisite jolt through Liz, causing her to press harder against Hoshi, making her grow wet. Liz moved her hand to the junction between Hoshi's legs, her fingertips barely disturbing the soft curls. Hoshi groaned, rocked her hips forward, making her hand echo Liz's action. It was Liz's turn to whimper with the delicate sensation.

Liz shifted her hand lower, finding the soft slit of Hoshi's labia. She slipped one finger in between, feeling heat and moisture greet her. Slowly, she raised her finger until its tip just grazed Hoshi's clitoris. Hoshi's hips twitched, pushed against her hand.

In an agonizing parallel, Hoshi touched Liz's sensitive core, gently tweaking it with her thumb and forefinger. Liz cried out, felt a rush of liquid, started moving her hips in a rhythm she couldn't control.

Using Hoshi's cadence as a guide, she stroked the other woman. Shifting slightly, she covered Hoshi's clitoris with her thumb, and slipped two fingers inside her. Hoshi's reaction was instantaneous, she threw her head back, making soft mewling noises, thrusting against her hand, increasing the pace of her fingers on Liz. Liz replicated the actions of the other woman, driving her own hips forward, feeling incredible, indescribable sensation building within her, until she cried out her pleasure, hearing Hoshi's answering cry, feeling her pulsing around her fingers. Liz lay there, allowing Hoshi's internal movement to quieten and then slowly easing her fingers out. She let her hand rest on Hoshi's hip, making small circles with her thumb.

"That was nice," Hoshi sighed, stretching. She lay on her back, pulled Liz towards her, Liz's head rested on her shoulder.

Liz closed her eyes, listening to the steady beating of Hoshi's heart. The scent of crushed rose petals was all around them, the sun's rays playing over their bare skin. She never wanted this moment to end.

"Are you dying?" she whispered, feeling the ache of unshed tears in her throat.

Hoshi played with Liz's hair, fingers lifting the strands and letting them fall. "Malcolm asked me almost the same question," she said, She raised her head slightly to press a kiss on Liz's crown.

Liz lifted herself up on her elbow so she could look at Hoshi's face. "You saw Malcolm?"

"And Trip, too," Hoshi replied, rolling onto her side to look at her, "seems I'm able to visit people in their dreams."

"Wow," Liz said, "I thought I was dreaming you, but now your-" she paused, "dreaming me, I guess."

Hoshi laughed, "I don't know how it works. This is my first time."

Liz smiled, rolled over onto her stomach, supporting herself on her elbows. She looked out over the meadow, watching the flowers sway in the soft wind. "You didn't answer my question," she said, "are you dying?"

Hoshi turned onto her stomach as well, moving so their shoulders were touching. "That's because I don't know if I am or not," she said simply. She made a sweeping gesture with her hand, "here, I feel fine. More than fine. In fact," she looked over at Liz, "I can feel a bit of what you're feeling, too. The terror of your nightmare, for instance," she smiled, "or how much you love me."

"Phlox told me he gave you an antibiotic, before I went to sleep." Liz said, "Can you feel if it's working?"

Hoshi shook her head, "I didn't know that," she said wistfully, "I can't tell what's happening with my body at all."

Liz studied the blanket. "So you could be dying." She plucked at a thread. "Can't you make yourself better?" she asked finally, "I mean, use whatever consciousness that brought you here to make you well?"

"I don't know," Hoshi replied. She grinned, "I am thinking positive thoughts, if that helps."

"I hope so."

"Yeah," Hoshi said, "me too."

A thought struck Liz, and she turned to Hoshi, "Was it really Malcolm's fault, that you got hurt?" She held her breath, waiting for the answer.

Hoshi shook her head. "No," she said, "no matter what the Captain might have said, it wasn't his fault. The situation was beyond his control."

"I'm glad," Liz exhaled, "I don't know what I would've done if…" she let the sentence die off.

"He blames himself, though," Hoshi continued, "he's feeling so guilty and ashamed right now, like he's let everyone down. Me, Trip, the Captain," she paused, "and especially you."

"I feel like he's let me down," Liz said, "he wasn't going to tell me about transferring off of Enterprise," She plucked a blade of grass, started shredding it with her nails. "Then you got hurt, and he hasn't come to visit you in sick bay," she continued, "hasn't been to see if you're alive or dead."

"Hasn't come to see you, you mean." Hoshi raised her eyebrows.

Liz frowned. "I thought we were friends."

"He thinks you wouldn't want to see him," Hoshi explained, "because of the transfer business, and now this. He thinks you hate him."

"How do you know?" Liz asked, turning towards Hoshi, "did he tell you?"

"In a way," Hoshi answered with a small shrug, "I could tell when I was with him, could just sense it. He's sure your friendship is finished."

Liz grimaced. "I have felt better about the boy," she agreed. She lifted the pieced of grass up off the blanket, letting the wind blow them off her palm, watching as they drifted away. "I guess I should talk to him, huh?"

Hoshi nodded. "He really needs you, Liz."

Liz sighed, "Okay."

***

Trip pulled out the dresser drawer, rifled through it, slammed it shut again.

He opened a second drawer, and then a third, slammed them both shut. He raked his fingers through his hair, tried to concentrate. The keys were meant to be there, they had always been there, for as long as he could remember.

Malcolm was still locked in one of the rooms upstairs. The smell of smoke was getting stronger.

He still couldn't find the keys.

Trip ran over to the fireplace, grabbing the poker. If he couldn't unlock the doors, maybe he could lever them open. He turned to run back to the stairs, anxiety making his heart pound, his hand slick around the poker. He stopped in his tracks.

The stairway was engulfed in flame.

Trip stood, transfixed by fear and the flickering light of the fire. He couldn't get past it, not without being badly burned. But Malcolm was upstairs, counting on him. He couldn't let Malcolm die.

Trip took a deep breath, prepared to charge.

The doorbell chimed.

Trip opened his eyes. He was in his cabin, on Enterprise. The farmhouse was back in Florida; nothing was on fire; Malcolm was still safe. He put his hand over his heart, feeling its beating returning to normal as he shook off the last vestiges of his nightmare. He closed his eyes.

His door chimed again.

"Just a sec," Trip called, climbing out of bed and fumbling for the lights. "Damn!" he swore, squeezing his eyes shut as he accidentally set them too high. He lowered them to a more tolerable level and stumbled towards the door, slapping it open with his palm.

Malcolm was standing on the other side, clothed only in jeans and a Starfleet undershirt. His hair was a mess, stubble shadowing his jaw. He wasn't wearing any shoes. He looked raw and vulnerable and unbelievably sexy. Trip shook off the thought.

"May I come in?" Malcolm asked, gesturing at the doorway with his chin.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Trip said, moving back so the other man could pass. He shut the door behind them and went and sat down on his bed, looking up at Malcolm. Part of him thought he should be reacting with anger at Malcolm's sudden and ill-timed appearance, but he was still groggy, his mind still fuzzy from having been so recently pulled from his dream. He reacted with curiosity instead.

"What can I do for ya, Lieutenant?" he said, yawning. He scratched his chest, belatedly realizing it was bare. He frowned, shrugged. It was too late now.

Malcolm stood in the centre of Trip's room. He crossed his arms, uncrossed them, hooked his thumbs through the belt-loops of his jeans. "I saw Hoshi tonight," he said finally.

Trip was instantly alert. "You mean in sick bay? She all right?"

"No, I haven't been to sick bay," Malcolm said. He crossed his arms again. "I mean I saw her while I was dreaming."

Trip looked at Malcolm, not understanding. "You mean, you dreamed about her?"

Malcolm shook his head, "No, Commander," he said, "I mean I was dreaming, and she just showed up. I wasn't dreaming about her."

"Let me get this straight," Trip said, titling his head slightly, "you were dreamin', but not about Hoshi, but she was in your dream, anyway?"

"Yes," Malcolm replied, clearly relieved, "I was having a nightmare-"

"Join the club," Trip muttered.

"-and suddenly, Hoshi appeared," Malcolm continued, "and changed the dream around me. I had been dreaming about one of the World Wars, and she changed it to a blanket in a meadow."

"Okay," Trip said slowly. He ran his fingers through his hair, rubbed his face. "Is there a point to all this, Lieutenant?"

Malcolm took a deep breath. "She told me I needed to come speak with you."

Trip narrowed his eyes. "She told you to come see me?"

"Yes," Malcolm agreed, "she said that we cannot predict what the future will hold, so it is important to make sure we tell the people that we love," he paused, bit his lip. "That we love them."

Trip felt his heart slow in his chest, "I don't understand," he said.

"Hoshi said that I need to tell you that I love you," Malcolm said, a blush beginning to creep up his neck, "because I might never get the chance otherwise."

Trip stood, "Malcolm?"

"Seeing you on the catwalk, so badly burned, made me realize how much you mean to me." Malcolm said, his accent making the words sound short, clipped. "And when you told me to go, ordered me to leave you and take Ensign Lawless first, it suddenly occurred to me what a difficult—what an untenable—position I must have put you in, when I asked you to leave me on the shuttle." He looked at the floor. "I just wanted to you know."

"You love me." Trip said flatly.

"Yes," Malcolm said. He looked up at Trip, gave a half-smile. "I think I've loved you since the moment I first laid eyes on you."

"Well, ain't that nice," Trip said; each word deeply sarcastic. "You can go now."

Malcolm blinked, "Pardon?"

"I said," Trip repeated, voice edged, "that you can go now. You came by, woke me up and made your declaration of affection. Now you can go."

"I—I don't understand," Malcolm said, confused. "I thought we could talk about this."

"Ain't nothin' to talk about," Trip replied, "you broke up with me, now you love me, some time soon you're transferrin' off Enterprise. What's there to discuss?"

"I was hoping, maybe we could-"

"'Maybe we could' what?" Trip said hotly, "sit around talkin' about old times? Get back together? Have a pity fuck and get on with our lives?" He took a step towards Malcolm. "Well, guess what," he said, feeling the anger, the pain of the past several weeks pounding inside him, "I ain't interested in a boyfriend who runs away from his problems, who needs a dream to tell him what to do, who would break up with someone for givin' a shit whether or not he lives or dies!" He was shouting by the time he finished the last sentence, rage colouring every word, every gesture.

A shocked, hurt look flitted across Malcolm's face, "Trip?" he said, voice hesitant. It was the most defenceless Trip had ever seen him.

Trip felt some of the anger drain out of him. "We've got nothin' to talk about," Trip said. "You had your chance." He leaned against the bulkhead, feeling the cool metal against his skin. He closed his eyes, suddenly incredibly tired.

"I'm sorry to have disturbed you." Malcolm whispered.

Trip opened his eyes again. Malcolm hadn't moved from his spot in the centre of the room. His soldier's mask was firmly back in place, Trip noted wearily. The man would never change. "It's over, Malcolm," he sighed, "ain't no amount of talkin' is gonna bring it back. You decided to break up with me, instead of takin' a chance on the relationship, decided to transfer instead of tryin' again." Malcolm opened his mouth to speak, Trip shook his head, "Just go," he said, "please."

Malcolm gave a short nod, turned and walked to the doorway. His bare feet making a soft padding noise as he crossed the floor. The door opened and then shut behind him, he didn't turn around.

Trip turned out the lights, found his way back into bed. "He loves me," he whispered into the darkness, staring out into nothing.

***

Hoshi sat by herself on the blanket in the meadow, dressed again in her kimono, twirling a flower between her fingers. Liz had left a few moments ago; her mind shifting from dreaming to dreamless sleep. It was strange, really. One moment Liz had been beside her, lying on the blanket; the next she had just shimmered and disappeared. Just like that.

Sighing, Hoshi dropped the flower and propped her chin on her knees, wrapping her arms around her legs. The meadow stretched on and on ahead of her, as far as her eye could see. There was no sign of Trip's house, or Liz's dark beach, or Malcolm's war zone. No evidence that they had ever been there at all. She guessed her ability to reach her friends had ended when they woke, when their minds were filled again with rational and logical thoughts. Concentrating, she closed her eyes and let her ears take over, listening for signs of any other people out there, somewhere beyond the sunlight and flowers. Dimly, like the memory of an echo, she could hear other voices, other sounds as different members of the crew began—or ended—their own dreaming. There was a cool sound, like the flow of a river; that Hoshi easily identified as T'Pol's quiet sleep. She heard the excited noise of a boy running with his father by his side. "Jon," she smiled to herself, glad not everyone was having bad dreams that night. A frenzied barking and the scattering of claws on metal caught her attention, and she realized with a laugh that Porthos was dreaming, too, a sweet, doggie dream of chasing something through the corridors of Enterprise.

Enterprise, Hoshi mused, was she still there? Had stepping out of sick bay—out of herself—somehow made Enterprise irrelevant to her? She thought she could feel the dreams of her crewmembers, knew she had visited her friends while they slept, but perhaps they weren't the only ones. For all she knew, she might be able to touch the dreams of everyone sleeping in the entire universe. Billions and billions of minds in a never-ending cycle of sleep and waking.

"It's better than being dead," she whispered to herself, hoping that were true.

She wished she knew the way back to sick bay.

***

"I came as soon as I could," the Captain said as he strode into sick bay.

Dr. Phlox looked up from where he had been bending over Hoshi, a hypospray in his hand. "Ah, Captain," he said, his characteristic grin noticeably absent, "I'm glad you're here."

Jon moved to stand by the biobed where Hoshi lay. Her breathing was peaceful and even, the dangerous flush of colour that had stained her cheeks was gone. Her eyes were softly closed, her lips gently parted, her face and body smooth and still like that of a porcelain doll. "Report," Jon said, turning to face Phlox.

"She's been like this for over two hours now," Phlox said, "I administered the anti-microbial agent around 0200 this morning with excellent results. Within minutes, the invading bacteria had all been destroyed, and I was able to give her drugs to help her body process and eliminate the remaining toxins. My expectation was that she would have gone from being unconscious into a normal sleep pattern, and then woken up naturally a few hours later." Phlox furrowed his brow. "As you can see, that hasn't happened."

"She won't wake up?" Jon said.

"No," Phlox replied succinctly, "I have tried all manner of stimulants, as well as the old fashioned method of 'shake-and-shout,' all with no effect. I have given her a complete scan, and as far as I can tell, there is neither any trace of the bacteria, nor is there any indication that Ms. Sato is unwell at all." The doctor picked up a PADD and gave it to Jon for review. "According to both my professional opinion and the diagnostic tools available to me, the Ensign is in perfect health and should be easily woken."

"Damn." Jon muttered. He braced his hands against the biobed, leaning over Hoshi. He looked at her still face for a moment before turning back to the doctor. "And you have no idea why she won't wake up?"

Phlox shook his head. "None at all, I'm afraid."

Jon stood up, began pacing with his hands pressed to his lips. "It's not the bacteria."

"No," Phlox agreed.

"And it's not the bacteria's toxin either."

"That has been fully cleared from her system," Phlox said.

"A strange reaction to some drug combination?" Jon raised his eyebrows.

Phlox shook his head again. "None of the compounds I gave her are contra-indicated with each other," Phlox replied, "neither are they known to result in this kind of side-effect." Before Jon could speak again, Phlox continued, "and I have also ruled out the remote possibility that the drugs might have reacted badly to any vestiges left of the alien bacteria." Phlox raised his hands in defeat. "I am at a loss."

"Damn it!" Jon swore, hitting one hand against the other. He turned to face Phlox again, "first the gunshot, now this!" He shook his head, "there must be something you can do."

"All I can do now is to keep Ms. Sato comfortable and run some further tests," Phlox said, "until I have a better understanding of what might be causing this condition, I will have no way of even speculating on a treatment."

Jon swallowed, forced himself to ask. "How long do we have here?"

Phlox shrugged, "while I have the ability and the equipment to support her body for an undetermined length of time," he said, "Ms. Sato's muscles will degrade from lack of activity, possibly deforming her limbs. She will become prone to skin, kidney and lung infections, as well as G.I. complications. Eventually, no matter what level of care she receives, she will succumb to her inactivity." Phlox eyed the Captain, "if her will to live can sustain her even that long."

Jon nodded his understanding; let his gaze fall on Hoshi again. She had moved a bit while she slept, lolling her head to the other side. She still looked unnervingly like a doll, beautiful and lifeless. "Would it help if we went back to the planet?" Jon asked quietly, "Maybe asked around to see if this has happened to anyone else?"

"Anything would be a positive step at this point," Phlox said, "perhaps this is a phenomenon that the planet's occupants might be familiar with."

Jon gave a curt nod. "Keep me informed," he said, "I'll be on the bridge." He exited sick bay, steps purposeful as he headed to the bridge, hopeful that the planet would hold the clue to Hoshi's unending sleep.

***

Liz cracked one eye open as her chronometer went off. "Fuck," she muttered as she hit it's 'snooze' button with one hand and closed her eyes again.

She had been having the most amazing dream. Her nightmare of tripping over Hoshi's corpse on the beach had changed to a lovely image of a meadow full of sunlight. Hoshi had been wearing a kimono at first, and then nothing at all as they had made love on a blanket, covered in rose petals.

Liz had paced her room for hours after Phlox had sent her out of sick bay, only falling asleep when he had called at around two a.m., to tell her he was giving Hoshi an antibiotic for her infection. Her relief had been tremendous, and she had fallen asleep, content that all would be right in the world. Her nightmare had been shocking in retrospect, probably an indication of her terrible anxiety. Her dream had reflected that, when she had asked Hoshi if she might still be dying, regardless of Phlox's medicine now running through her veins. But Phlox hadn't called to tell her the worst, and now she allowed her eyes to close with a sigh of contentment. Hoshi was going to be all right. She let her mind drift, filled with images of Hoshi and the pleasurable memories of her dream.

"Liz?" It was Hoshi's voice, right by her ear.

"Hoshi?" Liz said, sitting up, peering into the darkness. There was no one there.