(This chapter and the next one get a little "talky." Of course, there's a reason for that, as there are some things the characters need to talk about. I promise some action by the end of chapter four.)

Chapter 2: Nothing ever happens to the brave

Malcolm tugged off his boots and lined them up carefully in his closet, laces tucked neatly inside. He was finally off-duty after a very trying day of weapons simulations that didn't quite go off as planned, and he was looking forward to a little quiet time, just him and Wittgenstein. He was halfway through the Blue Book, and it was getting quite interesting, although somewhat difficult to follow. If he were honest with himself, he would have to admit that he was reading it for T'Pol, as it was the closest he could get to a treatise on logical thinking.

He took the book from its place on the nightstand and flopped down on the bed without bothering to change his clothes, simply unzipping his coverall partway to relieve the tightness around his neck. Malcolm would not ordinarily have chosen a book like this, but he had discovered to his surprise that he found it fascinating.

He had just finished the first paragraph of chapter three when the comm. sounded. With a sigh, he rested the book on his chest and reached up over his head to answer the hail.

"Reed here."

"Lieutenant Reed," came T'Pol's voice, startling him a little. He hadn't seen nor spoken to her for over a week. "Please report to my quarters."

"What is this regarding?" he asked warily.

"I will inform you when you arrive."

"On my way. Reed out." Malcolm returned the bookmark to its place and replaced the book on the nightstand, wondering as he did so what T'Pol could want to talk to him about. She had certainly made it clear that their relationship, if it could even be called that, was over, with no hope of resurrection. Perhaps it was work related, but if so, why contact him when they were both off-duty? And why have him come to her quarters?

Remembering suddenly that he had missed a haircut appointment earlier that day, Malcolm took a quick peek in the mirror and smoothed out his overgrown hair and straightened his collar before heading out the door. I'm not trying to impress her, he told himself. An officer always looks his best, he heard his father's voice reminding him sternly, and his mouth fell into a grim line as he very deliberately turned away from the mirror.

When he reached T'Pol's quarters, Malcolm straightened his collar again before pressing the buzzer. The second his finger left the button, he heard her voice, flat and toneless, over the comm. "Come."

The door slid open and Malcolm looked around in surprise. The lights were muted and at least a dozen meditation candles were lit and placed around the room in a well-ordered pattern. There was a hint of spice in the air, one that Malcolm remembered well from their last intimate encounter. His breath caught a little at the memories that were evoked by the scent.

T'Pol herself was seated serenely on a cushion in the middle of the floor, spine straight, legs folded, hands resting lightly on her knees. "Be seated, Lieutenant," she said in a neutral voice, while gesturing at another cushion directly across hers.

Malcolm cautiously stepped around a candle and approached the indicated spot, but did not sit. "Why have you called me here?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as neutral as hers.

"I will tell you presently. Please be seated."

"First I want to know what this is about. The last time we talked you accused me of taking advantage of you." He knew that comment sounded sarcastic, but he couldn't help it. He didn't want to be hurt again.

T'Pol dropped her eyes, but not before Malcolm had caught a glimpse of emotion in them, something that looked an awful lot like anxiety. He bit his lip and sat cross-legged on the cushion, resting his hands on his knees in conscious imitation of her posture.

"All right, I'm seated," he said in a softer tone.

One minute passed, then another, with T'Pol staring into the flame of the candle in front of her. Malcolm shifted on the cushion unconsciously. He had almost decided that she had forgotten he was there, when she spoke abruptly.

"I need to inform you of a . . . situation."

"What situation?"

To Malcolm's surprise, T'Pol now shifted uncomfortably on her cushion. "This situation concerns you."

Malcolm waited silently. It was nearly a minute before she finally tore her eyes from the flame and spoke again, hurriedly. "I apologize. I should not have bothered you."

"What?"

"You may go." She moved as if to stand, but he caught her hand and she remained seated.

"No, I'm not leaving. What did you need to tell me?"

"It is not important."

"It must have been important. Otherwise you wouldn't have called me. We're not supposed to be talking to each other, remember? Now what is it?"

"I am. . ."

"What?"

"I am pregnant."

Malcolm released her hand and sprang to his feet. He was barely breathing from the wave of terror that swept over him. It felt like there was a thick band of pressure around his chest, and he couldn't get any air.

T'Pol rose too, and after a moment she said quietly, "Malcolm?"

He put up a hand to stop her. He needed to think, and he couldn't think when someone was talking. She seemed to understand that, because she fell silent and waited patiently for him to recover.

His mind raced, but all he could think of were stupid questions, too obvious to even ask. What? She had already answered that. How? Of course he knew how. Who? That was a good one.

"Are you--are you sure I'm the father?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized how insulting the question was, and wished he could take it back.

"There is no one else." She sounded almost amused.

"But I thought you--I mean, don't you--what about birth control?"

"The Vulcan Science Directorate considers birth control unnecessary."

"Well, obviously it was necessary!"

"In retrospect, yes."

There was silence for another moment as Malcolm collected his thoughts, and one more question occurred to him.

"What do you--what do you plan to do?"

"I cannot end a life."

Malcolm was taken aback a little at her response. "It is legal, you know."

"I am aware of the laws, both on my planet and yours. Whether it is legal or illegal is irrelevant to me. My choice has nothing to do with the legality of the issue."

"Oh."

"Do you wish me to abort this pregnancy?"

"No, no, I didn't say that. It's your decision."

"Indeed, the decision is mine, and I have made it. I ask nothing from you."

"Wait a minute. You can't expect me just to walk away. I'm willing to take responsibility for--for--" He couldn't quite bring himself to say, 'my child.' "for the child."

"That is unnecessary."

"It's the honorable thing to do. I'm not just going to bang you up and walk away," he said indignantly.

"What do you intend to do?"

"Well. . . do you want to get married?" When T'Pol said nothing in response, Malcolm continued nervously, "I mean, I know you don't love me, but Vulcans don't marry for love anyway, do they?"

"Humans do," T'Pol said quietly.

"T'Pol, I'm serious. Do you want to get married?"

T'Pol stared at him for several seconds with a very severe expression on her face. "That would not be wise."

"But why not? I'm not going to let you just take the child--my child--and leave."

"You have very little say in the matter."

"Yes I do! I have as much right to decide what happens with our child as you do."

"A moment ago you said the decision was mine."

"Yes, but--I meant--Damnit, T'Pol!"

"I do not intend to leave, at least not right away. But I do not wish to marry you simply because our short-lived relationship happened to produce an offspring."

"Then--what do you intend to do? We can't raise a child on Enterprise . . . can we?"

"I have made no decisions as of yet. Can we discuss this at another time? I have a headache."

Malcolm's anger vanished, replaced by confusion and increasing anxiety. "Can I get you a pillow or--or an analgesic?"

T'Pol shook her head. "I need no assistance." She looked pointedly at the door.

"Of course, I'm sorry. I'll--I'll go."

When she said nothing, he turned and opened the door. "We'll talk later, right?"

"If you wish."

After the door slid shut, Malcolm stood for several seconds, staring at the smooth, gray metal, half-expecting that at any moment T'Pol would come out and say something along the lines of "April fool!" and tell him it had all been a joke.

When the door stubbornly stayed shut, Malcolm turned and shuffled down the corridor toward his own quarters. Pregnant! It couldn't be! It was impossible. Well, not technically impossible, based on what they had done, but--impossible!! He wasn't ready to be a father, and didn't think he ever would be. He had no idea how fathers were supposed to behave. His only role model in that arena was one he had absolutely no desire to imitate in any respect.

Malcolm began to feel sick to his stomach, thinking of the possibility of treating his son like he had been treated. He would never, could never do that, could he? They said it ran in families, as if it were genetic. The child repeats the patterns of the parents, and so on, over and over, with no hope of escape.

~~~~~~~~~~

He is in a very small, dark space, seated on the hard floor with his knees drawn up. He can feel lumps under his thighs. Shoes, he thinks. A wool coat hangs in front of his face, tickles his nose. He is aware that the floor is swaying back and forth, to and fro. The tiny coat closet on his father's sailboat.

It is very dark, and he is afraid. He wishes he could open the door, but even though it is unlocked, he is too afraid to open it. He knows the consequences for disobedience.

His father was so angry. Malcolm has never seen his father that angry before. The look of rage is burned into Malcolm's mind. Malcolm's apologies were ignored. His father's words run through his head, over and over. He can't shut them out. "You humiliated me. I'm ashamed to call you my son."

Now, despite his fear, he is glad that he was banished to the closet. At least here it might be safe. He touches his cheek and feels the bruise that raises the skin. He knows there are more, on his arms and legs, on his back. His father rarely strikes him on the face--it leads to too many questions from teachers. Malcolm wonders how he will explain this one on Monday.

He hears a sound and freezes. Please not again. Please, please, please, not again.

The closet door swings open noiselessly.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Malcolm stood at his station on the bridge, surreptitiously watching T'Pol out of the corner of his eye while he set up yet another weapons simulation. He had little hope that today's simulations would work out any better than yesterday's, but he slogged on anyway.

He had slept poorly, and he knew his face showed it, with a pastier than usual complexion offsetting dark circles under his eyes. He still hadn't worked in a haircut, and his bangs continually fell into his eyes while he worked. He pushed them back distractedly, trying to keep focused on the matter at hand, and not let himself start thinking about that other situation, the one that had caused his lack of sleep.

The captain's voice interrupted his concentration. "Ready for another test, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Captain." He thumbed the comm. "Reed to Filsen. Prepare to fire on my command."

"Aye, sir," came the competent, no-nonsense voice of Ensign Filsen, standing by in the armory.

"Fire."

A brief bolt of light flashed from the phase cannon, and promptly fizzled. "Damn!" Malcolm slammed his palm on his console, which hurt, and then looked up to discover everyone was watching him, including T'Pol. Her eyebrows were drawn downward in an expression of disapproval.

"What?!" he exploded at her.

Her eyebrows cocked upwards. "I said nothing."

"You didn't have to say anything. That look says it all."

T'Pol regarded him smugly. "I suggest you attempt to control your emotional reaction. Physical outbursts will only destroy equipment and further delay the successful completion of these tests."

"I suggest you mind your own business!" Malcolm snapped back. He knew the back of his neck was turning red, he could feel the heat rising up to his scalp and over his cheeks.

"Lieutenant Reed!" came the captain's stern voice from behind him. "What is--"

T'Pol interrupted him, her voice cranked up a notch. "Your behavior is childish and unacceptable, Lieutenant! I suggest you control yourself or you will be relieved of duty immediately!"

"Whoa, there," Archer interjected. "No one's being relieved of duty.".

"Filsen to Reed," came the no-nonsense voice over the comm. before Malcolm could think of a response to T'Pol's comment. He jabbed his forefinger at the control.

"Reed here," he said tightly.

"I think we blew a few relays on that one, sir."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Get started fixing them," Malcolm snapped.

"Yes, sir. Filsen out."

Immediately following Filsen's sign-off, the comm. sounded again. "Tucker to bridge," came Trip's harried voice.

"Archer here."

"What are you guys doin' up there? We just blew out about a dozen relays. Warp and impulse are both off-line."

Malcolm swore just loudly enough for everyone on the bridge to hear. "Must have been the weapons' testing. We're finished for today," the captain responded.

A sigh was transmitted over the comm. "We'll get on the repairs. We're gonna hafta reroute power around the blown relays, so it'll be at least an hour before you get your engines back. Tucker out."

Malcolm heard the captain's footsteps behind him. "Lieutenant, Sub- Commander, my ready room, please. Ensign Sato, please contact Ensign Filsen and tell her we won't be running any more weapons tests today."

"Aye, sir." Hoshi sounded a little flustered as she turned back to her station. Malcolm kept his head down so he wouldn't have to look her in the eye.

"Let's go, people." Archer led the way through the ready room door, with T'Pol on his heels and Malcolm trailing after, gaze fixed on his shoes.

When the door had closed behind them, Archer dropped into one of the chairs and gestured for T'Pol and Malcolm to do the same. Malcolm sat, hesitantly, but T'Pol simply folded her hands behind her back.

"I prefer to stand," she said harshly. Archer shrugged.

"So, who wants to tell me what the problem is?"

"Sir?" Malcolm made the title a question, hoping his voice didn't betray him. The captain couldn't know, could he? Malcolm knew he hadn't told Archer anything, and he didn't think T'Pol would tell, so that left. . .

"I found out from Trip that there was something going on, so you might as well talk."

Trip! Of course! The man couldn't keep his mouth shut if it were plasma- welded, Malcolm fumed silently. In fact, maybe a little welding would be a good thing. Teach him a much-needed lesson.

The silence stretched out. Malcolm shifted in his chair uncomfortably.

"Malcolm?"

Malcolm opened his mouth and closed it again, dropping his eyes to the table.

"T'Pol?"

"Lieutenant Reed and I were involved in a relationship."

Malcolm turned and stared at her in shock. "It would be impossible to keep the matter secret. Therefore it is logical to be truthful," she said simply.

"You said, 'were'. Does that mean the relationship is over?" Archer asked.

"Yes, it's over," Malcolm mumbled.

"Then why would it be impossible to keep it secret?"

Malcolm shot T'Pol a look of pure terror at what he knew would be the next words out of her mouth.

"Because our relationship has resulted in a pregnancy."

Archer made a surprised noise, and then coughed in an obvious attempt to cover his shock. He leaned back in his chair with a very deliberate thoughtful expression, but then just as quickly and awkwardly leaned forward resting his elbows on his desk. Malcolm could see his adam's apple jump up and down in his throat as he swallowed convulsively. "I see. When- -when did this happen?"

"The embryo is approximately nine days gestation."

"I see--uh--" There was a pause while Archer rubbed his face with both his hands, and Malcolm realized that at that moment the captain would much rather have been fighting the Suliban than having this conversation. Malcolm decided he couldn't agree more. "What--uh--have you made any plans? I mean--do you plan to get married, or--"

Malcolm looked to T'Pol, who spoke quickly, "We do not intend to be married. We have made no decisions at this time."

"Well, I suppose you'll have to make some decisions soon," Archer said with a thoughtful expression. "You're right about this being a secret that's impossible to keep. Does anyone else know?"

"Obviously Dr. Phlox is aware of my condition. I have informed no one other than Malcolm."

Malcolm saw Archer grin a little, probably at T'Pol's use of his first name, and then both he and T'Pol were looking at him with their eyebrows raised.

"I haven't told anyone," he said quickly in answer to their unspoken question.

"All right, then," Archer said. "Let's keep it amongst ourselves for now. You two talk about it, and let me know when you come to some sort of a decision. In the meantime, T'Pol, how are you feeling?"

"My condition is bearable."

Archer gave a little laugh. "Well, I suppose that's the best you can hope for. Make sure to go to all of your appointments with Phlox."

"I will."

"Sub-Commander, you're dismissed." Malcolm started to stand up to leave as well, but Archer shook his head slightly. T'Pol gave a brief nod and walked out, hands still clasped tightly behind her back. Archer was silent until the door had closed behind her, then he turned to Malcolm, that little grin playing on his lips.

"So--Malcolm."

Malcolm waited for a moment, sure the captain was going to say more, but Archer just shook his head ruefully and the grin widened.

"Sir?"

"How did you do it?"

"Do what, sir?" Malcolm asked, although he already knew what Archer was talking about, and didn't like it.

"You know what I mean. Are you all right? You look a little-- jumpy."

"I'm doing as well as can be expected, for a man who has recently found out he is unexpectedly going to be a father."

"Not planning on running away or anything, are you?"

"No Sir!" Malcolm answered indignantly. "I'll do the honorable thing. I don't plan to leave her to deal with this--this situation alone."

"She didn't want to get married, huh?"

"What makes you think it was her decision?"

"Come on, Malcolm. I saw your expression when I asked if you were going to get married. You wanted to, she didn't. I'm right, aren't I?"

Malcolm's shoulders slumped and he nodded miserably, defeated by the captain's logic.

Archer perched on the front of his desk, crossed his ankles, and folded his arms. "Look, Malcolm, if you want a relationship with T'Pol, you're going to have to pursue it, because she won't."

"But what about fraternization rules?"

"I know you don't approve of the way I run my ship, Malcolm, but I try to be realistic. On a mission of this length, some violations of the anti- fraternization rules are bound to occur. As your captain I can't officially encourage fraternization. However, as your friend . . . Why don't you at least give it a shot?"

"I've already tried. She doesn't want me, Captain," Malcolm said dejectedly.

"You asked her what, once?"

Malcolm nodded again.

"Give her some time to think about it, then try again. Maybe she'll come around."

"I don't intend to force her to marry me."

"That's not what I'm suggesting, Malcolm. Just persist a little. Remember, she's been hit with a bit of a surprise too. She's bound to be a little rattled."

Malcolm almost said, "Vulcans don't get rattled," but realized that that wasn't true. He had had a glimpse into T'Pol's soul, and he knew, probably better than anyone else, that she was capable of strong emotions. She did indeed get rattled, she was just very good at covering it up.

"I'll--I'll think about it, but I doubt it will work."

Archer clapped him on the back. "It's worth a try, right? All right, you're dismissed."

Malcolm's shoulders came back up and he snapped to attention as he was reminded that he was talking to his captain, not just a friend. "Sir," he said shortly, pivoted on his heel, and walked out, with his mind on what the captain had said.