Author Notes: Okay, so this wasn't really meant to happen, but a combination of my first essay-free day in ages coinciding with a prod from my beta made it so! This is my contribution to Drown Malcolm Month 2008, although once again it goes off at a slight tangent. I hope you all enjoy it!

Warning: Themes of torture do feature in this story. I tried to keep them as vague and psychological as possible, opposed to anything graphic, but it's something to bear in mind before you read.

Disclaimer: I still own nothing.

Filigree Masks

He was drowning, and then he wasn't. He kept trying to tell his brain that he could do this. He could cope. He could survive. But every time his lungs screamed for oxygen, he instinctively knew, and yet did not know, that this was it. He was going to die in the worst possible way. Over, and over, and over.

How many times can a man drown before they stop becoming afraid?

And then those hands are all over him, wrenching him upwards and dragging him away as he tries to rid his eyes of the stars. Back to that cell, that dark hole, where all he could do would be to shiver, wait, and know that no one was coming to save him-

Malcolm snapped awake in his quarters, breathing hard, shivering from the cold that wasn't actually there. He pressed his fingertips into his eyes, attempting to gather himself.

Why now? Of all the times, why now? He was happy on Enterprise, had been for some years. What had happened...well, that was so long into the past, and he didn't even think that he could remember-

No. No. None of that. He wasn't supposed to remember. Hell, he didn't want to remember, especially if that was just a taste of it.

And yet still the question returned. For the past three nights running, he had been back there, but why now? Why not when Harris had reared his ugly head and forced Malcolm to reveal his less than exemplary past to his Captain. Why not after that mission over a year ago when he had inadvertently taken a nose dive into a lake during an away mission?

He shivered again, his mind still half trapped in the dark and the water.

They were on a diplomatic mission, for goodness sake! Transporting a Vulcan ambassador and his apprentice to a rendezvous a week or so away. Not exactly the kind of stressful circumstances one would expect repressed memories to resurface in!

Malcolm's alarm went off, and he hit it with more force than he intended.

Stop being such a child. If he got himself any more worked up about it all, Trip would start to notice, and then the man wouldn't stop pestering him. And then Archer would find out...

So no. Everything would continue as normal.

They were just silly nightmares. He would never remember what really happened all that time ago.

He smiled crookedly as he swung himself out of bed. What would Trip say if he thought Malcolm was actually acquiring an imagination?

Trip walked into the mess, expecting to be the only one around save a few of the night shift crew having a coffee break. He was not impressed to see a certain Lieutenant sitting over in the far corner nursing a cup of his own. Grabbing late night snack from one of the shelves, Trip meandered his way through the tables to take a seat opposite his friend, not even bothering to ask permission. He frowned when Malcolm didn't even seem to register him. The other man's skin was pale, marred only with dark smudges under his dull eyes. Trip skipped straight past any formalities that might have occurred, "Mal? You in there?"

Reed jerked, almost out of some sort of a trance, accidently spilling some of his tea over his hand. He hissed and withdrew his hand immediately, as if burned, although Trip was fairly certain the drink was stone cold by now. All of this took place in the space of but a few seconds, and he watching in almost awe as a mask slipped into place over his friend's features as he replied, "Sorry, Commander, I was miles away."

His nonchalant attitude might have worked too, Trip mused, if his voice hadn't sounded so drawn and tired, "Uh huh. You want to try that one again?"

Malcolm's face remained impassive for one moment more, before his whole being seemed to sag. He smiled ruefully, a strained expression he barely seemed to manage, "Sorry, force of habit."

"Wanna talk about it?" He was sure to keep his voice low, helped by their tucked away position in the hall. Malcolm may have come a long way when it came to personal relationships with his friends, but he was still hesitant in many areas.

Malcolm shrugged listlessly, "It's nothing."

Trip raised an eyebrow, "Let me rephrase that – do you want to talk about it, or have me drag your ass down to see Phlox?"

The threat was enough; it always was where Malcolm was concerned, "I've been having nightmares all week, and they've been keeping me up, that's all."

"Must be pretty bad to have shaken you up this much. I mean, we've all had our fair share of nightmare material over the years-"

"It's not like that." Malcolm blurted out, and then from his expression it was clear he wished he hadn't said anything.

Trip regarded him patiently, "Then what is it like?"

"I...It's hard to explain."

"Try." Trip knew he perhaps shouldn't be pushing so hard, but if he was perfectly honest, seeing that defeated look on his friend's face was one of the few things these days that actually got him scared.

Malcolm's eyes were distant, and his voice was soft, "There was a time in my life which I don't care to remember. And some of it which was so..." He struggled for a word, and seemed to come up short, "Some of it I just can't remember. Before Enterprise..." He trailed off, his inability to put his thoughts into words causing him to think better of what he was saying.

"You're talking about that covert stuff, aren't you?" Trip asked quietly. He wasn't completely clued in with that aspect of Malcolm's past. The revelations surrounded a sore spot for Trip, and as such many of the details had remained solely between Malcolm and Jon.

Malcolm seemed to shake himself, "I have an early shift tomorrow - I should really be getting to bed." He pre-empted Trip's protest, "I promise to drop by Phlox for something to get some sleep. Goodnight Trip."

Trip leaned back in his chair, admitting defeat, "Night Mal."

God, can't breathe, can't breathe. He choked on the icy liquid as he reflexively tried to draw in air.

How many more times could he go through this? How many times before he broke?

It was a never ending loop, round and round on a little carousel. Drowning, drowning, but never truly. Was there a word for that? Nearly drowning didn't really seem to cover it.

And if it wasn't drowning in freezing shadows, he was screaming in burning pain, or shivering in the absolute darkness, listening to the constant-

Drip, drip, drip-

But it never seemed to linger. He knew of these things, but they were fleeting horrors.

No, he was always fighting for breath, fighting them, trying-

"Lieutenant!" A hand was on his shoulder, and he reflexively lashed out. If the person hadn't been so quick, they would have likely gotten a few bruised ribs for their troubles.

He focused. He was sitting at his desk, in his office, in the armoury, aboard Enterprise, and nowhere near that place. He scrubbed his face with his hands, shakily looking at the man who had woken him, Ensign Monroe, "What happened?" He knew he could trust his men to keep quiet.

"I'm not sure, sir. I came in and you were asleep at your desk. I tried to wake you four times, you just weren't moving..." The younger man trailed off, seeming uncertain.

"Thank you, Ensign. Was there something you wanted?"

"The Captain wants to see you – I think it's concerning the transfer tomorrow to the Vulcan ship."

Malcolm nodded wearily. Thankfully there shouldn't be too many security risks with that one – it was fairly routine. Good thing too, because he was pretty sure he was losing his mind.

Archer refrained from looking over to T'Pol, not convinced he could watch a Vulcan version of 'I told you so'. Trip was shifting from foot to foot, waiting for Phlox to return with his verdict. When the Denobulan reappeared, his face was both perplexed and grim. Jon tried to keep his face impassive, "Well?"

Phlox sighed, "From what I can tell, Lieutenant Reed is merely sleeping. According to my scans, he is currently experiencing REM."

Trip burst out, "We can't wake him up! How is that just 'sleeping'?"

"I am afraid I cannot give you anymore answers than I already have. I am sorry Captain."

"Is there any idea as to what he might be dreaming about?" T'Pol ventured.

Again, Phlox grimaced, "Whatever it is, I can tell you that it is not particularly pleasant. His heart rate is increased and his breathing pattern is erratic. I am performing blood tests as we speak to see if there is some sort of viral source, but at this time..." He trailed off pointedly.

Archer nodded tiredly, "Thank you, Doctor. We might as well get this Vulcan mission handled first."

"And if they ask why Malcolm's not there?" Trip asked.

T'Pol stepped forwards, "It is merely a passing on of passengers. It is only a formality that Lieutenant Reed should attend at all."

Once more, and he would tell them all they wanted to know. That was of course if he hadn't already cracked completely and was just reliving the experience in his head while he spilled his guts-

Reliving it in his head? What an odd idea.

Again the claustrophobia of the chilling water, the fear, all encompassing, the panic, the adrenaline coursing as stars danced in front of his eyes, his limbs struggling, thrashing.

And then it stopped, and he was shaking, soaking wet as his too tired body rested against the cold floor. He blinked in barely registering shock, and raised his head to see a pair of feet by his head.

A strange sense of clarity befell him, and he somehow managed to push himself onto his hands and knees. He looked up at the person standing above him, too far gone to care how utterly pathetic he must look.

And he recoiled.

A placid face looked down upon him in regal distain. He knew this person. They were the attendant and apprentice to the Vulcan Ambassador, but they sure as hell did not look like a Vulcan any more. "Had enough, Malcolm?"

"W-what?" He grimaced as his near blue lips were unable to form any strong words.

"I have to say I'm nearly impressed. You're one stubborn little creature to keep going the way you have."

"Who are you?"

"No one you need to worry about. We won't meet again, which is a shame really. I would love to dig about in your head a bit more. This scenario is one of my best pieces of work."

Malcolm blanched, "Scenario?"

"Hmm? Oh yes, didn't you realise? Your lost fortnight back from your time with Section 31 remains a mystery. I only had a week and it was far simpler to create a truth than find a reality..." The man trailed off, refocusing on Malcolm, who was now shaking from something completely other than the cold. "You know you were the first mind I came across? Makes you wonder what the others have to offer. Pity I don't have any more time to spare."

Thoughts whirled and collided with each other in Malcolm's head. Or was that not true? After all, they appeared to be having this conversation in his mind to start with.

"Why?" He croaked out. It was the only question he could ask. There had to be a reason. He was the security officer. What was this man doing, infiltrating Enterprise at the side of a Vulcan? What were his plans for the ship and the crew?

The man bent down at a crouch so that his eyes were level with Malcolm's, their impassive depths holding his desperate gaze. And then the man's face twisted into a smile, and he leaned forwards so that his lips grazed Malcolm's ear, whispering, "Because it was fun."

Malcolm rushed back into his body in one vertigo inducing moment, scaring the life out of his Denobulan doctor and making Trip jerk awake from his vigil.

He hadn't thought it possibly to feel so physically sick to the stomach, and yet be unable to react at all.

When Malcolm had awoken, it had been four days since the Vulcan ship had parted ways with Enterprise. When he had somehow managed to explain in words he now failed to recall what had happened, Trip had told Archer, and Archer had contacted the High Command.

Apparently the Vulcan ship was no more, and the Ambassador had disappeared.

The revelation made Malcolm feel nervous, out of control. His memories of the nightmares were fading now into the white noise of his mind, but their lingering feeling remained, and he did not need to recall their exact detail to know how much they had disturbed him.

He had just been the distraction, the amusement, before the main event. A random pick of minds.

And what made it worse was that it looked as if they would never get answers. Whoever that person had been...

He had made Trip promise not to tell him what his nightmares had been about. As the memories began to fall away, he became more and more certain that while he had not told Trip everything of the nightmares' content, he had told him enough.

If nothing else, Trip's insistence they spent the first week or so having a drink together in the evenings each night, socialising, was adequate proof.

In his heart and mind, he knew he was not completely the same as before, but he could never put his finger on it, and after a while, this feeling also drifted into the background as he slipped back into life on Enterprise.

Only on the cusp between wake, dreams and deep sleep did the cold feeling creep, and the breath get stolen, always to be swallowed and remembered in the moment, never to be recognised in the morning.

FIN

Author Notes: I'd love to hear opinions/thoughts etc. As I said this was extremely spur of the moment, so I'm not really sure how's it's turned out. I'd love to read any reviews you have to give!