The day was finished. Actually the day ended hours earlier, and although Archer had been good to his word and allowed a small, short Christmas party in the office, he had worked for several more hours. In the military when the boss stays to work, everyone stays and works so consequently despite the late hour the office was still busy. Archer flipped the last report closed, stood up from his desk and collected his things. Leaving his office he stopped at his lieutenant's desk.
"Lt. Cratchett, see to the closing up and make sure the word is passed that everyone is to be here by 0600 on 26 December," he said tersely.
The weary lieutenant stood at attention and replied "Yes sir, good night sir, Merry Christmas sir," and waited for the dismissing nod from his superior, inwardly cursing himself for the slip of adding 'Merry Christmas'. After working for the admiral for so many years he knew his CO did NOT like this holiday.
Archer harrumphed at his secretary, paused for a good long moment keeping his tired lieutenant at attention longer then needed in silent rebuke. Finally Archer nodded and left the department, his long legs striding down the hall, his feet muted now back on the plush carpeting. He dismissed the office from his mind momentarily knowing his crew would do as ordered and see to everything before leaving the office for the night. Hearing the cleaning crew leaving the floor and starting on the one above him, he realized it was later then he thought. Turning a corner in the almost deserted building he thought he heard something behind him, a subtle footfall muffled on the carpeting. Turning sharply, he saw nothing but empty hallway. Looking down he saw no footprints on the plush vacuumed carpeting save his own. Shaking his head, he continued briskly on his way.
As Archer stomped out of the building and into the warm night air of San Francisco he thought of the invitation to Travis's annual Christmas party. Every year Travis invited him, and every year he said no. He sincerely doubted that any of those attending the party actually wanted to see him, and he had no desire to see anyone from that part of his life. Not since Trip had died, not since – he abruptly stopped that train of thought and concentrated on the walk home.
Jonathon Archer walked to and from work every day, rain or shine. Fortunately his apartment was not far from Starfleet headquarters and the walk helped him to focus on the needs of the day. As he approached the apartment complex he thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He paused, mid-step, his eyes trying to pierce the gloom and mists of the shadows, instantly on the defensive again. There was nothing. His eyes fell on a restaurant, closed due to the very late hour. The 602 Club.
His mind filled with the memories of the many times he drank there, drowning his sorrows and toasting his successes, usually with Trip or A.G. But they were both dead now. Trip had been killed by hostile aliens, A.G. in a climbing accident. Coming out of his reverie, his pace increased, his eyes constantly scanning his surroundings, his body automatically on the defense.
Upon gaining entrance to the building and standing outside his own door Archer began to relax as he punched in the access code and waited for the computer voice to grant him admission. All computers talked now and he found it a damn nuisance. What was wrong with silent computers like the ones he used back on Enterprise? He paused, waiting on the gentle feminine voice of the central computer.
"Access granted Jonnie," sang out an unexpected voice, the door whooshing open before him.
Archer jumped back from the door in alarm. That voice was not that of the central computer. If Archer knew it couldn't be, he would have sworn he had heard A.G.
But A.G. Robinson was dead.
Very dead.
For many years.
He had to be hallucinating. Perhaps it was all the recent late nights catching up with him. Archer stood there and shook his head, trying to clear it, like a dog shaking off water. He eased towards the door, wishing he had a phase pistol on him and quickly poked his head through the open doorway. Seeing nothing, he entered his apartment quickly and closed the door behind him, making sure it was locked. He then ensured that there were no intruders in his apartment. Only then did he relax.
Later, after a quick shower and a stiff drink to get over his earlier scare he spent the rest of the evening in front of his computer, continuing to go over reports and charts. He sat in his pajama bottoms, bare chested, still well-muscled and in shape despite his age. The only change in his physique was his grey hair and wrinkles, although the wrinkles were more frown lines then age. He rarely smiled any longer, and when he did, his smile held no warmth.
He ate absently from a plate off to the side, a sad looking resequenced bit of catfish that the housekeeper had left for him. Trip wouldn't have fed such a poor piece of catfish to a dog, let alone a human, but Archer ate it mechanically. He never ate out any longer, he always ate alone, with his work. His housekeeper was the only being he dealt with outside of the office. He didn't even know his own neighbors, nor cared to.
The doorbell chimed once, bringing Archer out of his report. He stared at the door for a moment and then the chime sounded again, and again, continuing on, bringing him out of his chair in an explosion of anger.
"Damn kids," he growled as he rushed to the door and punched the button to open it. He was greeted by an empty hallway. No one was there. There was also a lack of noise, no running footsteps. His eyes widened briefly, remembering his earlier upset. Sighing in frustration he closed the door and turned back to his computer. He stopped, completely still. Leaning against the desk with a drink in his hand was none other than his old friend A.G. Robinson.
"Hey there, Jonnie," said A.G.
Jon continued to stare at the vision before him. He was able to discern that the person in front of him was not actually there, Jon could see through him. Was he a hologram or some sort of a projection?
"No, I'm not a hologram. And before you go looking for a projector I am, in fact, an honest to goodness ghost."
"There's no such thing," snapped Jonathon, looking around for the projector he knew must be there. This had to be a cruel prank of some sort. But who would do something like this? Who could have gotten in past security?
"Is to, and you need to listen up, I don't have much time here. I'm out on good behavior, so knock it off and listen up," replied A.G. as he stood up, set his drink down on the desk, and came towards Jonathon. The drink disappeared as soon as the apparition's fingers left the glass.
"What? Out of where?" Jonathon replied absently, still looking for a source of what he was sure a projection.
"Out of… never mind where. You don't want to visit. Look, after the Xindi attack on Earth you've spent your whole life being miserable to those around you, to those you care most about."
"I don't care about anyone," replied Jon as he walked slowly around A.G., eyes narrowed in concentration.
"You care about your dog. Where is Porthos, by the way?" A.G. scanned the room, his eyes falling on the empty dog bed by the desk.
"He's dead - he died a few years back. And you're wrong, I don't care about anyone."
"Right, you were never a good liar. You haven't gotten rid of his bed, you still love your dog, and you're probably still pining after that little cutie you had at one point." A sad smile crossed the ghost's face. "Anyhow, if I hadn't been even busier than you with my career I would have gone after that hottie once you let her go. But I could never be bothered to form any lasting relationships, there were too many things to do, places to explore." Another drink materialized itself in his hand; he took a sip and grimaced, then continued. "So I was miserable, driven, and alone. Now I'm dead, and still miserable and definitely alone. I'm just not working anymore." A.G. paused seeing that Archer still wasn't giving him his full attention. He downed his drink, tossed the glass over his shoulder into thin air, and floated towards Archer eventually passing right through him. Archer shuddered and gasped.
"See, I told you I was a real ghost and all. Didn't feel too good having me floating through you, did it?" he paused watching Archer continue to shudder. A.G. smiled wryly and continued, "Like I was saying, I was sent here to warn you about your mission. You're messing up your life real good and if you don't stop, you'll drop dead of a coronary and end up with me. And as much as I'd love some company, you don't want to spend eternity where I am. It makes that whole episode of falling off the face of that cliff and bouncing all the way down look like a picnic. I wouldn't have fallen and died if I had been climbing with a partner. But I didn't have a climbing partner because I had no friends!" he barked, looking at Archer to gauge the effects of his words. Archer was still busy trying to warm up; having a ghost pass through him had a chilling effect.
"Anyhow, you'll be visited by three spirits tonight and I'd listen to everything they have to say." A.G. faded out briefly and then came back clearly. "Ah, that's my cue to go. It was nice chatting with you Jon. I've missed you. We were friends once, and I think back on that time often. Don't forget to listen to these guys, and," glancing down at Archer's half eaten meal, "don't eat that catfish – resequenced crap. Go out and get yourself some real food and be around some real people. Your other old friend Trip would be disappointed in you," and with that he slowly started to fade and expand, eventually becoming so large and transparent that he faded from the room entirely.
Archer was left standing there, mouth open, still trying to figure out what had happened.
