Chapter 2: Stoic
"Give Up the Grudge" – Gob.
This is ridiculous. Had it been his choice… No way I would have allowed all the senior officers planetside at one time. But it hadn't been his choice, it had been Captain Archer's choice – and the captain was beginning to ignore common sense again. When did he ever stop? Malcolm had to be honest with himself: the captain – as good as he was at everything else – had never been a security minded commanding officer. Even at the height of the Xindi troubles, the man had taken risks Malcolm would never even have considered. But this is ridiculous.
And then there was Commander Tucker. Supposedly intelligent by all accounts, yet here he'd gone charging into a cave despite all the things that had previously happened to him while underground. You'd think he'd learn by now. Yet if there was one thing Malcolm had learned these past three plus years, it was that Commander Tucker had even less common sense than the captain. Tell him it shouldn't be done and he'll fall all over himself trying to do it. Crazy bugger probably had fallen and broken his communicator, which would explain why the rest of the party had lost contact with him.
And now, I have to put myself in danger just to try to get you back. Not that it was entirely the commander's fault, he wasn't the one who'd decided that this 'anomalous' energy signature needed checking out. No, that had been Sub-commander T'Pol's insistence – and up until now Malcolm though she of all people did have some basic common sense.
At least one piece of luck was good, however: thick mud had blanketed the entrance to the cave, meaning that Commander Tucker's oversized footprints were clearly visible on the otherwise dry floor. The tracks led around a corner and into a small opening.
"Commander?" Malcolm called through the opening, but received no response. Stop playing silly buggers, Trip, and answer me. "Commander?" He stepped forward into darkness.
His boots echoed on metal. Metal? The air smelled stale and overused… and sudden pain told him that there wasn't a very high ceiling in here and it had very heavy pipes running underneath it. "This isn't funny, Commander." It had to be some sort of practical joke… they'd been here long enough for Trip to set something up.
"I wasn't laughing." Another voice emerged from the shadows – his eyes were beginning to adjust. He didn't recognise the voice – harsh and rasping – but did recognise the language and accent. "And you are damned fortunate that we are not on silent running status… or I would have you up on immediate charges."
"On whose authority?" Unless someone transferred in overnight… Malcolm knew he was the highest-ranking Briton on the ship. And I wasn't even on the ship.
"Commander Malcolm Reed. And you would be…" The tone implied that he would be something more applicable to being scraped off a deck than standing on it.
One small step below that. Malcolm Reed? What the hell is that about? "Lieutenant Malcolm Reed. Enterprise." He considered stepping forward to get a better look… then decided that his head didn't need any more abuse.
The point proved moot anyway as a hand reached forward and grabbed his uniform, pulling him forward. A blink later and he found himself nose to nose with…
"Bloody hell." The hand released him and his mirror image blinked. "What the hell is going on here?" The words came out with the smoke of a half-consumed cigarette.
"Beats me." Now where did I pick up that expression, Charles Tucker? "I was just asking myself the same question." And having a heart attack while he was at it. Even Trip wasn't this good… and this was giving full credit to the man who made Starfleet Headquarters disappear. "I guess a good place to start would be 'where the hell am I?'"
"HMS/M Stoic." Cold eyes looked Malcolm up and down, clearly not satisfied with what they saw.
"I'm on a submarine?" Time now for another technique learned from the redoubtable Commander Tucker: denial. "I am not on board a submarine… I am hallucinating. I hit my head on a piece of rock… I'm hallucinating… I need to go see Phlox."
"Are you quite done?" His other self spoke with a hint of dry amusement at Malcolm's inanity – shades of Stuart Reed himself.
"I've had training from an expert. I could go on like this for hours." Yet another Tucker influence… the ability to make fun of oneself. And to think I used to take myself so seriously. Funny how unstiffening his spine could give him some backbone… three years ago he'd never think of talking back to a superior officer… even if that superior officer was a nicotine soaked Malcolm Reed. This close, Malcolm felt like he was smoking… the scent was so strong. You're in a contained space, with limited air… and you're filling it with toxins. Aren't I a brilliant man.
"Indeed, Lieutenant. Well, I doubt my patience would last that long… it's not noted for its durability to begin with." A pistol dangled in Reed's other hand… a solid projectile antique.
No, it wasn't, was it? "Fine." Malcolm threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "What would you like from me, sir?" An ironic twist infused itself onto the last word… Malcolm was certain he had nothing to do with it.
"A few less dramatics would be a satisfactory start. What service are you with? I don't recognise the uniform… and you certainly didn't acquire that attitude in any respectable military organisation." Reed's look said it all: the lift to the chin, the cold appraisal of the eyes.
Snot. "I've been hanging around with Americans." Three years ago he'd never have said 'hanging around' either. "Starfleet, actually. Father wasn't too impressed." Considering that they hadn't had a civil conversation since he told the Admiral he was enlisting in another organisation…
"I would imagine not. Lieutenant, then?" And there it was again… that air of superiority. As though 'Commander' made up for the fact that Reed looked half-dead from weariness, stress, and only God knew what else.
"Chief Armoury Officer. And you?" He caught the flicker of irritation in his other's eyes, and knew he scored a hit. So despite the title… you're not much of anything, are you?
"Like I said. Commander Malcolm Reed. Starfleet? Didn't they have that disaster with their Warp Five program? Lost the ship?" Triumph infused the words, as though somehow Starfleet's failure was the Royal Navy's success.
"Not that I noticed." Malcolm smirked. "Then again, this could be Hell. Have you noticed any flames?" Come to think of it, and existentialist hell was supposedly being trapped forever with people you hated. This would certainly qualify.
"I seem to recall… they ran into some difficulty… didn't have appropriate weaponry. They'd barely even left Earth, too."
"Not true. We installed the phase cannons." While they should have been done before hand, he had to admit that he and Trip did one hell of a job.
The commander raised a sceptical eyebrow. "According to the reports, there was no time to return to Jupiter Station."
"Which is why we did it on the spot." Try that, commander of nothing. "Two days, versus two weeks." And kiss my pretty little ass. That one he'd picked up from Hess. "I wish you were here, L.T." he spoke the last words softly, half afraid the universe would grant his request. I'm not sure which would be worse: being stuck here with me, or being stuck here with me and Lieutenant Hess. Wouldn't that be a match made in hell. Mr. Stick-Up-The-Ass and Commander Tucker's Psychotic-Little-Tinkerbell. She'd eat you alive.
"Ell-tee? You have been spending time with Americans. Anyway, I thought you were the Lieutenant." Apparently Reed's hearing skills were as good as his own. "Though it explains your attitude problem." Again that little sneer, as though somehow cold detachment signalled superiority.
"There's more than one on the ship, you bloody git. I was speaking of the Engineering second." And I don't have an attitude problem… you have a perception problem. "I haven't even begun to give you attitude yet."
"And he…"
"She." Malcolm corrected. "Just came to mind, that's all." Because you need a good kicking in the teeth… and I haven't got the patience to do it.
Another emotion crossed Reed's face. "She." The word dripped acid.
"Yes, she. Female pronoun, singular. Am I testing your familiarity with the English language?" If Reed could play the superiority game…
Reed's dark look deepened. Clearly he didn't like being talked back to, or the taste of his own medicine. "And I suppose you and she?"
"Do I look insane? Don't answer that," Malcolm amended hastily, even though Reed could have no idea just what 'Hess' entailed. "No. She's just a friend. There is nobody at the current moment." He didn't add that a glimpse into his future indicated nobody at any current moment… no sense boring a hole in a submarine. "You?"
"Married. Two children." Reed didn't elaborate further.
"Congratulations." Actually, Reed didn't sound to happy about it. Considering his eagerness for superiority in every other area, it seemed a little odd.
"We have an understanding."
Uh-oh. No good marriage operated on the principle of 'We have an understanding.' The phrase usually indicated that one or the other of the participants was less than committed to their companion. "I'm sorry." Maybe there were advantages to staying single.
"She has… needs… and I am unable to fulfill them from here. However…"
However, there would be no divorce, because Reeds did not get divorces. Loyal until the end. What a load of crap.
"What about the rest of the family? Mother, Father…" Surely the chasm that existed between Malcolm and Stuart would not have formed here… here where son followed father's footsteps to the sea.
"I assume they are well. Last I heard, Mother and Father were returning to Malaysia." So detached, as though family meant absolutely nothing.
"Don't call me, Shirley." Malcolm muttered. "You mean to tell me that you went through this hell of being on board a frigging submarine and Father still doesn't speak to you?" That had been his only regret about entering Starfleet… the deepening of the void between them. To find out that it would have been that way, regardless…
"There are a great many issues between Father and I." Reed stared at him even more coldly than before, lighting a fresh cigarette from the ashes of the first.
"Or to put it in plain English, he's still a bastard and you're merely pathetic." Chain-smoking? If that wasn't evidence of pathetic then nothing else would be.
Reed's eyes narrowed. "Might I remind you…"
"Actually, I'm not." Malcolm knew exactly where that line headed. "You are neither above me in the chain of command, nor would I term you to be a 'superior' officer in any other sense. Correct me if I'm wrong… but I would guess that the only reason you still have a posting is that it's more politically expedient than cashiering you. I have crewmen who would make better officers than you." Another direct hit… this time he saw the flinch.
"Are you forgetting who I am?" No missing that irony. Then again, he'd always been intelligent.
I was just never very smart. "Not me." Another conversation flashed back to him… when Trip and Malcolm discussed seeing the future. Then, he thought it would be wonderful to miss all of those 'awkward first dates,' but now – he wasn't so sure. Every experience changes you. "There was a time when I thought a 'superior officer' should be like Father… like you. That was before my captain risked his life for several hours cutting me away from the hull." And Trip spent several hours annoying his way into friendship.
"That was a mistake. No officer… especially a junior officer," the emphasis indicated that Malcolm especially qualified, "is that indispensable." Reed's lip curled into a sneer, but his eyes said something different. Jealously lurked there, a deep jealousy over Malcolm's admittance.
"Perhaps… but since I was that junior officer… I'm rather grateful he's a thick-skulled bastard. There's a reason his crew will follow him anywhere… and it's not because he orders them to go, it's because he leads the way forward. We stick with him, because we know he won't leave us behind." He'll send us back, but he won't leave us behind. He'd been furious when Archer ordered him back to Enterprise and stayed behind to disable the Xindi weapon himself… but had known that while it might kill him to abandon Archer… he couldn't risk Hoshi as well. Angrily he reached over and plucked the cigarette from Reed's lips. He dropped it to the deck and ground it out beneath his heel. "If you don't mind… I have to breathe the air in here, too."
"Actually, I do mind." The blow caught Malcolm unawares, a hard open handed slap to the jaw.
"My, my. Striking a junior officer. We are the epitome of control, aren't we?" Malcolm resisted the urge to rub his face. I'm not letting you know that hurt.
"Shut up!" Oh, Reed was definitely in control all right. "You know nothing…"
"Cry me a goddamn river, Commander." He'd heard Forrest use that one once. "It's hardly my fault you're a broken-down lousy excuse for a human being. You know what? I may not have a wife… but I have friends. Friends who sometimes make me laugh so hard I can't breathe, friends that sometimes leave me in tears… but I'm not alone." He might have been, so easily could have been were it not for the unabashed unconventiality of those friends. So it took getting me drunk… and an attempted suicide… but it woke him to the fact that there were worse things than breaking convention… that there were things worth taking risks for. "And the reason I do have friends… is that I dropped the goddamn perfect attitude and started behaving like a person. So I haven't got the rank… yet. Even if I never get farther than Lieutenant… even if I never get out of the armoury… I'm happy. More so, now, that I know I did make the right decision. I am not Father… I was never meant to be on the ocean. So I broke with tradition… big deal. The world didn't end because of it." Actually, the world might end because he didn't… especially if the Expanse kept, well, expanding. With no Enterprise there to stop it…
"Friends." This came infused with as much acid as 'she.' Of course Reed would belittle the idea – not only did he apparently not have any, but he believed – like Father – that they were somehow a sign of a weak personality. "You weren't brought up to be someone who spends time with his 'mates' in the pub. You were brought up…"
"What part of 'happy' didn't you understand?" Looking at Reed, probably not any of it. "In case you haven't clued in yet… that 'upbringing' wasn't exactly optimum. And friends are more than just 'mates' in a pub… they're people who'll give you a hand up when you need it… people who'll help keep you from going under… and sometimes just make sure you've got your head screwed on straight, and that you haven't got it up your arse. Your 'subordinates' may be willing to give you their all because it's your duty, but friends will give you more than that." He'd never realised that, before… not consciously. But by fitting in… he was able to get more respect… get more done. I don't have to go through channels to ensure that the Chief Engineer – who outranks me – will do me a favour. All I have to do is ask him. And sometimes not even that… sometimes Trip just pitched in, regardless. "Strength is not solitary. Anyone with any kind of chemistry experience can tell you that alloys are stronger… that people working together can do more than one person working alone."
He straightened up, keeping an eye on the pipes as he did so. "Now, if you don't mind… I have a command to get back to. I believe there are some refinements that can be made to the E-M barrier I invented." He added the last as a final devastating shot, and turned away. You haven't accomplished anything, have you? I've invented force-fields, designed Tactical Alert protocols… and you haven't managed to do a goddamned thing. He didn't even blink when seconds before the darkness turned to light, he heard a single sharp explosion, because he knew that it would have come regardless. Reed had been down there for that very purpose – Malcolm didn't kid himself. Maybe now you'll have some peace, you poor bastard. Besides… it was a might have been – a might have been that he avoided a long time ago, by doing something he'd thought he regretted. There but for the grace of God and angels… now, you crazy bugger… where are you?