N.B.: 8/5/02 This is my answer to Helyn Highwater’s stream of consciousness challenge at the EntSTSlash list. The only requirement was to take the line, “I guess oblivion can have me for a little while,” and run with it in an un-interrupted writing session. The format is a bit s.o.c. in itself, and is Malcolm’s POV. While not quite a DEATHFIC, it does deal with issues of depression and suicide, so be forewarned. Pre-slash. ~RB

I guess oblivion can have me for a little while.

I don’t know what else ...who else would want me. I mean ... look at me. A grown man, reduced to tears almost every night. And over what? Nothing discernible. Pathetic that’s what it is. An utter embarrassment to generations of my family.

You only have to look at me to see that.

Really look at me. What do you see? Same thing I see in the mirror every blasted morning: something short, stunted, whey-faced. Something awful. My features aren’t strong the way my father’s were in his youth. They’re harsh, overly angular, like something chiselled out by an incompetent stone mason.

The rest of my body... It’s weak, not up to the tasks set to it, though I try to make it so. I train. I work out. I eat things I detest because they’re good for me. And still it fails me. Or rather my crewmates. I can’t protect them the way I should, the way I promised I would.

It has failed them. I have failed them.

I was too weak on Terra Nova to properly protect my captain. It forced him into a hostage negotiation that time. I was the hostage.

On the E.C.S. Fortunate Son my hand-eye co-ordination failed. As a result, the captain, the doctor, and T’Pol were ejected into space in a leaky storage compartment. Three irreplaceable officers almost killed because of me.

I was too weak on the Klingon ship to defend Hoshi and T’Pol, and more importantly, our shuttlepod from an alien woman. We were almost crushed to death on a ship we never should have been trapped on.

On Coridan my powers of observation cut out. Trip and I were captured by Andorian commandos who got the jump on us. Luckily, they were trying to help us, but others there would have killed us.

I am such an idiot.

I only have to think of Andorians to know that. When they had the captain, Trip, and T’Pol hostage on P’Jem ... I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t think. Nothing seemed like a good option, an acceptable risk. They rescued themselves, really. I just followed orders.

In the shuttlepod with Trip... I just lost it. I had no solutions, no options. I was ready to roll over and die. At least Trip never stopped thinking, never quit trying to find a way for us to live.

I suppose I’m throwing that away now.

Trip will be angry, at first. Later, though, I’m certain he’ll think about it. He’ll know it was for the best. He and the captain and T’Pol can go over the list of recommended replacements for me, and decide who will work out best. Any of them will do better than I have. I know that.

I guess oblivion can have me for a little while.

These painkillers Phlox gave me after the fiasco with Lianna and her father and their holograms, combined with this partial bottle of scotch I bought off of an Engineering crewman, will see to that.

Oblivion can decide whether it wants to keep me or not.

On to part 2.