Her consciousness came back in a dream, or a memory. Pain. And with pain, the realization that she was not dead. Snow fell around her, on her. She was cold. "Use the cold," he had told her.

"I'll use the cold," she tried to say out loud, but her mouth wouldn't work right.

She could hear sounds muffled through the snow. She looked up. She could see the top of the wall. She had to get away. They could find her.

She couldn't stand. When she tried, she rolled off the rocks. She was crying in earnest then and couldn't be bothered to worry if anyone heard. When she stopped rolling, she looked up to see trees. Big trees. She could hide there until the cold could take her.

She tried to rise but her left arm wasn't pointing the right way. She thought that it should hurt more than it did, bent as it was, ninety degrees and not at her elbow. The cold was already working.

So she crawled with her right arm and right leg, pulling the left side of her body along with her. It was hard work and slow going. Her limbs, even her face, stopped hurting. But her chest and stomach were a knot of agony.

She reached the first tree and got around it. She didn't think she could go any further. She put her hand out to steady herself as she sat up, but her hand sunk into snow inside a hollow of the tree. Frantically, she pulled it out. She sat up and backed herself into the hollow space. She drew her right leg up to her chest, but her left one wouldn't obey. She reached out to brush the snow over it and the opening then tucked herself back in. She closed her eyes and waited for the pain to stop, for her mind to stop, for her life to end.

But the pain didn't stop. And her mind didn't stop. She heard sounds, voices. A language she knew very well: English. She opened her eyes and woke to a dream she'd stopped dreaming. She was lying on a narrow, high bed in a brightly lit room, surrounded by computers and counters and shelves full of critters. There was a curtain up on her right side.

"Hoshi?" a voice asked gently. She remembered it. But it wasn't Malcolm's. She wanted Malcolm's voice. She stared at the curtain, waiting for this memory to fade and take away the hurt beneath her ribs.

"I'll get the doctor," the voice said.

Hoshi looked up as a familiar face approached. Phlox. She wanted to tell him to go away but her mouth wouldn't work right. But this was a dream. It should work in a dream.

"Hoshi, you've been through an ordeal. And a long fall," Phlox told her. "But you're recovering now."

A weight seemed to slam into her chest. Fall? Recovering? She looked at her left arm in a cast and tried to move her left leg.

"Your hip was broken. You need to be still," Phlox told her.

This wasn't a dream. It was real. It was real and she was alive. He had done this! Kept her from dying. She was alive and on Enterprise.

She closed her eyes and screamed as loud as she could in her mind, MALCOLM! There was only silence. She imagined the console, tried to adjust it, but there was no power. It was dead because Malcolm was dead.

It wasn't fair! She didn't want this, not without him. She kept her eyes closed and turned away. Maybe she could still die from whatever plagued her chest so. She wanted to tear open her breast and reach in and pull it out. It was too much to bear. All of it was too much. How could she live without him? How could she walk and talk and eat and laugh and work and do anything if he wasn't there?

"Hoshi," Phlox tried again. "If you're in pain, I can give you something."

She nodded. Give me too much, she thought to him. But she didn't answer any further. He put something to her neck and blessed darkness washed over her. She fell asleep again and, once more, hoped she'd never wake up.

Phlox pulled Trip away from Malcolm's side. The latter had survived surgery only to end up attached to machines again. Trip was pretty sure Malcolm wouldn't want that anymore, but it was keeping him alive.

He met the captain and T'Pol at the front of the room near the imaging scanner. Phlox had a presentation prepared. On it was the representations of two bodies, one male and one female. A couple of areas were highlighted on each. The male's arm and skull, the female's rib and a lung. "According to the facility's very detailed records," Phlox explained, "this represents the injuries from the crash. They were treated accurately and allowed to heal. But then, approximately forty days later. . . ."

The screen changed. Both bodies were marked with glowing lines. A leg each, an arm, one of the male's eyes, their torsos. "A month after this, Ensign Sato was in Buftanis." The female body disappeared and was replaced by a rear view of the male body. Glowing lines covered it. "This is only the second of many exploratory surgeries performed on Lt. Reed. After each, he was induced into a coma. The surgeries occurred approximately every forty days."

The slides changed more rapidly. "He's been vivisected," T'Pol summarized with Vulcan bluntness.

"There were times," Phlox said, as the slides stopped, "when he was subjected to less invasive experiments. Heat tolerance, cold, reactions to different substances on the skin. He was drugged to induce him to talk."

In twelve languages, Trip thought.

Phlox continued "Toward the end of his ordeal, the pretense of scientific value was all but laid aside. He was subjected to sleep deprivation, held under water, and had his femur broken. The excuse for that was to test the amount of pressure it would take to break it. He obtained several other serious injuries in a beating after that that required emergency surgery. He was woken up before a week had passed and was severely beaten again before being sentenced to death." The slides changed again. "His arms were staked at a point to cause nerve damage and break both bones in his lower arms. Thick steel cables provided tension in both directions if he moved his legs and pinched a nerve in his ankles. He spent an approximate twelve to fourteen hours in that position in the desert.

Captain Archer turned away. He cleared his voice before speaking, "And Hoshi?"

"Ensign Sato suffered less pain," Phlox replied, "but she was violated in other ways. Her reproductive system was analyzed and there were at least three attempts to implant an embryo."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Of what?" Trip asked, imagining horrors he really didn't want to imagine.

"'Of whom?' would be appropriate," Phlox corrected. "They were attempting to clone the lieutenant."

"Was she pregnant when. . . .," Archer didn't finish the question.

Phlox nodded. "But the fetus was not viable. The fall accomplished a miscarriage." He put up on last slide detailing Hoshi's final injuries. "Her left side took most of the damage in the fall. Her hip and arm are broken. She has hairline fractures in her lower leg. Her jaw was displaced and broken in two. She has a concussion and five broken ribs which contributed to internal injuries. I've repaired her internal injuries and set her broken bones. I've repaired the lieutenant's most severe and life-threatening wounds. I am certain Hoshi will survive."

Trip caught the undercurrent there. The doctor was not certain of Malcolm's survival. The captain apparently needed it stated more explicitly. "And Malcolm?"

Phlox took a breath. "He is on life support. He's comatose. I cannot be certain that he'll ever wake up."

Archer looked pained but Trip couldn't bother with the captain's feelings right then. He left the three of them and went back to Malcolm's side. He adjusted the stool by the side of the bed and picked up the book he'd chosen from the computer's store: The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien. It had seemed fitting. He found where he'd left off and continued reading aloud. His voice cracked and he had to stop, but he cleared his throat and went on. Maybe somewhere deep in his mind, Malcolm could hear.

Captain Archer closed the connection. It was only the second time he'd ever spoken with Malcolm's parents. He had called them to inform them of their son's condition. They had taken it stoically. Stuart Reed had commented that nothing of this sort could have happened if Malcolm had joined the Navy like all the Reed men before him. His mother had asked if he was going to live. Archer hated telling them that it was too early to say, that Malcolm was on life-support to give his body a chance to heal. They thanked him for informing them and then said they needed to see to their breakfast.

While Archer hadn't wanted to face weeping, emotional parents, he did feel they lacked some warmth. He didn't want to think bad of them, but he remembered how they hadn't even known Malcolm's favorite food. He wondered what kind of life Malcolm had had with them since his aquaphobia kept him from the all-important Navy. Did Stuart run the family like an admiral or a father?

Archer yawned. He was so tired. He hadn't slept well since the shuttlepod had gone missing. It was near impossible since he'd brought Hoshi back. Every time he laid down and closed his eyes, he imagined what had driven her over that wall in the middle of a blizzard. And why that day? Had she somehow known they were coming or had she finally just decided she'd had enough? She had to know there was no escape on that world. Had she hoped to get away or die when she climbed the tree? Had she cursed the falling limb or thanked it? Had loneliness and desperation and hopelessness driven her to suicide?

And then there was Malcolm, staked to the ground during the heat of the day in a desert. How had he held on for so long? How could anyone live and have a decent life after suffering as he had? Did his penchant for privacy help him cope with being alone down there for so long? Did he feel hopeless? Did he fight back when they had hurt him? Or did he recognize the futility of defiance under those circumstances?

And most importantly, couldn't all of that have been prevented? If he'd sought out more information before sending a shuttlepod, could they have avoided the death and trauma? If the shuttlepod hadn't crashed, would there have been a transmission? If they'd recognized it was Malcolm's voice, could they have erased it by leaving him on Enterprise? Could Hoshi have translated the message and then stayed behind so that she wouldn't have suffered there? Would Moody still be alive if they had realized the paradox sooner?

Porthos laid his head down on Archer's thigh and Archer scratched his ears. Porthos always forgave his failings. Maybe tomorrow he'd ask the doctor for something to help him sleep. Something to help him forget, if only for a few hours.

Phlox pulled back the curtain and found Commander Tucker in an uncomfortable position beside the lieutenant's bed. He tapped him slightly on the shoulder and the younger man started awake.

"Malcolm?" he blurted.

"No," Phlox told him. "He's not awake. You need rest, Commander. Go to your quarters. I promise to let you know if anything changes."

Trip pleaded, "Anything? Anything at all?"

"Of course," Phlox assured him.

Trip sighed and stood. He watched the lieutenant's face as he ambled past the curtain and out of Sickbay. Phlox then turned his attention to his patient. He checked his vitals and found, to his disappointment, that things hadn't improved. Lieutenant Reed still very much needed life support. Phlox had found the ports on the side of his neck, and the corresponding tubes that led to his lungs and heart, that were leftover from the research facility. Phlox had utilized them rather than the usual methods of intubation and IV's. There was also a tube leading to the stomach. These devices were likely used during vivisections and the comas that followed. They worked well for the comatose state the lieutenant was in now. Though, Phlox assumed Mr. Reed would not be thrilled to find them still in use.

Next, he checked the wounds for any signs of infection. He'd had to thoroughly wash out the wrist and ankle wounds and then give the lieutenant high doses of antibiotics considering the conditions in which the wounds were inflicted. They were clean at this time, but while there was no sign of infection, there was, likewise, no sign of healing.

When Phlox had finished with Lt. Reed, he moved to Ensign Sato. She was asleep and he moved quietly, hoping not to wake her. Her vitals were strong, though her wounds, too, showed little sign of healing. He was concerned also for her mental state. Though her jaw was wired in place, she should still have been able to form words, well-articulated or not. She could drink with the use of a straw. Yet, she'd not asked for water or food or said anything at all. That might have become habit for her, he realized. But the tears were not. Her reports had her weeping after her transfer to Buftanis but not after she was put to work with other females. What had drawn her to attempt escape or suicide that day, and what caused the tears now? Only she could say. He decided to try and engage her in the morning.

The captain would have informed both their families by this time. Decisions would need to be made tomorrow. Lt. Reed would not be happy to be kept alive indefinitely by artificial means. Unless he showed some improvement, the option to let him die had to be fairly evaluated. Should sentiment allow him to suffer in vain? But that decision did not have to be made tonight, and not by Phlox alone. Tonight, there was still a chance for improvement and survival. And Phlox would do all he could to support that outcome.

She was standing over him. He was splayed out before her, naked but for a cloth covering his groin. They'd chained him to the ground, spread-eagle form. Except the chains impaled him. At his arms but also though his stomach and chest. His skin was burnt red and the hot wind blew sand into his wounds.

His eyes squinted up at her as a large, hairy predator ambled up and took a large bite from his side. "Why did I have to wait so long?" he accused.

She jerked awake. But the dream didn't leave her. Had she been selfish, wanting him to hold out until night so she could get away? And for what? He was dead anyway and now she had to face a life without him. She didn't know if he was chained like that. He'd hidden that from her to spare her. But he had been in terrible pain and unable to seek shelter. And she had remembered the predator, though she never got a really good look at it. It had kept its distance when they were walking in the desert so long ago. It had only approached when they were still. What would have been there to stop them from attacking him in the desert before he died? If he couldn't seek shelter, he also couldn't run away. Had he not only died but been eaten? She felt sick and heavy and helpless. Everything hurt. Her mouth was dry. His had to have been worse. All day in the sun and then cold at night. He had suffered. Suffered long and died painfully. She couldn't possibly hurt worse than he had. She felt guilty complaining about her pain when he had been forced to endure that agony.

"Ensign?"

She knew the voice. She didn't bother looking up.

"Would you like some water?"

Water. She'd had some that day. Let him feel it as it washed down her throat. But only feel. In the end, he was still parched.

"Are you hungry?"

Eating had been harder. Knowing that he was dying had taken all flavor out of food. But they would have been curious if she didn't eat. They might have brought her into the lab. She would have missed her one chance to be with him. Just as she had, in the end. Still, she had been fed and he had gone hungry.

"Hoshi?" He was persistent. "Please look at me."

She turned her head briefly. He smiled at her. How could he smile? He knew Malcolm, too. Didn't he know? Hadn't they found him, too?

Phlox held out a PADD to her. "You can write anything you'd like to say if that would be easier."

Maybe they hadn't. Had they left him there? They'll study him more. They'd probably already done the autopsy. They had little vials of him stored on shelves and in refrigeration units. His heart in a jar of formaldehyde. His brain sliced and placed in Petri dishes.

Hoshi squeezed her eyes shut to try not to see those images, but they weren't in her eyes. They followed her into her mind, and she sobbed involuntarily.

She felt the PADD touch her leg, and she pushed it to the floor. It was their fault. All their fault and she wouldn't give them what they wanted when they'd taken everything from her and left him there in specimen jars.

Trip skipped breakfast and went straight to the Bridge. Captain Archer wasn't there. T'Pol nodded toward the Ready Room and Trip pushed the chime.

The door slid open. The captain had a sunken look on his face. "Morning, sir," Trip managed.

Archer nodded. "They did a good job in the lab."

Trip took a moment to process that. The MACOs, the lab in Buftanis. Evidence they couldn't just leave behind. "There were more eggs, more of Malcolm's DNA," Archer went on. "They could have tried cloning him again. It's gone, all of it. They destroyed half the building. Carstairs got another report from one of the scientists complaining about the loss of valuable research. The media reported a natural gas explosion."

"And in Zheiren?" Trip asked, curious about the results of his own mission.

"The media didn't say anything, apparently. But it made quite a stink in the Council."

Trip nodded. "Let's hope all they've got left are memories."

"They're apparently arguing over the best way to prepare for our invasion," Archer stood. "Hoshi's parents want to talk to her."

"Has she spoken at all?" Trip asked. "Have you talked to Phlox this morning?"

Archer nodded. "No change for Malcolm. Hoshi's been awake a couple of times."

Trip regarded the captain a moment. "You gonna see her?"

Archer shook his head and turned away. "Not just yet. I know you went to sit with Malcolm. He should have someone there. We're not going anywhere just yet. Go."

Trip sighed. "Thank you, Captain. I think he's been alone too long already." Trip turned and hurried out to the turbolift. Phlox hadn't called and the captain had said no change. So Malcolm was still alive. That was something.

He found the Sickbay still dimly lit. Phlox was just leaving Hoshi's bed. "How is she?" Trip asked quietly.

"'Morose' seems appropriate," Phlox replied. He held up a PADD. "She doesn't seem to want to communicate at all."

"That's worrisome," Trip commented, looking toward the curtains that gave her privacy. What if she was too damaged to come back? And if she was, what about Malcolm? If he survived at all? "Maybe her parents can help," he offered. "They want to talk to her."

"Perhaps in a few hours," Phlox replied. "She's resting again. Shall we check in on the lieutenant again?"

Trip nodded and they pulled back his curtains together. He looked just the same as last night. His hair and beard were still ragged and whatever part of his skin could be seen was red. Malcolm's eyes were closed, and he seemed to be simply asleep. Except that he didn't so much as twitch when Phlox opened one of his eyes to check his pupils or changed a bandage. There were a lot of bandages.

"Can we get his hair cut?" Trip asked. "Help him look more like himself?"

Phlox nodded. "Yes, but no shave yet. His skin needs to heal a lot before that."

Trip remembered shaving after a sunburn. It wasn't pleasant. The beard could wait. Finally, Phlox finished his ministrations and left, closing the curtains behind him. Trip touched the back of Malcolm's hand, but thought about the spikes and the nerve damage. Malcolm wouldn't be able to feel being touched there, even if he was awake. He thought about a shoulder, then, but that was thoroughly burned and covered in some film Phlox had applied. When was the last time someone had touched him in kindness?

Trip sighed. His voice would have to be enough. "You're safe now. They can't hurt you anymore. Please wake up."

Phlox went over the records from the night and compared the results from this morning. Hoshi was getting stronger, though slower than he might have hoped. Her psychological and emotional state was hampering her body's inclination to heal. If he couldn't get her to eat today, he might have to sedate her and put in a feeding tube.

Lt. Reed, on the hand, was steadily declining. It was a slow decline, thanks to life support, but it was there. Take away the contributions from life support and his blood pressure was falling, his pulse was weak, and his oxygen levels were dropping. Phlox hoped that trend would change by the end of the day. A decision would have to be made if it didn't.

Phlox set the results aside and pulled up the lab reports from Zheiren. He'd gone over the highlights before. But there was a year's worth to go through. Two, when he factored in the reports from Buftanis. Then he realized something he'd missed before. He double-checked the translations and formulations. Then he checked back through each surgery. They had gotten the anesthesia wrong. Hoshi, thankfully, showed only one surgery with the faulty anesthesia, though that was bad enough. Malcolm had suffered more than a half dozen. Paralyzed and awake.

Trip's voice grew hoarse so he put the book down. Malcolm hadn't moved. Trip's stomach growled, reminding him that he'd skipped breakfast and couldn't afford to skip lunch. He sighed and stood up, touching Malcolm gently on the shoulder. "I gotta eat something," he told him.

Phlox entered just as he was heading toward the curtain. "Lunchtime, Commander?" the doctor asked.

"Skipped breakfast," Trip admitted. He looked back at Malcolm. "I hate seeing him like this."

"We can see if the barber can cut his hair, but a shave will need to wait," Phlox said. "At least he'd look more like himself."

Trip sighed again and nodded. He left because he couldn't think of anything else to say. On his way out though, he stopped in to ask Hoshi if he could bring her something from the galley. She turned her face away and stared into the curtain. Her face was tear-stained and bruised from the fall. Trip closed the curtain and left Sickbay behind.

Travis saw him enter the galley and waved him over. Trip nodded then got in line to get his food. He was hungry but didn't feel like eating much, so he picked up a sandwich and left it at that. Travis moved his seat closer to Trip's and spoke quietly. "How are they doing?"

Trip took a bite of his sandwich. "Hoshi's awake. Not very talkative. She's been crying. Doc says she's morose but stable. Malcolm's in a coma, and Phlox doesn't know if he'll wake up."

Travis nodded. "But he's alive."

Barely, Trip thought. But he didn't want to be morose either. "Yeah, he's alive."

Travis nodded again and they both finished their lunches in silence. Travis offered to put away his plate. Trip thanked him. "I'm going to see about setting up a call to Hoshi's parents. Maybe they can reach her."

Hoshi's imagination reached back to their first months on Sharu. When they'd sat together and whispered to each other so quietly that no camera could have picked it up. The orcs had wheeled a monitor like this one in. And they'd played children's shows to try and teach Malcolm their language. Malcolm had broken it. Hoshi looked around her bed for something to use to break the monitor Trip was setting up beside her bed. It wouldn't make her speak. She would never speak again, for what they'd put her and Malcolm through.

But when the screen flickered to life, Trip backed away. There were no children's programs. There were images of two people she loved dearly.

"Hoshi?" her father asked. "Talk to us, please."

A hard, painful lump filled Hoshi's throat. Tears pooled in her eyes then fell when she blinked. "Papa," she breathed. "They killed him," she whispered in Japanese through her frozen jaw.

"Who, Hoshi?" her mother asked, also in Japanese. Hoshi looked up at Phlox and Trip at the other side of the room. She didn't want them to understand her. Then they might try and make her understand why they'd left her and Malcolm there to suffer and die.

"The man I loved," she told them. "They left us stranded and they hurt us." Her jaw was starting to hurt. "They cut us up and put things inside of me. But they killed him, long and slow. He tried to stay with me until I could die, too, but he couldn't. He died, and I think they left him there."

"Your captain told us some of what happened, Hoshi," her father said. "I'm so sorry you had to suffer that. And for a whole year. But, Hoshi, did you try to kill yourself?"

What difference did that make? It was the only thing left for her to do. She hadn't known--or believed--Enterprise would come, not after all that time. "There wasn't anything for me there," she said in her defense. "No life, not there. Not alone. With him I could bear it. For him, I bore it. But he was gone. He is gone." She couldn't hold back sobs anymore.

Her mother put her hand to the screen. "I wish I could hold you and tell you everything will be okay, like when you were a little girl. We love you, Hoshi. It hurts to see you in pain."

Trip watched from across the room. "I don't think it helped," he spoke quietly to Dr. Phlox. "She's crying even harder."

"That may be a good sign," Phlox told him. "She's really grieving now. It could be cathartic."

Trip nodded. "Japanese?"

"You would know better than I," Phlox reminded him. "I only know one Earth language."

"Me, too," Trip sighed. "But, hey, she's speaking, right? Sort of?"

"That is a positive sign. Though the use of Japanese leads me to doubt she's ready to talk to us." At the moment, a rather insistent beeping began to emanate from Malcolm's corner of the room. Phlox rushed over and Trip followed.

Malcolm was shaking, everywhere. By the time they reached him, he was seizing violently. "Keep him on the bed," Phlox ordered, then he rushed to his shelves and containers.

Trip didn't want to hurt Malcolm. He wasn't sure Malcolm could feel anything anyway. But he was so damaged that Trip didn't want to make it worse. And he was terrified. But when Malcolm's right arm flopped off the bed, he lifted it as gently as he could with its muscles spasming and put it back on the bed. Then he stepped right up to the edge of the bed so that Malcolm couldn't possibly roll off that side.

Phlox returned with a hypospray and placed it against Malcolm's neck. The shaking subsided within a few seconds, and Malcolm's limbs fell limp again on the bed. But the beeping didn't stop.

"Step back," Phlox ordered. He pulled back the sheet on Malcolm's chest and placed two paddles over the bandages there. He touched a panel beside the bed, and Malcolm's torso jerked up from the shock. The beeping stopped. Phlox checked Malcolm's pulse on the monitor and removed the paddles. "He has a steady rhythm again," he reported, and Trip let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Phlox came around to meet him at the other side of the bed as Trip collapsed into the chair there. "We may have to come to the realization that his body has suffered too much."

Trip felt like he'd been shot. He turned his head sharply around toward the doctor. "He's fought so hard to stay alive. He's still alive."

Phlox put a hand on Trip's shoulder. "He's alive because he's on life support. He cannot stay this way indefinitely. I do not wish for his death, Commander. But I know he wouldn't want a life of unconsciousness hooked up to machines. We may have to let him go." He paused a moment. "I'll need to speak to Malcolm's parents when Hoshi is finished." Then he turned and left Trip where he sat. At Malcolm's side.

Malcolm's parents took the news rather stoically. His mother, Mary Reed, showed more concern than her husband, Stuart. "If you turn off life support," the latter asked, "can he survive?"

"There's always a chance," Phlox admitted. "But it's an extremely small chance. His injuries are very severe."

"He's in a coma now?" Mary Reed asked. "He's not suffering?"

"Not anymore," Phlox told her. "He suffered a great deal before ending up in the coma."

"Perhaps it's better that it ends in the coma," Stuart stated. "He'd suffer again if he survives. There is no dignity in living on machines."

Mary Reed agreed, nodding slightly. "He wouldn't want that. I understand burial in space is somewhat like burial at sea."

Phlox sighed. It was decided. "Yes, very similar. Would you like to see him?"

Stuart's frown deepened. "Lying there, hooked up to machines? No. Thank you. We must inform his sister. Good evening."

The screen went blank. Phlox sat there staring at it for a few minutes. He'd never had a reaction like that from parents about to lose their child. They were either stoic, or they really weren't all that concerned at the lieutenant's passing. It just didn't sit right. Still, he would honor their decision. He wasn't at all certain it wasn't the right one. But, once free of the machines, if Malcolm chose to live, Phlox decided he would aid him, short of returning him to life support.

Trip barely waited for the door to open before he was through it. "They want to pull the plug on him!"

Archer sighed and stood up. Phlox had already reported the Reeds' decision. "Trip," he started, hoping to calm the younger man.

"They shouldn't have a say!" he shouted, throwing up a hand.

"They're his parents." Archer kept his voice calm. No one could expect Trip to take this well.

That argument didn't work. "He doesn't even talk to them. They don't even know his favorite food. We know him better than they do. We care more about him!"

Archer put a hand on Trip's shoulder. "That's not quite fair. I know the relationship is strained, and they seemed very distant, but maybe they just don't share their emotions with strangers."

"Or with their son," Trip argued. "He's been trying to earn his father's acceptance, hoping he'd be proud of what he'd accomplished. He helped save the world! And he got nothing from his dad. He's not an easy man to get to know but I have."

Archer guided him toward a chair and sat down on the edge of the bed across from him. "I know you have. And I'm glad. But Phlox is right. He's just suffered too much. His body just can't hold on anymore."

"He held on for hours in the sand, baking in the sun, shivering at night. But still fighting to live!"

"Yes, for hours, baking in the sun. Staked to the ground, no water, no shade. How much did he suffer in those hours? What about in the weeks before the end? All the months in his last year? Maybe he deserves rest now, to not suffer any more."

Trip looked down at his fingers clasped together between his knees. "Maybe he should get to decide that," he said, his voice quiet.

Archer matched his tone. "He may never wake up, Trip, even if we left him on life support. He can't make that choice. But his parents are his next of kin. They have the right to make the choice, even when we don't like it because it means we lose him. Phlox doesn't like it either," he admitted. "But he realized it was necessary to come to the choice. Let's not make it harder for him to carry it out."

When Trip lifted his head, there were unshed tears in his eyes. "You'll be there?"

"Of course," Archer replied. He'd caused Lieutenant Reed's death. He had to face him as he died.

Three hours later, they were both there, along with Travis and T'Pol. Hoshi, oblivious to what was happening on the other side of Sickbay, refused to look at them. That was troubling, but there was time, with her, to try and salvage some of the relationship they'd once had. She would live, no matter what. Malcolm had run out of time.

Except for Dr. Phlox, Trip stood closest to the bed. His body was stiff with pent-up emotion. But he said nothing as Phlox removed the tubes that had helped Malcolm breathe or eat or kept his blood circulating while his heart tried to keep up.

Phlox didn't remove the monitors that recorded Malcolm's pulse, or related other information such as vitals and brain function. He stepped back then and Trip moved forward. He picked up one of Malcolm's bandaged and splinted hands. Malcolm showed no emotion or discomfort. He looked more like himself, at least, except for the neatly trimmed beard. The machines beeped more slowly. And they waited.

After twenty minutes passed, Trip sat down, still holding his friend's hand. He pushed a bit of hair from Malcolm's forehead and leaned close to his ear. "I don't like it," he whispered, "but if you need to go, I'll understand. It's maybe selfish of me to want you to stay, after all you've been through. You're my best friend, Malcolm Reed. You're a good man, and you should be proud of all you've done."

Thirty minutes later, the others had all found chairs, too. Malcolm's breaths were shallow and rapid. But Malcolm was still breathing. An hour passed and Trip heard Phlox promise the others the he'd call them down when it was time. Trip didn't move from his chair. He picked up the book that was still by his seat. Keeping hold of Malcolm's hand, he began to read where he'd left off, hoping and afraid to hope, that Malcolm would stick around to listen.