"Truth Versus Fiction" by A. Rhea King Rating: PG Disclaimer: Don't own them, CBS/Paramount does. Genre: Humor/Drama Description: Deleted scenes from Dough Boys, the prank war continues, the boys get in trouble and thrown in jail, Phlox endures the endless questioning of a six year old... Talk To Me (4) (After “Dough Boys”) They came from all sides. Their black scaly arms, thin and bony, stretched out from under their black hooded cloaks. Their green eyes glowed florescent and demon-like. Although Malcolm never heard them hiss, they were hissing now. Everywhere he looked they were there. They were coming closer and closer, threatening his life. He could sense that they wanted to strangle the life out of him. He felt a hand touch his arm and turned, punching at the Caritek. It vanished into mist and reformed. More touched him and their hands grabbed his arm, legs, and neck. He fought harder against them, fighting to be free of them. Malcolm went down screaming and fighting. From beyond the thousands that surrounded him he heard a voice call his name. He fought them, ignoring the voice. Dozens of hands had him by the neck and the more he struggled, the more hands clamped tighter on his neck. He had never smelled death, but some ancestral memory told him that the sweet-sickening odor he smelled now was the smell of death. “Malcolm,” Sista’s voice called out. “Vardee,” Malcolm yelled. He fought harder. He had to get back to his wife. “Malcolm, wake up.” Malcolm came out of sleep into a sitting position. He lifted a shaking hand to his face, wiping sweat from his brow. And then she was there, at his side like she had been every night since he’d been brought back from the Caritek training camp. Her gentle arms surrounded him and cradled his head to her shoulder. “Shhhh,” Sista whispered, kissing his cheek. Malcolm closed his eyes. Sista was the only person he’d ever felt safe enough to cry in front of and now he broke into shaking sobs, clinging to her. “I love you,” Malcolm whispered. “I love you too,” Sista said, stroking his cheek. Malcolm reached down, laying his hand on her stomach. His heart skipped a beat when he felt a foot or fist hit her stomach. “Did you feel it?” Sista asked. Malcolm quietly sighed. “Yes.” He relaxed his body into her arms, curving close to her so he could be as close as possible to his unborn children. Malcolm let her guide him back down to the bed, laying his head on her shoulder and keeping his hand on her stomach. “Jon Nathan was punching his sister today,” Sista said. “When was this?” “When Doctor Phlox was looking at them.” Malcolm smiled, closing his eyes. “Hold me tighter.” Sista held him tighter, resuming stroking his cheek. Malcolm drifted back to sleep and this time no Caritek haunted his dreams. He dreamt instead of sitting on a grassy hill high up in the Alps and watching the clouds drift below him. He felt sad and he didn’t understand why, but somewhere nearby he heard a voice softly singing a song he’d heard thousands of times in his dreams. Sista continued singing in the dark, keeping protective watch over her husband and hoping her song of freedom would keeping his night scares at bay until morning. Back to Chapter 3 Continue to Chapter 5

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