A/N: What I've been posting are some old Enterprise stories I wrote a while back and had been on the Hoshi Sato site, Linguistics Database. I didn't realize it until I started re-reading these, but there's an actual progression in a series of stories. I didn't start off writing them with that intention, but it seemed to have just happened. This story is actually my first Enterprise story, but the unintentional series I created, I'm putting it here as the third story. The first two stories have already been posted: Beyond the Sea and Only A Trifle. It's not necessary to read those stories to follow this one, again, they weren't meant to be connected but when read all together, you can see a thread going through them. For those who read my stuff at Linguistics Database, you probably already know the other three stories in this six story arc. And yes, I will finish that last one!

Malcolm Reed truly believed he was experiencing the worst hangover in existence. So painful was the throbbing in his head, he didn't dare attempt to open his eyes. Instead, he allowed his other senses to activate, one by one. The surface he was lying on was hard and uncompromising, even though it was covered in some type of clothe. The material felt rough and scratchy against the skin on his face. With the headache came heightened sensitivity and the tips of his fingers felt every fiber in the weave of the fabric.

His nose detected the familiar detergent smell used to launder everything on the Enterprise. The smell reminded him of his mother ironing sheets, warm with a faint whiff of hot sun on grass, normally something very comforting, but right now, it made his already queasy stomach feel worse.

The usual hum of the ship as it sliced through space was magnified by the intense throbbing in his head. He winced, realizing that this was most likely what Hoshi felt like all the time. He absently made a note to be a bit more sympathetic towards the ensign when she winced at loud noises.

There was an acidic, stale taste in his mouth and he longed for water to wet his tongue and soothe his parched throat.

All right, Malcolm, he thought to himself. Time to suck it up.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and he quickly clamped them shut again, his corneas feeling like they had been set ablaze by the brightness of the room. With even greater caution, he tried again and this time the light was not so piercing. He tried to focus his vision.

For several moments, his brain could not process what he saw. Confusion and disbelief overwhelmed his nausea and Malcolm pushed himself up into a sitting position to look around the room.

It was empty save for the bunk he was lying on and a toilet in one corner. The room was no larger than ten by twelve feet with bars across the only opening. It was cold and forbidding, meant to intimidate.

He knew where he was. As the Enterprise Security Chief/Armory Officer, he was familiar with every inch of the ship, but next to the bridge and armory, he was most familiar with this place. He was in the brig.

"What the hell-?"

An outside door slid open and Captain Archer and Commander Tucker stepped into the room beyond his cell. Malcolm stumbled to his feet and lurched towards the bars.

"Sirs-," he began.

"So you're finally awake," Trip snarled out. "About time."

"Trip," Archer warned. The Captain turned cold, furious eyes towards Reed. "Is there anything you'd like to say about what happened, Lieutenant Reed?"

Malcolm had never heard the Captain's voice so hard and unyielding. He glanced over at Trip who looked as though he wanted to rip him to shreds with his bare hands. Desperately, Malcolm tried to remember what had happened. What could he have possibly done to land in the brig with both the Captain and the Commander furious with him?

His hangover. Alcohol must have played some part, but he could not remember taking a drink in a while. But he could think of nothing else. Given his condition, he must have went on a real bender.

"I-, I guess I had too much to drink, sirs," he said lamely.

"Too much to drink!" Trip barked out. "Is that your damn excuse for what you did?"

What he did? What did he do? Did he create some diplomatic error? Cause some explosion? What?

"Sir," Malcolm began, addressing Archer. "I'm sorry, but I don't remember anything. The last thing I remember is…" he paused a moment, trying to grasp the last memory he had. A face floated before him. Hoshi. That was it. He had another target practice session with Hoshi. "I was target practicing with Ensign Sato."

"Malcolm," Archer cautioned. "Are you sure you want to say anything else? Maybe you'd like to speak to someone first. Legal counsel."

Legal counsel? Bloody hell, what was going on?

"Captain," Malcolm sputtered desperately. "Please, I don't remember what happened. Why am I in the brig?"

"Oh, ain't that peachy keen," Trip drawled out sarcastically as he threw his hands up in the air. "He conveniently doesn't remember. Amnesia. You going to plead insanity next, Lieutenant?"

"Plead insanity-, what is going on?" Malcolm cried out.

"It's not going to work, Reed," Trip said as he pointed a finger at Malcolm. "We've got indisputable proof."

"Trip-," Archer warned.

"No, Captain!" Trip interrupted fiercely. "After what he did, I ain't going to stand by and listen to him play the innocent." He swung back towards the cell. "You're going to pay."

Trip strode over to one of the monitors on the wall and punched in a code. Malcolm leaned against the bars to get a better look. A video began to play on the screen. It was of the armory. He was helping Hoshi with target practice. A few weeks ago, he had installed a camera to record their sessions so Hoshi could review her practices and improve her technique. Malcolm didn't understand what it was he was supposed to see.

"You're still tensing too much," he heard himself say to Hoshi. He watched as he moved up behind the young ensign and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Relax," he said softly as he gently kneaded the muscles there.

An uncomfortable expression appeared on Hoshi's face. She tried to shrug off his hands, but they remained on her shoulders.

"Sir," Hoshi said. "I've had enough practice today." She tried to walk away.

Malcolm stopped her and spun her around. "What's the matter Hoshi?" he asked softly. "You don't want my help anymore?" He backed her up until she was pinned against some storage containers. Malcolm pressed his body close into hers and nuzzled her neck. "Hoshi, Hoshi," he chanted softly. "So pretty. And you smell so wonderful."

"Sir," Hoshi swallowed, her voice taking on a fearful note. "I don't think you should be doing this."

"Why not ensign? I could order you." His face came close to hers and he gazed intently into her wide, brown eyes. "I'm sure you would enjoy it."

Hoshi gasped. With a loud cry, she pushed him away and retreated several steps. "You stay away from me! When Captain Archer hears about this, you'll be lucky if he doesn't shoot you himself!"

"You little bitch, you're not telling anyone," Malcolm snarled.

Hoshi turned to flee, but he was too fast and caught her arm. She swung wildly at him and he let go of her. Off balance, Hoshi fell backwards with a cry. The sound of her head striking the corner of a storage container was dull and sickening.

"Hoshi!" Malcolm cried out.

He bent down and examined her, his hand touching her head. From behind the bars, Malcolm could see that his hand was covered in blood.

Trip stopped the video and turned back towards Malcolm. For several minutes, no one spoke. Trip and Archer looked at Malcolm as he simply stared at the blank screen. Finally, the armory officer turned to look at the other two men.

"Sir, I simply don't remember any of that," was Malcolm's hoarse reply. Shock, horror, revulsion roiled inside of him. Was that him? Did he do that? And to Hoshi of all people. "Is Hoshi all right?"

He saw Archer and Trip exchange glances. Finally, Archer spoke.

"Hoshi died two hours after that incident in the armory," was Archer's clipped reply. "You killed her."

TBC