Well, I'm not one for writing usually, but the combined joy of Canada Day and watching Die Hard made my plot bunnies squirm, this being the end result.
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek Enterprise, any of the characters, and all the rest of the usual mumbojumbo.
A normal day like any other on the starship Enterprise for Lieutenant Malcolm Reed always started with the exact same morning routine, taking the exact same route to the mess hall for a quick bite and then reporting to duty as the perfectly groomed armoury officer he was.
Today, however, was slightly different. And why was that?
Probably due to the alcohol ingested at Commander Tucker's impromptu party last night. Or was it after that – when the captain showed up at his quarters afterwards requesting research done on the history and laws on yet another planet that had piqued his curiosity.
That wasn't the bad part. It was the "if you would be so kind to have the necessary information for the briefing at 0900 tomorrow" part that was.
This left Reed, standing in front of the mirror, gazing at his sleep deprived, dishevelled appearance, feeling the effects of a full-blown hangover and utterly convinced that the day had some significant meaning…or event…just something he couldn't seem to put his finger on.
Great…just bloody great. Last time he had this type of feeling, he had forgotten to reschedule one of the security drills and freaked the hell out of the bloody aliens that just so happened to be visiting.
"Morning, Malcolm." Reed jumped at least a foot at that greeting. Ensign Hoshi Sato, communications officer and expert linguist, had seen some high strung people in her time, and considered the ship's uptight Brit to be one, but something was different today.
"You okay Malcolm?"
"Whaaa? – yes, yes, I feel fine…" hopefully the generic response given would placate the unofficial morale officer and prevent any more inquiries that would require him to concentrate with this damn headache pounding away. A smirk, or what he hoped was one, was thrown in to emphasize his point.
Apparently, the smirk was more of a grimace. And Hoshi, being the excellent interpreter she was, fully understood the 'leave me alone or face my wrath' message, and scooted as far away from the armoury officer as the turbolift would allow.
Bloody hell.
Commander "Trip" Tucker looked even worse than himself. Travis was nursing what should be a full-blown, skull-splitting headache. The Captain himself was a little worse for wear.
Should have known the buggers would break out the real strong stuff after I left.
Hoshi, as the healthiest and most alert one at the meeting, noticed that the sub-commander was missing. Odd.
"Umm…apparently Vulcans don't react…well…to Andorian Ale," the Captain offered.
Reed repressed a snort to that comment and ended up inducing a coughing fit. Now Hoshi was looking at him weird.
Great…add insane to the list of characteristics of the cold British bastard…
"So… how did your research go Lieutenant?"
Off he went about the democratic society independent of a mother state but retaining the monarch as a symbolic head of state…overall a very convincing performance of operation at peak efficiency.
"…sounds like Canada…" came the southern drawl of the commander, whom Reed thought already passed out by now. Archer looked bored to say the least, and Travis didn't even seem to have heard him.
Ah Canada, nice place, nice people, snow, polar bears, maple trees, snow…snow…and more snow.
"…I suggest we all report to sickbay…ahem…Ensign Sato, you have the bridge…" concluded the captain and led the victims of alcohol out in tow with as much dignity he could muster.
Well that was interesting.
One shift, a repeated trip to the sickbay, and multiple hyposprays later, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed was standing at his post, the headache lessened to a mild throb, a really, really, really grumpy guy.
Of all the days for things to go wrong, he had to forget about yet another scheduled security drill. Be assured that running around like a mad chicken and pretending to defend against nonexistent aliens does wonders for a hangover.
He was consoled by the fact that his beloved phase cannons were in tip-top shape, a good sign that things were going to turn for the better…sooner or later.
Probably later.
"Captain, Suliban vessel heading in our general direction."
"We're being hailed," Hoshi called from the other side of the bridge. The captain nodded and the last person they wanted to see showed up on the view screen.
Good god. Green skin, yellow eyes, that arrogant smirk…"Silik!"
All the arrogant bastard did was widen that smirk and assure us that this time, Enterprise was going to be destroyed. Apparently, his previous stints with the captain did nothing but make him even more centered in destroying the Enterprise.
"They're charging weapons captain."
"Polarize the hull and arm the phase cannons."
Yes sir, gladly sir – nothing like weapons and explosives to make Mr. Reed one happy fellow.
Explosives. An art and a thing of beauty in itself – like fireworks.
Wait a minute…fireworks…Canada. Now Mr. Reed wasn't a dumb man, even with some problems with a headache, he was able to put two and two together. July 1st is Canada Day, the first time he saw fireworks and truly appreciated the perfect mixture of beauty and danger.
The day that Malcolm Reed first got hooked on explosives is quite important. In fact, it requires some commemoration.
How about some fireworks? A low chuckle escaped his mouth as the first blasts from the Suliban ship shook the Enterprise.
"… return fire Mr. Reed! Give'em all we got."
Reed tapped in some commands and pressed fire.
Yippee-kay-ai motherfuckers.
And for this special date, the bridge crew of the enterprise was treated with a full ear-splitting grin from the one and only uptight, cold, British bastard on board.
Later in the messhall, Reed could clearly pick out a conversation between Hoshi and Travis who were in line for their meal.
"…Malcolm Reed grinning isn't something you see everyday. What's so special about today, you think?"
"Nothing, it's only July 1st…"
Their object of discussion let out a small laugh at that.
Hoshi Sato had only guessed one of his secrets, his love of pineapple; his love for explosives was widely known and wouldn't count as secret.
Two more secret loves that they'd never guess: fireworks…and a certain lovely linguist.
FIN
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