Squeaky

"Doctor," Trip said into his communicator, forcing himself to breathe, "we have a medical emergency."

It was now full dark on the planet, the storm lantern's glow pitifully unable to combat the night. Trip was kneeling on the damp grass beside Malcolm, one hand resting on the Lieutenant's chest in constant vigilance to ensure that he was still alive.

That afternoon, Jon had sent him and Malcolm on a quest to find 'Old Grimbaldi,' a healer who would be able to lead Hoshi's spirit back into her body. Grimbaldi lived near the top of a nearby mountain, and he and Malcolm had set out with Arun's son Lamo until they had reached its base and he had left them. They had continued on their own, following the well-marked path upwards until the sun had started to set.

That's when the path had disappeared, replaced instead by a towering cliff. A cliff that Malcolm had insisted on climbing.

Trip had taken one look at the precipice and told Malcolm 'no.' He had even ordered Malcolm not to climb it. But the Armoury Officer was stubborn, forcefully arguing that it was his responsibility to ensure Hoshi was cured; that he had more than enough training for such a simple climb; that it would be safe.

And then, when he was nearly at the top, Malcolm had fallen.

He was badly injured. Unconscious, bleeding, ribs broken, breathing laboured, heartbeat rapid and leaping under Trip's palm. It was taking too damn long for Phlox to answer him.

"I'm here, Commander," Phlox said over the comm. link, after an eternity, "what happened?"

"It's Malcolm. He fell off a cliff, pretty high up, he's hurt. He needs to go back to the ship right away." Trip said, voice shaking,

"Is he conscious and alert?" Phlox asked gently.

"No," Trip responded, "he was, but not now. He said he couldn't breathe."

"I understand," Phlox said, "how's his breathing now?"

"Bad," Trip said immediately, "only one side of his chest is movin'. I think he's got a punctured lung."

"Any serious bleeding?"

"Just the back of his head. But he's got some broken ribs and his right arm is busted as well." He tried desperately to remember if he had found anything else important during his assessment, couldn't think beyond the black panic that was fogging his mind.

"That is serious," Phlox agreed, "he most likely has a head injury. I will open a comm. link with the Captain, and alert the transporter operator that we will need an emergency beam-up of the Lieutenant."

"Okay," Trip replied. He felt sick, dizzy, and realized he was breathing too fast. He forced himself to concentrate on the rise and fall of his chest, on the expansion of his lungs as he filled them with air. The comm. chirped.

"Lawless here," the voice on the other end said, and Trip felt himself sag with relief. All subordinate members of the Engineering and Armoury teams rotated through transporter duty, and now it was Mae's turn. She was competent and smart. Trip trusted her to get Malcolm back to Enterprise.

"Two to transport, Ensign," Trip said, "lock on to my comm. signal—"

"Belay that order!" It was Jon's voice.

"Cap'n?" Trip felt the raw panic rip at him again. Jon wasn't mad enough at Malcolm to let him die, was he? "Malcolm's hurt!" Trip said desperately. "We have to get him back to the ship!"

"Ensign," Jon continued as if Trip hadn't spoken, "lock on to Lieutenant Reed's biosigns and transport him immediately. Doctor?"

"I've already got a team assembled to meet Mr. Reed at the transporter," came the Denobulan's instant reply. "We're ready."

"Excellent," Jon said, voice tinny through the link, "commence transport."

"Aye aye, Captain." Mae replied. As Trip watched, Malcolm's body began to shimmer, turning into streaks of light under his hand. In moments, the Lieutenant was gone.

"Transport successful, Captain," Mae said.

"We have him, Commander," Phlox verified, "we're on our way to Sickbay now."

"Thank you Doctor, Ensign," Jon said, the relief in his voice evident even over the comm., "Archer out."

There was a small chorus of 'yes sirs' as both Mae and the doctor signed off. Trip had listened to the whole exchange uncomprehendingly; free hand balled into a fist, blood pounding in his ears. How could Jon let Malcolm transport alone? "What the fuck was that all about?" Trip roared into the comm. link he and the Captain still shared. "Why the fuck can't I beam up with Malcolm?"

"I know you're worried about him, Trip—" Jon started, Trip cut him off.

"God damn it!" he shouted, "Malcolm might be dyin'! I have to be with him!"

"Calm down, Trip!" Jon's voice was harsh.

"I ain't gonna fuckin'—"

"That's an order!" Jon yelled through the link. "Get a hold of yourself, Commander! Now!"

Trip took a deep breath, forced his hand open. "Yessir," he said, teeth clenched.

"Listen, Trip," Jon said, all harshness gone from his voice, "I know you want to be with Malcolm, but I need you on the planet right now. We came down here to find a way to save Hoshi, and that hasn't changed." Jon paused, tone conciliatory, "I still need you to find Grimbaldi, for Hoshi's sake."

Trip let his head drop. "Yessir."

"I knew I could count on you," Jon said, and then, more gently, "do you need anything?"

Trip squeezed his eyes shut. He needed to be with Malcolm. "No," he said. He turned the communicator off before the Captain could reply. He sat down on the ground, next to the spot Malcolm had lain and put his head in his hands. "Please don't let Malcolm die," he whispered, "please."

***

Liz woke with a gentle sigh, feeling warm and cozy, totally relaxed. The pain in her head was gone; the nightmare visions of Hoshi had faded, leaving only a sense of tranquility.

She opened her eyes, and found herself staring into a pair of rich, brown ones.

"Liz," Ensign Cohn said, smiling, "you're awake!"

"Hi Ari," Liz said, returning his wide smile, "nice to see you." Suddenly, she sat up, looking around her, frowning. "What am I doing in Sickbay?"

He looked at her. "You don't know?"

Liz shook her head, "Last thing I remember is going to sleep last night, then waking up in this strange dream world." She bit her lip, remembering how terrifying it had been, being lost in a great expanse of whiteness, Hoshi's wailing ghost shrieking and clawing at her. Liz looked down at her arms, expecting her skin to be marred with red gashes from Hoshi's talons. There was nothing there. She blinked. "I'm in my uniform."

"Yes," Ari, said, looking at her strangely. "You came here yesterday afternoon, from your duty station," he explained, leaning forward in his chair, "you were in terrible pain—you were nearly blind from it. You said that all you could hear was Hoshi's voice, screaming in your mind." He shook his head, remembering. "You were out of it for hours, just sitting on the biobed, rocking back and forth." His eyes met hers again, and Liz could see how frightened he had been for her.

She gave his hand a small squeeze. "Don't worry," she said, "I'm fine now."

"You sure?"

"Yes," she said sincerely. She sat up straighter, looking further into Sickbay. "Is Hoshi all right?"

"She's still asleep," Ari replied, "but other than that, she's fine."

"Oh," Liz said, crestfallen. "I was hoping that since I was back from wherever that was—"

"—That she would be too," Ari finished for her. "Phlox told me all about it. I'm really sorry, Liz."

"It's okay," she said, quickly wiping at the tears threatening to fall. "Jeez!" she said, "you'd think I'd be done crying by now." She tried to laugh.

"I think I'd be crying too, if it were my girlfriend who'd been hurt," Ari said sympathetically, rubbing her shoulder. "I think you're holding up really well."

"Thanks," she said, took a deep breath. "There, all done." She gave him a weak smile, "not that you have a girlfriend."

"I'm waiting until you're available," he winked at her, then grew serious. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yes," Liz replied, "honest."

"I'm glad," Ari grinned, "it's been too quiet here without you." He paused. "T'Pol came in here yesterday."

"T'Pol?" Liz asked. She remembered seeing the Vulcan in that dream place. T'Pol had told her that Hoshi had brought her there, taken her consciousness out of her body in a vain attempt to contact her. She had also said she would ask Hoshi to let her go, to sever the link between them. It seemed to have worked, but where did that leave Hoshi?

"It was the weirdest thing," Ari continued, "there you were, writhing in pain on the biobed, nothing that Dr. Phlox did making any difference at all. Then T'Pol came in, and did some bizarre Vulcan thing with Hoshi, and moments later, you were totally calm, sleeping like a baby." He rubbed at the dark curls at the back of his neck. "Strange, eh?"

"It was a mind-meld," Liz said absently, looking across Sickbay to where Hoshi lay, beautiful and still. "It was meant to lead her consciousness back to her body."

"Oh," it was Ari's turn to look crestfallen. "I guess it didn't work."

Liz felt the burn of tears again. "How are we going to get her back?"

"Don't worry!" Ari said quickly. "The Captain, Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed are all down on the planet, and rumour has it that they've found someone who can help get Hoshi back."

"Really?" Liz beamed at him, smile full of hope.

"Absolutely," Ari affirmed, "Travis was telling me over breakfast that there seems to be this old guy—"

The doors to Sickbay slid open. Dr. Phlox and Crewman D'Angelo ran in, pushing a stretcher between them. Phlox turned towards them. "Ensign Cohn," he said, and Liz could clearly hear his sense of urgency, "I need your help to get Lieutenant Reed into the scanner."

"Yes Doctor," Ari replied. Immediately he was on his feet and by Phlox in a few short strides.

Liz's thoughts were racing. Did he just say that was Malcolm on the stretcher? She hopped down from the biobed; quickly found her boots underneath, slipped them on and ran over to where Ari and Phlox were gently easing their patient into the medical scanner.

Her heart stilled in her chest.

It was Malcolm. He looked like he was dying.

***

Jon heard the distinctive 'click' of the communicator as Trip keyed it off. Sighing with frustration, he snapped his communicator closed and slipped it back into the hidden pocket of his jacket. He knew Trip was upset, knew he wanted to be in Sickbay with Malcolm, but there was nothing Jon could do about that now. He just hoped Trip would understand later, hoped he would forgive him.

Jon, Arun and his sons had been sitting by the fire in the living room, sharing stories, when his communicator had given its familiar chirp. Jon had gone into the next room to receive the communication from Dr. Phlox, not wanting to flaunt the technology in front of Arun's family. But he didn't feel like rejoining them right now, not after the news about Malcolm.

Running his hand through his hair, he went to stand by the window, looking through the glass to the darkness beyond. The view showed the rest of Arun's farm, lit only by the millions of stars glowing softly in the black sky. When he had been a cadet at Starfleet, a lecturer had once said that the universe was only 15 billion years old, so young that the light from the first stars could still be seen, hurtling towards Earth at over 18 000 kilometres a second. That lecture had impressed him, the idea of leaving something behind, the metaphor of a shining light visible for all the ages too poignant to resist.

But this was not the legacy he had envisioned.

He scrubbed his hand over his face, feeling the weight of his rank heavy on his shoulders. What was he going to tell Hoshi's parents if they were unable to revive her? What could he possibly say to Malcolm's family, to make them understand their son died a hero? How could he ever make it up to Trip, if Malcolm died tonight? He reached out and placed his hand on the glass, feeling its soft cold against his palm.

He heard the door open quietly behind him. "Something has happened to your brothers?" Arun asked, coming into the small kitchen.

Jon turned towards him. "Yes," he said. "Malcolm's been hurt. I've sent him back to the ship."

"Oh dear," Arun said, brow furrowed. "Not badly, I hope."

"Actually," Jon replied, "it sounds like it could be. I won't know for a few hours."

"I am so sorry," Arun said, "your time here has been difficult."

An idea struck Jon, and he moved towards Arun, "Can you take me to him?" he said, then blushed slightly at Arun's puzzled expression. "To Trip," he clarified. "I mean to the mountain, where Trip is."

Arun smiled sadly, and Jon could tell just by his expression that the answer would be 'no.' "I am sorry, friend," Arun said, "but the Lost Men roam at night. The streets and pathways are unprotected. I could not keep you safe."

"But the mountain?" Jon asked, a new, unforeseen worry crashing down on him. Had he left Trip in danger? He reached for his communicator, planning on beaming Trip up after all; it didn't matter if the whole damn planet was watching. They could figure out a new plan in the morning.

"The mountain is also safe," Arun said, "no man, no matter how desperate, will invade Old Grimbaldi's territory with anything but peace in his heart. Your brother will be fine tonight, do not worry."

Jon exhaled slowly, his momentary fear for Trip replaced by intense weariness. He rubbed his face with his hands.

"You are tired," Arun said. "It has been a long day for you. Come, I will show you to your room."

"Thanks," Jon gave him a wan smile. It had been a long day. The planet's rotation meant that it was 12 hours ahead of Enterprise, and late evening on the planet was actually early morning on board ship. Jon had been awake all night. "I appreciate it."

He followed the alien out of the room, planning to sleep with his communicator on and by his bedside. He wished there was more he could do.

***

Denobulans were an optimistic species.

It was a cultural trait really, one valued as highly by his people as Humans valued their emotions, or Vulcans their logic, and Dr. Phlox had always been a very optimistic Denobulan.

He stared at the monitor that was currently displaying the readout of Lieutenant Reed's vast and dangerous injuries; pursed his lips and tapped his finger against them.

He was not feeling optimistic now, not at all.

"Hmm," he said softly as he studied the images while Reed's body was being scanned. "Distal oblique fracture of the right ulna and radius; comminuted fractures of ribs 11 and 12 on the left side; another oblique fracture in rib 10 on the left, which has punctured the medial inferior lobe of the left lung." He paused, tapped his fingers against his lips again. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his two medical assistants Cohn and Cutler. They were standing next to each other, both staring at the screen. While he was glad to see Cutler awake, she was looking extremely pale. He wished he had the ability to send her back to bed, to spare her yet more anguish. Unfortunately, he was in dire need of her help; he only hoped she would be up to the task. Cohn had his hand on Cutler's shoulder in an obvious show of support.

Phlox turned his head towards the Ensigns. "Mr. Reed needs immediate surgery," he said, gesturing at Cohn, "help me move him." Gently, he and the Ensign lifted Reed's body from the scanner onto a stretcher and started moving him towards the surgical bay. Cutler grabbed the stretcher's end, helping them to navigate a quick path. "He has an epidural bleed at the back of his skull," Phlox continued as they walked, "and a dissecting aortic aneurism just above his heart. The bleed is shifting his brain, thereby increasing his blood pressure, which could cause the aneurism to rupture at any moment."

Cutler's face, if possible, grew even paler. "He could bleed out in minutes." She swayed slightly on her feet, and Cohn steadied her with his hand until she nodded that she was okay.

"And even if the aneurism does not break," Phlox said, looking at Cutler to make sure she understood, "the blood clot at the back of his head means he is at constant risk of brain damage and death. In other words," he continued, "the Lieutenant has two life-threatening injuries that both need to be dealt with urgently, and I cannot possibly perform two operations at the same time."

Cohn swallowed, glanced briefly at Cutler. "What do you need us to do?"

Phlox looked at the Ensigns. "Tell me," he said, "did your medical training at Starfleet cover neurosurgery?"

Cohn's eyes grew large and Cutler's mouth fell open as she gaped at Phlox. "No," Cohn said, "I mean, the basics, yes, but definitely nothing on surgery."

"We're just paramedics," Cutler breathed. "We don't know this stuff."

"Well, I guess you'll be learning as you go then, hmm?" Phlox said, "Best scrub up quickly as you can, the Lieutenant may not have much time."

***

Ari couldn't believe he was doing this—scrubbing up for an operation. He couldn't believe that Phlox had asked him and Liz to cut out a section of Reed's skull and poke around inside his brain. Nothing in his training had prepared him. The Lieutenant was going to die because he and Liz were poking their untrained fingers in places they didn't belong.

"This is crazy!" he whispered to her, feeling a bead of nervous sweat trace a path down from his temple. "I mean, we're not trained for this! What the heck is Phlox thinking?"

"I don't think he has a choice," Liz whispered back as she tied her hair up in a ponytail high off her neck. "It's like he said: two deadly injuries that have to be treated at the same time, and only one of him. What else is he meant to do?"

"I don't know," Ari muttered, "but I'm really not comfortable with this. It's his brain for heaven sakes! Couldn't we do something easier? Like—"

"—fixing the aneurism?" Liz interrupted. "No thanks!"

"I meant inserting a chest tube for his pneumothorax," Ari hissed. "At least that's in our scope of practise."

Liz slipped on her grey operating gown and tied it in the front. She then broke a small beam with her hands and a nozzle on the wall sprayed disinfectant over them and up her arms. "In case you're wondering," she hissed back, "I'm not happy about this, either! Malcolm's my friend. My best friend. I would die if anything happened to him." She turned away, "especially if it was because I refused to help."

Ari swallowed. "Oh jeez, Liz," he said, "I'm sorry. I know you and the Lieutenant are close." He gave her an apologetic smile. "Here I am, worried about my training, when it's you and your friend I should be thinking about." He bumped against her gently, careful not to touch her now-sterile hands. "Don't worry," he said, "I'll do a fantastic job."

She gave him a tight smile. "I know you will, Ari, you always do."

He sprayed his hands quickly, waited the required 15 seconds for them to dry. Liz was carefully pulling on a pair of grey sterile gloves, and for a second—just a second—he allowed himself to admire her trim figure, the smooth curve of her neck, her intense blue eyes. He shook his head ruefully. Liz was in love with Hoshi, and nothing would change that. But he would move heaven and Earth to make her happy, and if that meant opening up the Lieutenant's skull, then he would.

He just hoped he'd do as fantastic a job as he'd said.

***

Travis turned off the PADD he had been trying to read and flung it down on his bed. He groaned in frustration. He threw himself off the bed and started pacing.

He stopped at his consol, turned it on. No messages. He turned it off with too much force and continued to pace.

The wait was really getting to him.

It was morning on Enterprise, which meant that it had just become full night on the planet. The Captain had said he wouldn't contact him until the morning with instructions on when and where to bring Hoshi. But that meant he'd have to spend the whole day wondering what was going on down there, wondering if Trip and Malcolm had been successful on their quest to find the healer, worrying that Hoshi would get worse before he had a chance to take her down.

By accident, he had met Ari in the mess hall when he had gone for breakfast an hour ago. The medical assistant had told him that Hoshi's condition was essentially unchanged, and he had told Ari about the healer on the planet. But all too soon Ari had left, stating he wanted to go keep an eye on a patient they had admitted yesterday. Travis knew better than to ask who it was; Ari was far too good at keeping secrets.

Travis had returned to his cabin, tried to catch up on some reading, write a few letters to the Horizon, find anything at all to take his mind off the wait.

He thought of going to the gym, but he felt too restless. There was nothing he wanted to download from the entertainment centre, no one he could think of to go visit.

It was too early for lunch, and besides, he wasn't hungry anyway.

For a moment, he was tempted to comm. the Captain, but quashed it immediately. He did want a promotion someday, after all, and Archer had said he would be contacted when it was time for him to return to the planet. He could wait. He groaned again and sat back down on his bed.

He wondered how Trip and Malcolm were doing.

***

Liz took her place beside the monitor, watching intently as Dr. Phlox finished his adjustments.

"Now, Ms. Cutler," he said, "your job is simple, to ensure that Mr. Reed's core temperature does not exceed 16 degrees Celsius for the duration of the operation, that he remains in cardiac arrest, that he continues breathing, that his blood continues to flow through the bypass at the set rate, and that the perfusion to his brain does not exceed 280 millilitres per minute."

Liz's head was spinning. "Yes doctor," she replied faintly.

Phlox gave her a sympathetic smile, "Don't worry, Ensign," he said kindly, "if anything goes wrong an alarm will sound and I will correct it. I am hoping that your observation will catch any problems before they occur."

"Yes, doctor," she said again. She didn't feel any better.

They were in the small operating room at the back of Sickbay. Malcolm was half-sitting, half-lying on a biobed. His head was held upright by a series of delicate rods connected to the table, giving Ari easy access to the back of his head—and the clot forming just beneath the bone. Malcolm was intubated, kept unconscious, paralysed and pain-free by a series of medications dripping into his veins. Phlox had hung some antibiotics as well, to try to prevent the terrible infection that had affected Hoshi so badly. Except for the tube in his mouth, he looked relaxed, totally asleep. You'd never guess he was moments from death.

Liz was standing just off to the side, next to the complicated equipment that would keep Malcolm alive throughout this ordeal: cold, heart stopped, blood circulating through a machine, but alive. They had less than an hour to complete both operations. They couldn't keep Malcolm's body colder for any longer than that.

Phlox had inserted a chest tube into Malcolm's left lung while she and Ari had been scrubbing up for surgery, and she was happy to see that his oxygen intake had vastly improved. After Phlox had finished repairing the aneurism, after Malcolm's body was warmed and his blood was allowed to re-enter his heart, Phlox would remove the shards of bone Malcolm's broken rib had left in his lung, and maybe put a Teflon plate in to help it heal.

Nothing to it, she thought. Easy. Piece of cake.

She wished she could believe it.

"We are ready to begin," Phlox said, and he cut through Malcolm's chest, down to the bone.

***

"Malcolm?" Hoshi said, gaping. "What are you doing here?"

She was standing on the perfect replica of the Enterprise bridge, staring at the Lieutenant. Just moments before, she had been surrounded by cold, white nothing. Then the bridge had materialized around her, Malcolm with it. She didn't know if she should be hopeful or horrified by the change.

Malcolm was looking around him, clearly surprised. "Hoshi?" he asked. "Am I dreaming again?"

Hoshi shook her head, walked over to him. "I'm not visiting you in a dream," she said. "I can't do that anymore." She gestured at the image of the bridge around them. "I think that you brought this here, not me."

"Me?" he asked, "really?" He mounted the few steps to the bridge's second level and stood behind his tactical station, pressing a series of keys. He looked up at her, grinning. "It's a perfect replica," he said. "It has all the armoury specifications."

He continued playing with his consol, tapping buttons and testing systems. Every once in a while Hoshi could hear a muttered: 'marvellous,' or 'brilliant.' Just as Hoshi was growing impatient, he looked up at her mischievously.

"Think I could fire off a torpedo?" He was already pressing buttons before she could respond. "Three.two.one." He lifted his eyes to the viewscreen. There was a streak of light, a bright flash as the phantom torpedo exploded out in phantom space. "Bloody excellent!" he exclaimed. "She responds just like the ship!"

"Malcolm," Hoshi said, trying to regain his attention, "what are you doing here?"

He pressed a final button on the consol, looked at her. "Beg pardon?" "What are you doing here?" she said again, trying to control her impatience, her rising concern. She remembered how she had felt when she had first left her body in Sickbay, before walking into Trip's dream: The complete sense of unreality. Malcolm was acting the same way. "I thought you were down on that planet, with the Captain, and Trip," she said. "Did something happen to you?"

He frowned, thinking. "I don't think so," he said. "I was down on the planet." He paused, looked around him again, then returned his gaze to hers. "I don't know how I got here." He shrugged, "I must be sleeping."

"I don't know if you are," she replied. "Maybe. Like I said, I can't seem to enter into people's dreams like I did before. It would have to be you who came here."

"Oh," he said, shook his head. "I don't remember."

"What were you doing," Hoshi spread her hands to indicate the bridge, "before this?"

"Hmm." Malcolm stroked his chin, narrowed his eyes. "I was on a mountain with Trip. We were arguing about something." Suddenly, he broke into a broad smile, "I remember!"

"Yes?" Hoshi prompted.

Malcolm crossed his arms with apparent satisfaction. "I'm here to rescue you."

***

Ari was sweating.

He could feel the moisture collecting at his hairline, rolling slowly down his forehead, pausing shortly at his eyebrows and then continuing it's descent into his eyes, where it stung. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision.

In front of him was a square cut neatly out of the back of Reed's head, each side approximately the size of Ari's thumb. Phlox had shown him how to use the tools, where to cut through Reed's flesh and bone to expose the dura matter, the thick layer of tissue that surrounds the brain. When Reed's head hit the ground, the force was strong enough to rip a tiny piece of this layer off the bone of his skull, causing a pocket of blood to form that was now forcing Reed's brain towards the front of his head. It had rendered him unconscious and increased his blood pressure, interfered with his heart rate and his breathing. Ari was staring at the pocket of blood, knowing he'd have to actually have to suction it out in a second, and then cauterize the vessels that had torn open in the fall. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, wished desperately that he could wipe his hands on his surgical gown.

As a medical assistant in Starfleet, Ari had participated in numerous operations. He had inserted countless IVs and breathing tubes, stitched and set hundreds of wounds. Even as a student, he had known that he was good at this. His fellow classmates used to tease him that he never got ruffled. That as long as blood was involved, nothing would faze Ari Cohn.

Well, he thought, as he stared at the hole in the Lieutenant's skull, he was just about as fazed as he could get. But he'd promised Liz he'd be fantastic.

Over the pounding of his heart, he could hear Phlox muttering to himself as he repaired the dissecting aneurism in Reed's chest, the hum of the bypass machine, the slow hiss of the ventilator as it breathed for the Lieutenant. Without looking, he knew Liz was standing by the monitors, pale as a ghost, probably scared to death, counting on him.

"Here goes," he whispered to himself, and picked up the suction.

***

It had been a brutal night.

Trip sat on the dew-soaked grass, shivering under the blankets he had wrapped around himself, watching the dawning sun slowly illuminate the sky.

He hadn't slept, had just sat and stared into the darkness, waiting for his communicator to chime to tell him his life was over. All night long, he had replayed his last moments with Malcolm in his mind, wondering if Malcolm had heard him say he loved him, wondering if Malcolm would die without ever hearing it.

But his communicator had never activated, and by the time the sky had begun to lighten, Trip had allowed himself to feel a tiny piece of hope. Surely the Captain would tell him if Malcolm had died, wouldn't he? Surely someone would have let him know.

Wearily, he got to his feet, carefully folding the damp blankets and putting them back into the pack that Arun had given Malcolm. He rifled through it, pulled out a bit of some sort of dried meat and a small wineskin of water, both of which he placed into his bag. He walked over to the bushes that were growing in a thick clump at the side of the cliff, planning on hiding Malcolm's bag there until he returned this way to claim it.

Sighing, he looked upwards at the cliff, its towering face looking just as insurmountable as it had the previous night. Trip was worn out, exhausted and cold, and, if he admitted it to himself, not nearly as much of a climber as Malcolm was. There was no way he would be able to scale that precipice. No matter what Jon might expect of him. Perhaps they could just beam back to the ship, and then to the top of the mountain? A moment's thought disabused him of that notion. That's all they would need, him materializing right in front of this Grimbaldi guy. He might as well just have a sign on his forehead saying 'not from this planet.' They would have to come up with a new plan.

Sighing again, he stopped by the thickest of the bushes, bending down to find a hiding spot beneath them. His eyes grew wide, and he collapsed to his knees. "Sweet Jesus," he whispered.

There, behind the bushes, where it had always been, lay the continuation of the path up the mountain. What Lamo had said was true, the path did go all the way to the top. They had never seen it in the feeble glow of the storm lantern the night before, had never even guessed it was there.

There had been absolutely no reason for Malcolm to attempt that cliff.

Trip fell forward onto his hands, head hanging down, sobbing.

***

Jon woke with a start, blinking into the light of morning.

Nothing looked familiar, and for an awful second he thought that Daniels had whisked him away again, deposited him into some future time against his will. He sat up, homespun blanket falling to his lap, and looked around the room.

He was in the guest bedroom in Arun's house. There was the sound of cooking coming from the next room, and the high-pitched voices of young children. It must have been the children who had woken him, Jon thought, must have been what caused him to lose track of where he was. He realized that he had been expecting to wake to the chirping sound of his communicator, had been half-listening for it all night long.

With that thought, he reached for the small device and flipped it open. "Trip," he said. There was a long pause.

"Yes sir." Trip's voice sounded dull, hoarse, almost like he'd been crying.

Jon furrowed his brow, concerned. "How are you doing?"

"I found a path to the top of the mountain," Trip replied, not a direct answer to his question, but it would do. "I'm just heading up now."

"Good," Jon said. The tension from the night before hadn't abated between them, and he felt awkward speaking to his Chief Engineer. "Keep me informed."

"How's Malcolm?" Trip said before Jon could sign off.

"I'm just going to contact Phlox about him now," Jon said, "but no news is good news, right?"

"Sure." Trip said flatly. "Well, I guess I'll talk to you later. Trip out." And the link was closed before Jon could say anything else. Jon sighed, tempted to contact Trip again to finish the conversation, then let it go. Trip had a right to be angry and upset. Hopefully they could patch things up later—assuming Malcolm lived.

With that in mind, he opened his communicator again. "Dr. Phlox," he said, waited.

The voice that came through the other end of the link sounded weary and very human. "Ensign Cutler here," she said. "How can I help you, Captain?"

Jon paused, surprised that it wasn't the Denobulan. "I was calling to find out the status of Lieutenant Reed," he said, not sure he wanted to hear bad news from her.

"So far, so good," she said. "We finished operating on his injuries at around 1015 this morning. The doctor is keeping him unconscious and intubated until he's stable." Jon could hear the sound of unshed tears. "If he lives through the next 24 hours, he might have a chance."

Jon rubbed his forehead with his hand, eyes squeezed shut. "He'll make it, Ensign," he said, trying to give her a sense of confidence he wasn't sure he had himself. "Malcolm's tough. He'll make it."

"I'm sure you're right, sir," she said, and Jon knew she understood he was trying to make her feel better.

There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. Jon cleared his throat, "So, where is Phlox?"

"He's with the Lieutenant now, sir," Liz said, "running a scan to test the effectiveness of the aortic graft."

"Uh, good," Jon replied. "I guess I'll talk to him later. Could you please contact Commander Tucker and give him an update?"

"I'll tell Phlox you called sir, and I'll update Mr. Tucker right away." Liz said, "Cutler out—"

"Wait!" Jon stopped her before she ended the communication, kicking himself for not remembering who he was talking to, for not asking before, "How's Hoshi doing?"

"No change, sir."

"Oh," he said, wincing at how inadequate that was. "Well. I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Yes sir," she said, and then, "is there anything else?"

"No, that's it. Thanks." Jon replied, and then added unnecessarily, "keep me informed, okay?"

"Of course, sir," Liz replied, "Cutler out." The link went dead.

Jon closed his communicator, set it carefully back on the bedside table, scrubbed at his face with his hands. Malcolm was alive at least. That was good news, good enough for now.

He got out of bed and began dressing, slipping his alien clothes on over his Starfleet issue underwear, careful not to disturb the prosthetics still fixed to his wrists and face. Phlox had done an exceptionally good job of attaching them. He would have to thank him later.

As he finished slipping on his shirt, there was a knock at the door.

"Enter," Jon said, and smiled when he saw it was Davi, come to fetch him for breakfast. "Just a second," he told the boy, who nodded and left, closing the door behind him. Quickly, Jon put on his jacket, and slipped his communicator into its hidden inner pocket, checking to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything as he left the room.

At least he'd have some company while he waited for news.

***

It was almost noon by the time Trip reached the healer's house.

The house was small, a shack really, looking rickety and derelict. Like no one had been there for years.

Trip sat heavily on the dry earth near the top of the path, pulled out the wine skin from his bag and took a long drink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, rested his forearms on his knees. He looked out at the vista before him.

The old man had a fantastic view, Trip thought; he'd give him that. Lush, green forests and rolling hills as far as the eye could see, with a picturesque farming community tucked into the valley below. Little farm houses and vast tracks of cultivated land spread out before him, colouring the landscape in blocks of several shades of green and yellow, all under the umbrella of an incredible and impossibly blue sky.

Trip had never hated a planet so much in his life.

Liz had said that Malcolm had survived the night, but could die within the next 24 hours. And Trip was stuck here, unable to be with Malcolm in what could be his final moments.

He took another long drink, continued to sit. He knew he should get up and go knock on the door, try to use every ounce of his Southern charm to convince this old guy to help them, but he couldn't make himself move. He was worn out, burnt up, tired to his very core. He let his head fall forward, closed his eyes.

The sudden weight of a hand on his shoulder didn't even make him jump.

Slowly, Trip opened his eyes, turned his head to see who it was. "Grimbaldi," he said.

The alien standing before him was old, probably ancient, and reminded Trip absurdly of Santa Claus. His hair was white and wispy, his beard long, like a wizard from a fairy-tale. He was short and stooped, the height of a child. His horns were a dull yellow and long enough to have curved downwards, the ones on his wrists nearly brushing the back of his knuckles. His eyes were bright green, sparkled with intelligence, and were very kind.

"You have come a long way," Grimbaldi said, settling himself on the ground beside Trip. "How can I help you?"

Trip found himself staring into those strange green eyes, felt some of his fatigue fall off him, like the lifting of a blanket. "It's my friend," Trip said, "she got hurt and her spirit left her body. A man in the village said you could get it back."

"Arun," Grimbaldi smiled, "he has always had vast faith in my abilities." The old man leaned forward, as if sharing a secret. "He has hopes that Vas will be able to learn under me and become a healer like myself," he said, tapping Trip's arm. "And you know, the boy is not without talent." He stopped, eyeing Trip shrewdly. "But your thoughts, Young one, are only half on this friend who is spirit- walking, and she holds only a corner of your heart." Trip blinked in surprise. "Oh yes," Grimbaldi said, "your thoughts are with your most beloved, the man who would be your husband. He was also wounded."

"How did you know?" Trip asked, still caught by Grimbaldi's gaze.

"You wear your sadness," he said simply.

Trip felt his eyes fill with tears. "We'd been fightin'," he said, "barely speakin', and when he fell—" his voice broke. He covered his eyes with his hand.

"I understand," the old man said, "you fear he will move to the third plain, and never know of your great love for him. You fear choking on the words you never told him, you fear an infinity of regret."

Trip gave a small laugh through his tears. "I guess that's one way of puttin' it."

Grimbaldi patted him on the knee, "You must not fear, Young one," he said, "the patterns of life are intricate, and we can only see the threads. This design will work out as it should."

"Is Malcolm gonna live?" Trip asked, barely breathing.

"I am not a White Priestess, with an ear to God!" Grimbaldi said with a laugh, "I cannot say."

"No," Trip replied, crushing disappointment stabbing through him, "'course not." They sat, not speaking, Old Grimbaldi looking out over the valley, humming softly to himself.

"Can you help my friend?" Trip asked after a moment. "The one who is 'spirit-walking?'"

The old man shook his head. "I cannot," he said. "You and your family are not from this planet, and your friends will not hear the calling songs." He sighed deeply, green eyes sad. "I wish I might help you, Young one," he said, "but I fear your loved ones must find their own way home." He patted Trip's knee again. "At least they are both walking with each other." Using Trip's knee as a crutch, he stood abruptly, and placed both hands on the small of his back, stretching. "The ground is too hard for me," he moaned, "it will take several hours for my back to forgive this!" He began to limp towards the little hut.

Trip stood as well, dumbfounded. "Wait!" he called. "You can't help? That's it?"

"That is it indeed, Young one. Safe journey!" Old Grimbaldi called back. "I will not see you again." He went into his house and shut the door, leaving Trip standing on the hard earth, empty-handed.

"What did he mean, that my 'loved ones' are walking with each other?" Trip asked softly, "what did he mean?"

***

Jon sat on the guest bed in Arun's house, head in his hands.

It was lunchtime in the household, and once again the kitchen was full of the noise of meal preparation and the sound of the boys tearing around. Jon knew that one of them—probably Davi again—would soon be dispatched to fetch him, and once again he would have to socialize with them, to act the part of the grateful guest for his gracious host.

He liked Arun, liked his easy manner and obvious kindness. The tremendous affection between him and his sons and daughter reminded Jon of his own father and helped make the little house feel a bit more like home. Except for the constant worry about his injured officers, he had actually begun to enjoy himself, had almost begun to relax.

But that was before the communication he had just received from Trip, when everything had fallen apart.

Old Grimbaldi wasn't going to help Hoshi. Somehow, even with the prosthetics and local dress, he had recognized Trip as an outsider, and claimed that he would be unable to lead Hoshi's consciousness back. Jon felt a wave of despair crush him. He was out of ideas.

He had contacted Travis immediately after signing off with Trip, informing the helmsman to just come down to the planet to pick him and the Commander up, that there was no reason for Hoshi to be brought down. Travis hadn't said anything, but the Ensign's shock and grief had been palpable; and there was nothing Jon could say to make it better. He rubbed his temples; he could feel a headache coming on.

He knew he should contact Liz Cutler and tell her directly. As her Captain the information should come from him first, but he couldn't make himself do it. Not yet, at least. It was just after midnight on the ship, surely bad news could wait until morning.

He heard a familiar knock on the door. "Coming Davi," he sighed, standing, plastering on his best diplomatic smile.

***

Hoshi broke into a broad smile. "You're here to rescue me?"

"Of course, Ensign." Malcolm winked at her, "You don't think that I'd let you languish here all alone, did you?" He stepped out from behind his consol on the bridge and came and took her arm. "Now, from what I understand from the locals on the planet," he continued, "you've left your body in Sickbay, and now you can't find your way back." He leaned towards her conspiratorially, "Well, I just happen to know the way."

Hoshi looked at him, feeling a strange mixture of hope and trepidation. "Malcolm," she said, "You're not acting like yourself. Are you okay?"

"I feel fine, Hoshi," he said immediately. "Don't worry about me." He smiled and patted the back of the arm he was holding, "Shall we go?"

She returned his smile tentatively, nodded her assent.

"Excellent!" Leading her by the arm, he steered her to the turbolift and had them enter. He pressed the button for 'E' deck and leaned back against the lift's wall, waiting.

Hoshi looked at him, "E deck?" she said, amazed. "That's it? Were just going to Sickbay?"

Malcolm returned her gaze, clearly puzzled. "We're on the ship, aren't we?" he said. "Where else would it be?"

"I don't know, it's just—" Hoshi stopped herself. How could she explain to him that, after all the fear and uncertainty of her time in this strange realm, the idea that returning to her body would only require a trip to Sickbay seemed bizarrely anticlimactic? She shrugged, "I thought it would be harder, I guess."

He gave her a characteristic half-smile. "I could stop at 'D' deck, we could tour Engineering first, if you like." She laughed, "This is fine."

The lift came to a gentle stop, and the door slid open. "Ladies first," he said, gesturing at the door.

Hoshi stepped out of the lift, her heart hammering in her chest as she realized she was so close to her goal. She turned to the left, walked half a dozen steps, and there it was. The doors of Sickbay, right in front of her. Just like that.

Malcolm moved to the key pad and pressed a button. The doors slid open with a soft hissing sound. She looked over at him, suddenly afraid. He gave her an encouraging smile, and she took a step forward, then another, and all at once, she was back inside the one place she thought she'd never see again.

Immediately, she saw her girlfriend. Liz was standing around a biobed with Ari and Dr. Phlox, and Hoshi had to remind herself that she couldn't just run to her and sweep her up in an embrace. She had an overwhelming urge to reach out, to touch Liz's consciousness with her own. Their link had been severed for only a short time, but Hoshi missed her with every fibre of her being. But she remembered T'Pol's warning: that connecting with Liz pulled her only part-way into Hoshi's reality, leaving her vulnerable and afraid. Hoshi took a deep breath. She would be re-joined with her body soon enough, able to exist in the real world instead of having this partial existence of an un-dead ghost. Surely, she could wait.

The doctor and the two Ensigns were speaking urgently to each other, movements quick and purposeful. Hoshi couldn't tell who was on the biobed —Ari's back was in the way. Liz was clearly upset. Hoshi could see there was a problem, but she couldn't tell what it was, wouldn't be able to help until she had her body back.

Slowly, almost hesitatingly, she walked over to her body. It appeared almost as it had when she had left it. Her hair was down, her face peaceful and smooth in sleep, no longer wracked with illness. Hoshi reached out her hand and ran it down the side of her own face. Her skin felt dry and cool to the touch. Her body remained undisturbed. She pulled her hand back, frowned.

She had expected her hand to sink into her body, the rest of her spirit-self following until body and soul were rejoined. Clearly, that hadn't happened. Now she wasn't sure how to make it work.

Hoshi found herself looking back towards her girlfriend. Liz and Phlox were discussing something obviously upsetting by the stricken expression on Liz's face. Ari, the other medical assistant, was in the process of setting up a hypospray. He leaned over to inject it into the person on the biobed, moving out of the way and giving Hoshi a better view. The man on the bed seemed unconscious, with a tube coming out of his mouth. His chest was swathed in bandages and he had at least two IVs running into his arms, one of which was in a cast. Whoever it was had clearly suffered some sort of calamity. She hoped he'd be all right.

Turning away from them, she walked around the biobed, considering her body. "When I left me," she muttered to herself, "I just sat up, and hopped off." She stopped, twirling a piece of her ponytail around her finger, shrugged. "Here goes," she murmured, and jumped back up onto the biobed, hoping it was the right thing to do.

Her bum sank directly into her body, and she gave a small yelp before her surprise was replaced by joy. She moved first one leg, then the other into her body, relishing the delicious sensation of the blanket resting against the top of her bare feet, the sensual pleasure of wiggling her toes. She could feel the soft cloth against her legs, the hospital gown around her thighs. Her stomach growled, and she realized she was hungry. It was bliss.

She leaned back, just about ready to let her head drop down into herself, when a thought struck her. She sat bolt upright, eyes wide with realization.

It was Malcolm on that biobed, injured, possibly dying. And his consciousness hadn't come into Sickbay with her. Fear leaped at her throat. Where the hell was he?

With a sigh of regret she pulled herself out of her body and jumped down to the floor. She refused to look at Liz as she ran back towards the entrance to Sickbay, fearing her resolve would weaken if she saw her girlfriend one last time. Taking a deep breath, she paused in front of the doors, remembering what had happened the last time she had gone through them, knowing this time she might never get back.

But when she had met Malcolm in his dream, she had told him that his life was worth everything to his friends; that she would give her life if it meant he would live.

She took another deep breath, and pressed the button to open the doors. They slid open quietly, easily, as if their action didn't mean the end of her world.

She stepped out, the doors sliding shut behind her.

***

The away mission had been a complete and utter disaster.

Jon sat next to Travis as the shuttlepod lifted smoothly off from the ground and headed upwards towards Enterprise. He tapped his fingers on the consol, expression grim. No, he thought to himself, the away mission couldn't have been worse if they had tried.

First, Arun and his eldest children had learned that they were Earthlings. Alien beings who had come to their planet in a spaceship that could travel the stars. Luckily, Arun wasn't a particularly xenophobic man, or things could have gone a lot worse than they had. But that was their last piece of good luck. Malcolm had fallen off a cliff in an attempt to reach the only person who could actually save Hoshi, and when Trip finally did meet this guy, he had outright refused to help them. Mission not accomplished, not at all.

Jon turned his chair halfway to look back at his Commander. Trip was sitting near the back of the shuttle, forearms on his knees, staring at the floor. He had been unusually quiet when he and Lamo had returned from the mountain, his normal warmth missing as they had made their good-byes to Arun and his family. Trip was devastated by Malcolm's injury; obviously certain he was going to lose the man he loved.

Trip might not be too far off the mark, Jon thought to himself as he drummed the consol. The last report he'd received from Phlox indicated that Malcolm was not responding as well to treatment as hoped. His blood pressure hadn't stabilized, his core temperature was taking too long to return to normal after the operation, and they were having trouble weaning him off the ventilator. One litany of disaster after another. He sighed as he looked at Trip. The man was clearly hurting, just managing to hold himself together. There were deep purple rings under his eyes, testament to his hard night on the mountain. He looked much older than his thirty-three years.

Jon turned away from Trip to glance at his helmsman. Travis was concentrating extremely hard on bringing the shuttlepod out of the planet's atmosphere. His lips were thinned, his brow furrowed, all traces of his usual humour gone. Travis and Hoshi were good friends, Malcolm the officer he probably looked up to the most. Jon let his head fall forward; there was no question the crew was going to be devastated by the loss of the two officers.

Jon stood abruptly, his sudden movement gaining him only a passing glance from Travis and no reaction at all from Trip. Jon began to pace in the small space, smacking his fist into his palm as he trod.

They were both going to die, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He was the Captain of Starfleet's flagship: the best technology and the fastest engine at his disposal, and there was nothing he could do. He stopped pacing, raked his hand through his hair. He wanted to scream, to hit something. He'd never felt so helpless in his life.

"Cap'n?"

Jon turned to his Commander, stunned. After ordering Trip to stay on the mountain last night, he was expecting nothing but cold anger, not an attempt at communication, and certainly not the use of his nickname. "Yes, Trip?" he said, hoping the surprise didn't show on his face.

"Can I ask you somethin'?" Trip was sitting up, his eyes dark and sad.

Jon gave a small smile and went to sit beside the other man. "Always."

Trip swallowed hard, leaned his forearms on his knees again. "You probably don't know this," Trip said, not looking Jon in the eye, "but me and Malcolm were goin' out."

"You're my best friend, Trip," Jon said gently, "I knew."

"Oh," Trip said, glanced quickly up at Jon and then away again. "Well, then you probably know that we broke up a while back."

"Yes," Jon said, "I could tell something had changed between you."

Trip started tapping his thumbs together as he spoke. "It wasn't the friendliest of break-ups," he continued, "and Malcolm and I weren't speakin' for the longest time."

Jon nodded, "Go on."

"But the thing is, Cap'n," Trip said, raising his head to look at Jon again, "we didn't wanna be apart, we just didn't know how to fix things." He took a shuddering breath. "When Malcolm fell off the cliff," he said, and his voice was so quiet Jon had to lean in to hear him, "he told me he loved me, that he was sorry he hurt me. And I told him I loved him too, that I never stopped. But he went unconscious while I was talkin'." Trip paused, lifting his eyes to Jon's, and Jon could see they were shiny and rimmed in red. "Do you think he heard me, Cap'n?" Trip asked, and Jon's heart nearly broke from the raw pain in Trip's eyes. "I was up all night wonderin'. 'Cause I'd hate for him to die, not knowin' how I felt."

Jon put his arm around Trip, gently lifting him upright and pulling him close. Trip tucked his head against Jon's shoulder, crying softly. "I'm sure he heard you," Jon said, patting Trip's back, "I'm sure he knows you love him."

"What if he dies?" Trip cried, voice muffled by Jon's jacket. "What am I gonna do?"

Jon just patted his back. There was nothing he could say.

***

Plymouth.

His favourite city in all of England. Perhaps the whole world.

Malcolm was standing by the war memorial on The Hoe, the beautiful park overlooking the Promenade and the white-capped waves of the ocean below. The sky was a typical English blue, too pale by half, and there was the constant underlying scent of rain, colouring the salty air.

The cry of seagulls could be heard clearly over the sound of the wind and the waves, and from his vantage point, he could easily watch them wheel and turn against the heavy clouds, a flicker of grey against grey.

He could feel the wind against his bare toes, curling up his legs and raising the hairs on the back of his arms. He shivered, and swung his knapsack off his back, taking out the sweater he knew would be there and pulling it on over his t-shirt. At least his upper body was warm now; even though there was nothing he could do about his legs and sandaled feet. A childhood spent in Malaysia had ill-prepared him for travel to colder climates, and he had assumed summer was warm no matter where one was. Well, at least that was the mistake he had made the first time he had visited; the time he was clearly re-living now; in his dream.

He slung his knapsack over one shoulder, turned, and left the memorial and began the long trek down the hill back to the Promenade, just as he had so many years ago. He had been seventeen then, the first time he came to the naval city, the first time he had traveled on his own. His father had thought it would be good for him, to see the place where the might of the British navy had been born, to see the history, hear the call of the ocean in his blood and choose the path all Reed men had taken. Malcolm had jumped at the chance to go, excited just to get away from his father for a while.

The family history had mattered to Malcolm then—it still did, and he had made a point of finding the Reed names on the war memorials, tracing each one with his fingertip, saying a small prayer of thanks for all their great sacrifices. But connecting with his past hadn't changed his future. He still saw the ocean as something menacing, had still left it behind to sail amongst the stars.

But he would always love this city, its ancient buildings and beautiful, towering cathedrals. The Barbican was his favourite area though, with its quaint collection of restaurants, pubs and shops almost directly on the water. He was headed there now, remembering clearly how his seventeen-year-old self had felt so grown up, so terribly English the first time he had sat down in a proper British pub, drinking ale at room temperature.

Lost in his reminisces, he didn't notice anything was amiss until he reached the Barbican. He stopped, a small frown creasing his face. Flags snapped and waved in the mid-summer wind, the patio umbrellas fluttered slightly, slowly rotating with the gusts of air. He could hear the seagulls overhead, the dull roar of the ocean a few feet away. It was the middle of summer, early afternoon and not a drop of rain anywhere.

Malcolm frowned. There was no one there, not one single soul.

Slowly, he rotated in a complete circle, taking in everything around him. The area was lovely, pristine, looking like a picture-postcard of itself, just waiting to be filled with people. Malcolm felt a flash of concern as he studied the vacant surroundings, then shrugged it off. He was dreaming, after all, and dreams were nothing if not cryptic. Surely the empty street was something highly symbolic and meaningful to his subconscious, he'd figure it out later.

Actually, he thought to himself, this was one of the best dreams he had had in a while. It had been wonderful to be able to speak to Hoshi again, and he had felt bloody heroic being able to lead her back to her body. Even being on the bridge of the ship had been a nice touch. Too bad it was just a dream though, and there was nothing he could do for Hoshi in real life.

Malcolm kept walking, enjoying the spray of the ocean where it flicked against his bare skin, the cry of the gulls. He found himself singing as he walked along, and was surprised to realize it was a hymn that he had learned at church as a child. "Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day; Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away." He frowned, realizing what he was singing. "That's fairly morbid!" he laughed, but the tune wouldn't leave his mind.

He continued whistling it as he walked, realized that he was heading downward towards the docks, where the huge ships were moored before they sailed out of port into the vast wasteland of the ocean. He paused, eyes narrowing. He knew this route; it was the first place he had gone when he had initially visited. He was headed towards the monument for the HMS Clement, to find the name of the last Reed to die at sea.

What could possibly be the purpose of retracing these steps? He turned his head, looking back at the way he'd come, considered just turning around and stopping for a pint at one of the Barbican pubs, dream be damned. He sighed, knowing he wouldn't alter his path. It was just a dream, after all. What harm could there be?

The route was steeper now as he came closer to the shore, the wind higher, and he shivered, wrapped his arms around himself. He could see the monument now, its black metal stark and cold against the pale blue sky. The wind was whipping salty spray into his eyes. He closed them for a moment, rubbing at them with his fingertips to get out the sting. He opened his eyes again, looked at the monument, blinked.

There was a man standing there, dressed in an officer's uniform from nearly fifty years before. He was leaning casually against the monument, peaked cap in his hands, brown hair tousled by the wind. Even from this distance, Malcolm could tell his eyes were stormy- blue. He had never met the man, but Malcolm had looked at his picture so many times as a child that his face was burned forever into his mind. He knew exactly who it was.

"Great-uncle Harry!" Malcolm called, smiling, "what a pleasant surprise."

***

Hoshi had no idea where she was.

She was standing on top of a hill next to some kind of memorial, looking down over a town towards what seemed to be an ocean. The sky was a light blue, the wind salty and cold, sliding easily through the layers of her uniform. She couldn't see Malcolm anywhere.

Cursing to herself in Klingon, she started making her way down the hillside, hoping she was picking the right direction. She had no idea if Malcolm had purposely chosen the landscape around her or, if like T'Pol, it had just appeared for him, plucked out of his mind by unseen fingers. She assumed it must have some significance for him, but what is could be she had no idea. Saying Malcolm didn't like talking about himself was something of an understatement.

She reached an area that looked particularly touristy: a row of shops and restaurants each placed within direct view of the water. There was no one around, and no sign of the Lieutenant. Hoshi bit her lip. The sense of urgency was growing stronger with each passing second. She knew something was wrong, she could feel it. Where the hell was that man?

Quickly, she looked around, noted that all the signs were in English, and took a leap of faith that she was somewhere in England, Portsmouth or Dover or some other sea-port area. Liz had told her Malcolm hated water, and that thought spurred her into a run.

She ran further down the hill, towards the ocean. The wind was quite strong here, tearing her hair from its clip and snapping it into her face. She could taste the salt of the water, and was suddenly reminded of a time, weeks ago, when she was standing with Trip on a beach, terrified that Malcolm was going to die.

Hoshi stopped in her tracks. "Oh no," she breathed, started running again, heart pounding in time with her steps. "Malcolm!" she screamed as she ran. "Malcolm!"

***

The lounge on 'F' deck was usually deserted, even in the middle of the day. Now, with the best part of the night over, there was no chance anyone would come to disturb them.

Trip sat back on the couch, one arm slung casually over Liz's shoulders as he looked at the stars shooting by. The ship was travelling back towards Earth at an easy warp one, on their way to intercept a Vulcan ship sometime within the next three weeks. The Vulcans were bringing new Starfleet crew to fill the positions vacated by Malcolm and Hoshi: a new Communications officer, and another Ensign for the Armoury, as Cormack would probably be promoted to Lieutenant now, a few years ahead of schedule.

The orders to head back home had come from Admiral Forrest a few hours earlier, in an incredibly rapid response to the update Jon had sent soon after the away team had returned to the ship. Trip knew Jon had argued; had yelled at his commanding officer that Forrest was pounding nails in the coffins of two people who were not yet dead. Trip wasn't sure what Forrest's response had been, but he could guess that the Admiral was more worried about the Vulcan reaction to the death of two bridge crew, and more concerned that Starfleet's deep space exploration program might be set back, than he was with being sensitive to Jon's feelings on the matter. This way the positions could be filled before the Vulcans had time to react, before the public could become overly concerned with the safety of those they were sending into space. The deaths of Lieutenant Reed and Ensign Sato would be just a small, tragic bump on the road to Earth's interstellar emancipation. A footnote; easily overlooked.

Part of Trip was furious that Forrest could turn his back on Malcolm and Hoshi, condemn them to death before God had made the final decision. But another part of him suspected that Forrest's pragmatism was just a way for the Admiral to deal with the situation, merely denial in a different shirt.

Liz was leaning against Trip's chest, eyes closed, asleep. There were marks like bruises under her eyes, made all the more visible by the unnatural paleness of her skin. She had just woken up that morning from some sort of violent hallucination, and had immediately become involved in the intense effort to save Malcolm's life. Phlox had ordered her to go rest a few minutes ago, when it became obvious she was going to collapse where she stood. Trip had escorted her out of Sickbay. He had reached his limit of watching Malcolm's downward spiral anyway; there was only so much despair a man could take.

He had gone to Sickbay as soon as the shuttle had docked. Even though he had been expecting bad news, he had still been shocked by Malcolm's appearance, by the way the doc, Liz and Ari were doing everything in their power to halt what appeared to be inevitable. Phlox had promised to call him if—when—Malcolm took a further turn for the worse. Trip was sure it wouldn't be too long now.

In some ways, he thought it must be harder for Liz. Hoshi didn't look sick. Even her bullet wound had healed up nicely, Phlox had said, with barely a scar. But she was dying anyway, her body already starting on its slow, unavoidable descent into entropy and death. Phlox had said that, theoretically, Hoshi's body could survive for decades in that state, living out her natural lifespan in dreamless sleep. Somehow Trip knew that wouldn't be the case. Hoshi's body wouldn't actually survive long without her fiery spirit to animate it. She'd probably give up the ghost within the month. —He smiled humourlessly—excuse the pun.

Trip closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing against the hard lump that had formed in his throat. It was one thing to break down in front of his Captain, but totally another to give into his grief while subordinates were around. Liz might be a friend, but he was also her Commander, and that meant he would be a source of strength for her, not the other way around. Besides, his crying might wake her, and Lord knew she needed her sleep.

No, he affirmed, he would only grieve with Jon, or alone in his cabin, nowhere else. It's what Malcolm would have done, what he would have wanted.

"Please let him live," Trip prayed quietly to the darkness and the stars, "please."

*** Malcolm turned at the sound of his name, watched, puzzled, as Hoshi came hurtling down the hill. She ran up to him, leaning forward, hands on her thighs.

"Malcolm," she gasped, "Thank the Gods. You can't—" she shook her head, trying to speak and breathe at the same time, "—can't stay here. Too dangerous."

He looked around, immediately alert. His great uncle was still leaning up against the memorial, smile warm and welcoming. The dock was still empty, everything quiet except for the calling of the gulls and the rumble of the ocean. He looked back at Hoshi, who was now standing, hand gripping an obvious stitch in her side. "Hoshi, it's just a dream."

She shook her head again, breathing slowly coming back under control. "I don't think it is just a dream," she said, "I have this bad feeling." Her brown eyes were pleading, "You have to come back to Sickbay with me. You can't stay here."

"But I've just seen my great uncle!" Malcolm replied, gesturing towards the uniformed man. "I can't leave without speaking to him."

Hoshi's eyes widened and she turned to look where Malcolm was pointing. "One of your relatives is here to meet you?" she covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh this is very bad."

Malcolm felt himself getting annoyed. This was the best dream he'd had in a long time, and now his subconscious was trying to ruin it with visions of a paranoid Hoshi. "Enough of this shite," he muttered, and began walking towards Harry.

His great uncle stood straighter as he approached, smile broadening, and Malcolm found himself smiling in return. The area behind Harry seemed to be dappled in sunshine, the light brightening the area until it appeared almost white. Malcolm quickened his pace, he wanted to be in that light, wanted to feel its warmth on his cold skin.

Hoshi grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop. "Malcolm," she cried, "you can't!"

He tried to shake her off, but she was tenacious. "Damn it, Hoshi!" he said, "there's no danger here, can't you see that?"

"This isn't a dream!" she insisted, tugging harder on his arm, "something bad is going to happen if you go over there, I know it!"

"Nothing bad is going to happen!" he yelled. He started dragging her with him towards the other man, "Would you just let go?"

She dug in her heels, nearly hanging off his arm in her attempt to stop him. "Malcolm!" she shouted at him. "Listen to me! You can't go over there! You can't!"

He stopped suddenly, causing Hoshi to lose her grip and sit down hard on the pavement. He looked down at her, the fear in her eyes. He sighed and crouched down beside her. "Hoshi," he said, trying to sound reasonable, "I understand that you are concerned about me going to my great uncle, but this is my dream, and I'm not going to stay asleep forever. I'm going over there to talk to him, whether you like it or not." He moved to stand.

She leaped on him, throwing him backwards onto the ground. His knapsack fell off his shoulder. She straddled his chest, pressing his arms against the pavement. "Don't you get it?" she yelled at him, "I saw your body in Sickbay! You are dying Malcolm! This isn't some stupid dream! If you go over to that man, he's going to take you away with him, and you're going to die!"

"Bloody hell, Hoshi!" he roared, "I am not dying! I'm sleeping on a mountain with Trip." He tried to move, but she had all her weight pressed against his arms, and he didn't want to just throw her off. "This is ridiculous! Hoshi let me up!"

Hoshi didn't move, "Won't you listen?" she hollered at him, "You're in Sickbay! You've got a tube in your mouth, you're covered in bandages!" She pressed his arms harder against the cement. "You're dying Malcolm! Something bad happened to you, and you're dying. That's why I left Sickbay to come find you, you have to come back!"

"I'm not dying!" he repeated. "I can't be." the sentence trailed off as a memory, unbidden, forced its way to the forefront of his mind. He had been arguing with Trip, about climbing a cliff-face. Trip thought it was unsafe, but he had gone anyway. Near the top, he had started coming back down, his hand had slipped, his foot-

"Oh my God," he whispered. "I fell off a cliff, Hoshi," he said, starting to shake. "I remember now. I fell off a cliff." Hoshi moved off his chest, helped him into a sitting position. He was shaking harder now, teeth clicking against each other as he trembled. He gripped Hoshi's forearms with his hands until his knuckles went white. "I hit the ground," he said, looking into her eyes. "I was in so much pain, Trip was there, and he told me not to move, but I had to, because it hurt—"

Hoshi pulled him into an embrace, wrapped her arms around his back, murmuring soothing noises into his ear. He clutched her, shuddering. His great uncle had been going to guide him into whatever afterlife there was. If Hoshi hadn't appeared when she did, he would have gone with him, happily, unknowingly, like a lamb to slaughter. His death would hurt Liz terribly. He'd never have seen Trip again, Trip who still loved him, who said he'd never stopped.

"It's okay," Hoshi said, stroking his back, "no harm done, you're not going to die."

It felt like forever before the terrible fear began to subside. He hadn't actually gone with Harry, he was still alive. He pulled away from her gently, met her gaze. "You saved my life," he said simply, "I don't know how I can ever repay you."

She smiled, patted him on the shoulder as she got to her feet, "Just get both of us back to Sickbay. That will be payment enough."

Malcolm stood, rubbed his hands over his face. He looked over to the monument for the HMS Clement, his great uncle was gone. He turned back to Hoshi where she was standing next to him, hand resting lightly on his back, "I always thought I wasn't afraid to die," he said, giving her a half-smile. "I guess I was wrong."

"I don't think you're afraid of dying," she said, crossing her arms loosely in front of her. "I think you might have finally realized that you may just have something to live for." She smiled at him. "It's hard to give up your life, when you realize how much its worth to those who love you, isn't it?"

He gave a rueful laugh. "That's what you were trying to tell me in my dream of the meadow, wasn't it. I think I actually understand it now."

"I hope so," she said, "because I can't take much more of this kind of stuff." She put her hands on her hips, surveyed their surroundings. "Now, where do you think Sickbay has gotten to?"

Malcolm turned to look at her, realization dawning with sickening clarity. "Hoshi," he breathed, "you left Sickbay to find me, didn't you?"

"Of course," she replied, "I didn't want you to die."

"But," he swallowed, "you got lost the first time you left Sickbay, you don't know your way back."

"I know," she replied, "but you were out here, all alone."

"You did that for me?" Malcolm asked, amazed. "You left Sickbay? For me?"

She smiled at him, "Like I told you in the meadow," she said, "you, Trip and Liz are worth everything to me." She put her hand on his chest. "It was an easy decision."

"Oh," he said simply, voice hoarse. He took her hand, cleared his throat. "Come on," he said, "this is the way home."

***

The chirping of her communicator woke Liz with a start.

She was in the observation lounge with Trip, nestled against him on the couch. He had clearly drifted off at some point: his eyes were closed, his head was leaning back against the cushions, mouth open, snoring softly.

For a second she couldn't understand what she was doing there, why she wasn't in her cabin, snuggled under the blankets with Hoshi. Then reality crashed over her, and she closed her eyes against the rush of tears. "I will not cry," she muttered to herself, "I will not cry."

Her communicator chirped again, and she fished it out of her sleeve pocket and flipped it open.

"Liz?" She immediately recognized Ari's voice and sat upright at the sound.

"What's wrong?" she asked desperately, "what's happened?"

"Nothing's wrong!" Ari replied, and she couldn't help but hear the happiness in his voice. "Dr. Phlox wanted me to tell you that you and Trip should come back to Sickbay. He's got good news."

"On my way," Liz said, heart pounding.

"See you soon," Ari said, and she snapped the communicator shut.

"Trip, wake up!" She hissed, giving him a small shake.

Trip stirred. "What's goin' on?" he said sleepily, "everythin' alright?"

"Ari just commed me," she said, "he says we should go to Sickbay A.S.A.P. He says there's good news."

Trip was immediately wide awake, his lips turning up in a smile. "Good news?" he repeated, "Malcolm?"

Liz felt her heart drop. "I don't know," she said, then added truthfully, "I think it might be about Hoshi. Ari didn't really say."

The smile left Trip's face. "Oh," he said, "well, Hoshi doin' better. That's good news, ain't it?"

Liz touched his arm. "I'm so sorry, Commander," she said softly, "I wish there was something I could do."

"It's alright" Trip said, "If Hoshi's doin' better, that'll be good enough for now," he gestured towards the door. "I bet you're dyin' to get down there."

Liz grinned. They left the lounge together.

***

Jon stood in the back of Sickbay, shaking his head in wonder.

A few hours ago, he had been in a screaming fight with Admiral Forrest, unwilling to believe the man could be so callous as to order up replacements for Hoshi and Malcolm before they were even dead. He had been in his ready room since then, jet-lagged and exhausted from his time on the planet, but too upset to attempt to sleep. He had been reading a journal on transporter safety, something Trip had sent him an eon ago, when Phlox had called him with the incredible news.

Hoshi had woken up, just like that.

He had arrived at Sickbay a few moments after Ensign Cutler and Trip. Liz and Hoshi were now in each other's arms, laughing and crying at the same time, sharing kisses and caresses in between their words of affection. Seeing them together, so obviously happy and in love, Jon couldn't believe he hadn't realized they were a couple. It made him wonder what else was going on aboard Enterprise that he wasn't aware of. He vowed he'd pay more attention in the future.

Dr. Phlox walked over to him, hands clasped behind his back in a typical pose. "Remarkable recovery, Captain," he said, indicating Hoshi with his chin, "and not at all unwelcome."

Jon smiled at him, clapped him on the back. "Amazing job, Doctor," he said. "I don't know how you did it, but well done."

Phlox turned to look at him, brow furrowed. "But I had nothing to do with it," he exclaimed. "One moment Ensign Sato was asleep, the next, she was awake. I still can't explain how it happened." He shook his head. "Most remarkable. And to top it off—"

Trip walked over, causing Phlox to stop speaking. "Doc," he said, "Cap'n. Sorry to interrupt."

"Its okay, Trip," Jon said, crinkling his eyes at his friend. "Phlox was just telling me about Hoshi's incredible recovery." He noted that Trip still looked drained, like he hadn't had nearly enough sleep, and decided to give the engineer the shift off, whether he wanted it or not.

Trip turned to the doctor. "Liz said you had wanted us both in here, that you had good news. It's great about Hoshi, and all, but I was hopin' there was also somethin' you could tell me about Malcolm?"

"Actually," Phlox said, "I was in the process of telling this to the Captain when you appeared, Commander. Lieutenant Reed is doing better. Much, much better." He flashed his too-wide grin. "In fact, I feel quite confident in saying that the Lieutenant is completely out of danger. He should be able to return to duty in about a week."

"What?" Trip breathed. The man's eyes were wide as saucers, and Jon put out a hand to steady him, afraid he would collapse right there. "Malcolm's gonna be okay?"

"That is correct, Commander," Phlox said. "Ensign Cohn is taking him off the ventilator even as we speak."

Jon was beaming. Malcolm and Hoshi were all right; no one was going to die. They were all okay. He clapped Trip on the shoulder, let his hand rest there. Trip took a deep breath, blinked rapidly. "If y'all excuse me," he said, voice rough with emotion.

"Of course, Trip," Jon said gently, giving his shoulder a small squeeze, "and I don't want to see you until tomorrow, okay? Take the day off."

Trip gave him a watery smile. "Will do," he said, and walked over to where Malcolm was lying. He pulled up a chair and sat down, clearly intending to stay put.

Jon smiled to himself, thanking whatever Gods there were that Trip and Malcolm were going to get a second chance. Suddenly, he was hit with a wave of fatigue and found his jaw stretched in a bone- cracking yawn.

"Perhaps you should take your own advice, Captain," Phlox said mildly, "and get some rest. I think you should stay off the bridge for a day or so, as well."

"You're probably right," Jon said, hearing the wisdom in the doctor's words. "Think I'll turn in." He gestured towards Liz and Hoshi with a tilt of his head. "Don't let those two stay up too late," he said, "I expect them both to be in bed in a few minutes."

"Oh, have no fear Captain," Phlox said, smirking, "I'm sure that's exactly what they have in mind."

Jon felt himself blushing, and decided to ignore Phlox's double entendre. "Tell Liz she has a couple of days off as well," Jon said. "She deserves it."

"Absolutely Captain," Phlox called after him as he left Sickbay.

He sighed to himself as he heard the door closing behind him. If he never had to go there again, it would be too soon. Rubbing the back of his neck, he headed towards his ready room. Phlox was right, he did need to get some sleep, but first he had a message to send to a certain Starfleet Admiral.

***

Liz lay against Hoshi, spooning the other woman against her chest. One arm was wrapped around her, resting against her chest. Liz could feel Hoshi's heartbeat, slow and steady, beneath her palm.

Their lovemaking had been frantic, almost desperate at first, replacing her fear of nearly losing Hoshi with the joy of their reunion. Afterwards, Hoshi had gently wiped the tears away from Liz's face, kissed their salt from her lips. They had made love again, unhurried and easy, like they had all the time in the world.

"Hoshi?"

"Hmmm?" Hoshi murmured, sounding almost asleep.

"I'm sorry," Liz whispered against the back of Hoshi's neck, lips almost touching the delicate skin.

Hoshi rolled half-way in Liz's arms, her eyes sultry and black in the low light. "What for?"

Liz raised herself up on one elbow, traced the line of Hoshi's cheek with the index finger of her free hand. "When you were trapped in that other place," she said softly. "I'm sorry I didn't know it was you."

Hoshi tucked a strand of Liz's hair behind Liz's ear. "I don't understand."

"You tried to reach me again," Liz explained, "like you had when I was dreaming. But this time I was awake, and you were only able to contact part of my mind. I didn't know what was going on, and I was afraid. I should have known it was you, should have helped you somehow." She lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Shhh," Hoshi whispered, "T'Pol told me. She was the one who made me let you go. I don't blame you for being afraid." She stroked the side of Liz's face, eyes dark. "I'm the one who should apologize. I didn't mean to frighten you. I didn't know how it would be for you—" Liz heard her take a shaky breath. "I wouldn't hurt you for the world."

Liz smiled, letting her hand rest on Hoshi's cheek. "I know," she said. She bent down, captured Hoshi's mouth with her own.

Hoshi's mouth was warm and tasted of raspberries, and Liz kissed her with all the heartache and longing she had felt since Hoshi was first injured. Their tongues met, intertwined. Their hands began moving, sliding and stroking along each other's skin with a familiar intimacy that Liz had feared was lost to her forever. She rubbed her palm over Hoshi's nipple, cupped her breast, and moved her hand lower to leisurely caress the junction between Hoshi's thighs. Hoshi was already slick and swollen from their previous lovemaking, and Liz's fingers slipped inside her easily, feeling Hoshi's heat surround her. Slowly, she began kissing her way down Hoshi's body, tasting the smooth skin with her tongue and leaving a wet trail behind her. Hoshi moaned quietly, arched her body under Liz's mouth. Liz chuckled softly to herself, moved lower.

She knelt between Hoshi's legs, enjoying her delicious scent. She found Hoshi's slit with her free hand, parted it tenderly. She kissed Hoshi's pussy, tongued her gently, curling her tongue around Hoshi's clitoris and sucking lightly. Hoshi groaned, began bucking her hips. Liz increased the rhythm of her fingers, the pace of her suckling, flicking occasionally with the tip of her tongue. All too soon, Hoshi gave a small cry and pulsed against her mouth, convulsing around her fingers again and again.

After a moment, Liz moved from between Hoshi's legs and snuggled in behind her. Hoshi sighed contentedly, nestled further against Liz and pulled the blankets up over them both.

"That was amazing," Hoshi sighed. "You are so good at that."

Liz laughed against Hoshi's hair, "I aim to please." She hugged Hoshi to her, relishing the feel of the other woman's body against her own. "I love you, Hoshi Sato," she said softly, "don't ever leave me again."

Hoshi squeezed Liz's arms tightly. "I love you too, Liz Cutler," she replied, "and I promise I will never leave you again. Not if I can help it."

"Good," Liz murmured, nuzzled the back of Hoshi's neck. They lay quietly for a while, Liz listening to the rhythm of Hoshi's breathing even out and deepen. "I think I'll go see Malcolm tomorrow, if he's feeling better." Liz said, her cheek against Hoshi's back.

"I'm glad," Hoshi yawned. "He's missed you terribly."

Liz rose up on her elbow. "Really? How do you know?"

"He told me," Hoshi said sleepily. "G'night."

Liz lay back down. "He told you?" she asked, "When did he do that?"

But Hoshi was already asleep.

***

Malcolm was awake, reading a PADD, held clumsily in his left hand, when Liz came into Sickbay late the next afternoon. He saw her wave to Ensign Cohn as she made her way over to his biobed.

"Liz!" He smiled broadly, gestured at a nearby chair with his PADD. "Please, have a seat." He put the PADD down on the bed beside him and ran his good hand through hair that he knew must look a fright. He wished he had a comb and a mirror for a second, but then changed his mind. He probably didn't really want to know how bad he looked.

Liz pulled the chair closer, sat down. She lowered her head and her hair swung forward into her face, partially hiding her eyes. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Me too," he said, making his tone light. He leaned forward to catch her gaze. "Seems it was a bit touch-and-go for a while."

"Your injuries were really bad," Liz agreed. "Phlox even had to have Ari operate on your head so he could deal with your aneurism. Scared him shitless."

"It was Ari?" He raised his eyebrows, surprised, and looked over to where the other man was working. "I hope he did a good job."

Liz returned his smile. "He did a great job. Fantastic."

"Good to hear," he laughed. "I rather liked my brain the way it was."

Liz chuckled. "Well, you should stop throwing it off of cliffs then."

Malcolm's lips thinned, irritated at her subtle accusation. "I didn't do it on purpose, Liz."

Liz drew down her eyebrows. "I didn't say that, Malcolm." They held each other's gaze for a moment, the silence growing awkward between them. Liz cleared her throat. "Well, uh," she gestured at his PADD, "I didn't mean to interrupt your reading. I just came down to see how you were." She made to stand.

He didn't want her to leave like this, and he reached out his hand to stop her. "Wait, Liz. Please, don't go."

She sat back down, eyed him warily. "Okay."

There was another uncomfortable silence. Malcolm plucked at the blanket, uncertain. He knew what he wanted to say to Liz, but wasn't sure how. She looked at him. "You wanted me to stay?"

"Yes," Malcolm said. He took a deep breath. "I owe you an apology. A few, actually." He raised his head to look at her, feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable. It was hard for him to apologize, even when he knew he was in the wrong, but his friendship with Liz was extremely important to him—his time with Hoshi had proven that. "I've been treating you rather shabbily since the day I broke up with Commander Tucker," he said, "and you didn't deserve it. I'm sorry."

Liz didn't reply for a moment, and Malcolm was immediately afraid that perhaps she wouldn't accept his apology. That the damage he had done to their relationship was too severe to repair. Suddenly, Liz's face broke into a smile and she moved closer to him, took his good hand into hers. "I've missed you."

His relief was instant, and he returned her smile. He squeezed her hand. "I've missed you, too."

"When I woke up in Sickbay," Liz continued, teary-eyed, and Malcolm felt a flash of shame, "and I saw that you had been wounded—again—" her voice had begun to shake, and she paused. "It's hard," she said finally, "worrying about you all the time. Wishing you weren't so eager to risk your life."

So, this is what his actions had done to those who cared for him, and he swore to himself that he would never again be so cavalier with his life, for their sake. "I'm not," Malcolm said, embarrassed. "Well, not anymore." He held her gaze. "When I was hurt, I ended up in the same place as Hoshi. I don't really know how I got there, but there I was. I almost died." He paused, hoping she would understand what he was telling her. "Hoshi saved my life. I don't plan on treating that gift lightly."

Liz felt her breath catch in her throat. "Oh."

"I finally understood what you and Hoshi and Trip had been trying to tell me for such a long time," Malcolm said. "I just wanted to tell you that."

"Thank you," Liz said, and he could tell by her tone that she did understand, and would hold him to it in the future.

He felt like a great weight had been lifted off him. Liz forgave him; she still wanted his friendship. He smiled. "My pleasure," and it was.

She grinned at him, but suddenly her brow furrowed. "What about your transfer?" "The Captain never signed it," Malcolm said, waving his good hand in a dismissive gesture. He crinkled his eyes. "Guess I'm stuck here." "Poor thing!" Liz laughed, shoving him lightly.

He laughed with her, feeling more relaxed than he had in a long time. All at once he realized he was weary, exhausted really, and he yawned, rubbing his hand over his face.

Liz stood. "You're tired," she said. "I should go."

He wanted to stop her leaving, but suddenly didn't have the strength. He really was tired. "If you wouldn't mind," he said, leaning back on the biobed and closing his eyes. He opened them again after a moment, concerned. He looked at her. "You'll come back later?"

"Of course," she replied.

"Thanks," he said, sighing contentedly, letting his eyes drift shut, "for everything."

He felt her kiss him lightly on his temple and he smiled without opening his eyes. "I'll see you soon," she said, and he was dimly aware of the sound of her receding footsteps as he fell asleep.

***

Trip sat, watching Malcolm sleep.

He was reminded painfully of that night in Sickbay, so many weeks ago, when Malcolm was recovering from pneumonia. At that time Trip had missed the opportunity to tell the other man how much he loved him; Malcolm had broken up with him instead. Trip fingered the small object he was holding. There would be no sad endings tonight, he vowed, not this time.

He couldn't deny his own tiredness though. By the time they had left the planet's surface he had been awake for almost two days, and while he had had the day off, thanks to Jon, he had been too wired about Malcolm's recovery to be able to sleep. He shook his head, chuckling softly to himself, just once he would like everyone to come back from an away mission well-rested and in one piece.

He felt the familiar twinge of anxiety poke at him, and he frowned. He badly wanted to make sure the Lieutenant understood how much he meant to Trip and how much he wanted them to get back together. Malcolm had told Trip he loved him on two separate occasions since they had broken up, and Trip was counting on the fact that it meant Malcolm still wanted to be with him, but he couldn't be sure. Just because Malcolm loved him didn't necessarily mean he thought they should be lovers. Trip grimaced. Malcolm was contrary enough to believe something like that. Well, Trip thought, he'd just have to change the Lieutenant's mind. He twirled the smooth object between his fingers.

And of course, there was the other issue, the reason why he was sitting in Sickbay. Trip had thought long and hard about this, trying to come to terms with loving a man who would never choose self-preservation over self-sacrifice. He felt he had come to the only possible conclusion; he would love Malcolm for as long and as hard as Malcolm would let him, and take it one day at a time. Hopefully he would be able to change Malcolm's mind before he lost him for good, because he'd be damned if he gave in without a fight.

Trip sighed, feeling some of his anxiety ebb away as he gazed at the sleeping man. Perhaps it would be better this time. He yawned, stretched his arms behind his head and his legs out in front of him. His foot jostled the biobed, and Malcolm's eyes flew open, instantly alert.

"I'm sorry," Trip said, wincing as he experienced a strong feeling of déjà vu, "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Trip?" Malcolm said, voice thick from sleep. He smiled broadly, teeth flashing white in the low lights of Sickbay. "I was just dreaming about you."

"You were?" Trip grinned, leaned forward. "Good, I hope."

"Actually," Malcolm replied, "you were." He smirked, "I was excellent."

Trip laughed, feeling the remainder of his anxiety drain away. He was joking with Malcolm. It was going to be all right. "How you feelin'?" he asked, leaning forward and reaching out his hand to stroke Malcolm's cheek with his finger.

"Fine," Malcolm said, still smiling, "truly."

"I'm glad," Trip said. "I was kinda scared there, for a while."

Malcolm's face grew serious. "I know. I'm sorry."

Trip took a deep breath, forced himself to smile. "You don't have anythin' to apologize for," he said. "Its part of your job, right? Protectin' the crew? You gotta do what you feel is necessary." There, he'd said it. Hopefully he sounded sincere enough.

Malcolm's eyes were wide, looking nearly blue-black in the dim light. "I—I don't see what you mean, Commander."

Malcolm had reverted to using his title, this was not going well. Trip sighed, tried again. "I understand how important your duty is to you," he said. "That's why you climbed that cliff, to save Hoshi. And you were willin' to give your own life to do that. You did what you felt was necessary," he said again. "I understand."

"You think it's my duty to sacrifice my life for the ship?" Malcolm said, voice almost a whisper, and even in the near darkness Trip could see the look of shock on his face. This was not going the way he had hoped at all. He raked his hand through his hair.

"Yes," Trip replied, trying to sound reasonable and calm. "That's what you feel your job is all about, right? Protecting the Captain and crew of Enterprise?"

"Of course it is," Malcolm snapped, "but that doesn't mean I'm just waiting for the next opportunity to lay down my life." He narrowed his eyes. "And here I was, thinking that you, of all people, might not have wanted me to be quite so quick to sacrifice myself for the ship."

Trip felt a flare of anger. He was trying to be supportive, damn it! What the hell was Malcolm's problem? "God damn it, Malcolm!" he shouted, leapt to his feet. I don't want you to! That's what you want! Hell! You've been tellin' me the same shit since I met you. I thought you'd be glad I finally figured it out!" He balled his hands into fists, the side of the object pressing painfully into his palm.

"But I don't want to sacrifice myself!" Malcolm shouted back at him.

"Right," Trip sneered, "you were forced to undo your air hose when you were stuck to the hull, and you just had to stay on the shuttlepod when it crashed in the ocean. Oh yeah, and I made you climb that cliff down on the planet!"

Malcolm moved himself into a sitting position, eyes flashing. "Regardless of my past actions, Commander," he spat, "I resent the implication that it is my duty to kill myself for the bloody ship! That is no longer the way I wish to carry out my duty! Do you hear me, Commander?" he yelled, "I've changed my mind!"

Trip was stopped cold. "What?"

"You heard me," Malcolm said, voice hard.

"You changed your mind?" Trip repeated, a bubble of hope floating up in his chest. "About killin' yourself for the ship?"

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Yes, I have," he said. He lay back, and closed his eyes. "Now if you'll excuse me, Commander, I'm still very- "

"Oh no you don't!" Trip said, sitting back down. "We ain't done here, Lieutenant. I'm gonna get comfortable, and you're gonna tell me all about this mind-changin' of yours."

Malcolm's eyes flew open, locked with Trip's. "Are you mocking me?"

"Do you hear me laughin'?" He crossed his arms. "Spill."

"Not that it's any of your business," Malcolm said, glaring at Trip, "but if you must know, it was Hoshi who did it."

"Hoshi?" Trip asked. "How?"

Malcolm gave a big sigh. "After I fell of the cliff, I found myself with her. Her consciousness, that is. I led her back to Sickbay, then found myself in Plymouth—"

"Plymouth!" Trip interrupted. "How'd you get there?"

"If you'd let me finish!" Malcolm said sharply. "Obviously I wasn't really in Plymouth, but a manifestation from my memories. While I was there, I saw a vision of my great uncle Harry—"

Trip stopped him. "The one who died on that ship?"

Malcolm nodded. "It was a submarine. I wanted to go over to him, quite badly, actually. But just as I made my way towards him, Hoshi appeared. Turns out she had realized I hadn't come with her into Sickbay, and she was worried and came to find me."

"Wow," Trip said, impressed.

"Indeed," Malcolm said, "I owe her a lot. She stopped me from going to meet Harry—she saw immediately that he had actually come to," he paused, clearly searching for words, "to, take me to the great beyond, I guess." He shook his head. "If it weren't for Hoshi, I would have gone."

Trip felt his heart slow in his chest. "You would have—"

"Gone. Yes Commander, I would have died. And you know," he said, voice soft, "until that very instant, I didn't realize how much I wanted to live. Oh, not necessarily for me of course, but for the people I care about. Hoshi, Liz." He caught Trip's gaze, held it. "You."

Trip swallowed. "Oh."

Malcolm gave Trip one of his typical half-smiles. "So I am no longer interested in martyring myself for the ship. I have other, more important things to live for."

Trip said the first thing that came to his mind. "I love you."

Malcolm's smile widened. "I love you, too. Mr. Tucker."

"I tried to tell you after you fell of the cliff," Trip said gruffly, "but you- I wasn't sure you heard."

"I did," Malcolm replied. "Thank you. It meant a lot to hear it."

Trip fingered the small object, made a decision. "Heads up," he said suddenly, and flicked it to Malcolm.

The Lieutenant caught it deftly with his good hand, brought it close to his face. "What is it?"

"It's a ring," Trip said. "Try it on."

"A ring?" Malcolm looked at him, expression unreadable. Awkwardly, he slipped it on the fourth finger of his left hand. "It's a perfect fit." He admired it in the low light. "Where did you get it?"

Trip smiled in satisfaction. "I made it, today in engineering. It's duratanium. I melted a bit of the shuttle door that you and the Captain used when you got pinned to the hull."

"You made it?" Malcolm breathed. "For me?"

Trip winked at him. "Yup. You like it?"

Malcolm was still looking at the band of burnished metal. It was a dull silver colour, maybe half a centimetre wide. There were no visible seams. "It's beautiful." He looked up at the Commander, looked back at the ring, looked up at Trip again. "Am I meant to have a sense of permanence from this gift?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," Trip replied. "If you'll have me." He held his breath.

"I will," Malcolm smiled at him, eyes suspiciously shiny.

"Good." Trip said, knew he was beaming like an idiot, but he didn't care. "'Cause I've nearly lost you way too many times, Malcolm Reed, and I don't intend on ever doin' it again."

"I can't believe you still want to be with me, even after everything I've put you through," Malcolm said, sliding the ring around his finger with his thumb.

"I do," Trip said, grinned. "As long as you promise never to do it again."

Malcolm smiled back. "I promise." He lay back down on the bed. They sat there for a while, grinning at each other. Trip felt giddy, like he was going to explode from happiness. Malcolm was his, would be forever and ever, amen. He swore he would kiss Hoshi, the next time he saw her. He owed her everything.

Malcolm yawned, and Trip got up from the chair. "I didn't mean to wear you out," he said. "You should sleep."

"Probably," Malcolm agreed. He yawned again.

Trip moved to the other side of the bed. He bent down and gave Malcolm a gentle kiss, revelling in the feel of Malcolm's lips against his. He wanted to deepen it, to pull Malcolm against him and never let go. But Malcolm was still injured, and Trip didn't want to hurt him further. He broke the kiss after only a moment, began stroking his fingers through Malcolm's hair. They would have a lifetime together after all, he could wait. "I'll come to see you tomorrow," he said. "G'night."

Malcolm reached out and took Trip's hand in his good one. "Can you stay?" he asked, "Just a little while?"

"Uh huh," Trip replied, pulling up another chair. Malcolm settled back down, closed his eyes. Trip held his hand, feeling the newness of the warm metal underneath his fingers. "I love you, Malcolm," he whispered. "Sweet dreams."

"I love you, too." Malcolm murmured, nearly asleep.

Trip settled back in his chair, sighing contentedly. Malcolm loved him, he was wearing his ring. Everything had worked out fine. Tomorrow would be a really, really good day.