Disclaimer: Paramount owns Enterprise and everything connected with it, except Tia Anlor (Tee-ah' Ahn'-lor), who belongs to me and I'm not sharing. (G)

This is the 16th story in this series, the others being 'Golden Girl'; 'A Few Words'; 'Glistni'; 'Small Time'; 'Acquisition'; 'What Do I Do Now?'; 'For Want of Kilyiis'; 'Daasii'; 'Noblesse Oblige'; 'Roses and Thorny'; 'Time and Again', 'House of Cards' and 'Starlight Maiden', 'Armageddon' and 'Luuru' This story begins about two weeks after 'Luuru'. Later stories will include 'Pulsar', 'Face in the Dark Mirror', 'Time Stream', 'Life Goes On', 'Sufferance' and 'The Court Martial of Hoshi Sato'.

Rating: PG-13. Deathfic. Contains Brief Nudity and Adult Situations.

Cross and Crown

by: JMK758

Prologue

Captain Jonathan Archer turned off the screen, cutting off the Starfleet logo image that had replaced that of his commanding officer, Admiral Forrest, and sat back in his chair, considering. What the Admiral had just told him was going to take a bit of getting used to.

After he had digested the matter for a few minutes, he pressed the intercom button which linked him with Ensign Hoshi Sato's Communications station. "Ensign, please have Trip and Malcolm report to my Ready Room."

"Right away, sir." A few seconds later there was a signal at the door.

"Come." Malcolm, he knew, was right outside, but it turned out that Trip was already on the bridge, so both entered in short order.

"You wanted to see us, Cap'n?"

"Yes, Trip. I just wanted you both to know that we will be taking on additional crew."

Trip's smile broadened. "Great. I can use about three more in Engineering."

"And I can use three or four new security personnel." Archer suppressed a smile; Malcolm could hope for three or four, the most he could expect was one, if any. Still, he couldn't blame the man for trying.

"Sorry, fellows, you'll have to make due with due with extra shifts. This officer will be our new Chaplain."

"A what-lin, Cap'n?"

Archer tried to keep a serious expression, but it was hard. He decided just to press on. "The United Earth Space Probe Agency has decided that the need is great for 'spiritual guidance' aboard ships on long space missions."

"Them again." Malcolm muttered.

"I remember the last time they 'decided there was a need' for something. We almost lost Tia." He would not show the depth of his resentment. There was no need to.

"Well, this time I think we'll have less trouble. They assigned two members of the 'Chaplain's Corps' to ships in this sector. We are to rendezvous with the SS Claude Monet, pick up both, and transport one of them onward to the frigate Sevigny."

"One man?"

"That's it."

"Well," Malcolm said thoughtfully, "I have nothing against the idea; it makes sense. I just hope he's flexible."

"Right." Trip said. "Off the top of my head I can tell you about four different religions among the crew, and I don't even discuss religion. That's just what I've heard of; to say nothing of Phlox, T'Pol or Tia."

"I hope he knows what he's getting into." Archer agreed. "He's got his work cut out for him."

Chapter One

Carry the Cross

Captain Jonathan Archer and his Command Crew were assembled outside the launching bay, waiting for it to be re-pressurized. He had decided that an occasion such as this one demanded nothing less than a suitable show of respect for the personages boarding his vessel. He still had not decided which of the two Clergy would remain aboard Enterprise and which would continue on to the Sevigny, Enterprise having first choice. He wanted to get the impressions from his senior officers as soon as possible. Hence, the bridge was entirely staffed with relief crew from Beta shift until their eventual return.

As soon as the indicator beside the door showed that the pressure had been equalized he pressed the button, opening the door and leading his crew into the room. They were in position ranged behind him when Travis Mayweather shut down the systems in the Pod and opened the hatch.

The first person to exit the ship was a tall man with a shock of white hair. He wore black pants and a royal blue shirt, the high round collar of which was not blue but white. About his neck he wore a short cloth band of the same color as his shirt, so that to the eye the one blended into the other. From it was suspended, just below the neck, a somewhat unusual cross. It was red, overlaying a slightly smaller white Maltese cross so that only the eight white points showed past the Roman cross. The two were themselves overlaid within the crosspiece of the red cross by a much smaller straight sided black cross he thought he'd once heard called a Templar cross, overlaid with a red banner containing a slightly inclined gold cross, thereby comprising four emblems in one.

The tall man reached into the shuttle, taking the hand of his companion, courteously rendering unneeded aid down the single step. The woman who joined him was dressed identically to him in every detail, save that the cut of her clothing could not hide quite evident assets any more than her long, chestnut brown hair and smiling face could hide an age easily thirty years younger than her companion's.

Travis Mayweather came out of the pod next, speaking to his commander as the pair turned to face the assembled officers. "Captain Archer, Father George Pineda and Mother Patricia McCabe, Order of St. John."

He'd barely finished speaking when Mother McCabe gasped, one hand clutching her chest as all the color drained from her face. Her companion grasped her arm. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I -." She began, clearly shaken. "Yes, I – I'm all right. It's just – just …"

"The transition from one ship to another can sometimes be unsettling, no matter how 'standard' conditions are." Archer said. He'd seen similar reactions in new space travelers more than a few times, though rarely to this degree. He guessed this was her first time out in space.

"Yes. Yes, that – that must be it." She said, still clearly shaken but managing to pull herself back together. "I'm sorry to be a bother."

"Not at all." He assured her. "Father Pineda, Mother McCabe, on behalf of the Enterprise, it's a pleasure to welcome you aboard."

"Peace to this ship, and all aboard her." George Pineda said formally, then his manner instantly relaxed and he held out his hand in greeting. "And that will be the last of the formality." He took Archer's hand. "Please, it's George or Patricia, or if you want to be formal you can include our titles, but no extra formality, please."

Archer was mildly surprised but in no small way relieved. He had been uncertain just how to address the newcomers, and was quite pleased that the man had set the more relaxed tone early. He introduced his crew in turn, leaving off the obvious ranks. As handshakes were made all about, Archer did notice one thing in particular; Malcolm Reed was looking at the two in barely contained consternation.

No, he thought a moment later as his Tactical Officer greeted Mother McCabe; it was definitely the woman who was throwing Reed off his stride. To a certain extent he could understand it; the woman was exceptionally pretty. Some 'traditional' people still had trouble with woman priests, though he couldn't think of any religion that did not have them in abundance. He had not thought Malcolm would be so 'traditional', but coming from a stiff-upper-lip British background, sometimes even his friends could surprise him.

He was just about to speak when a soft tone from the intercom at the door presaged a call from the relief Comm officer. "Bridge to Captain Archer."

Excusing himself, he went to the panel. "Yes?"

"Admiral Forrest on channel 1."

"I'll take it in my Ready Room in a few minutes." Cutting the circuit, he turned back to the others. "I've arranged a tour of the ship, an opportunity to get you better acquainted with the crew."

"Thank you, Captain. We'd be delighted."

"Ensign?" He turned to the junior officer who stood unobtrusively by the door.

"Captain," Mother McCabe spoke up suddenly, "Would it be an imposition if Mr. Reed would conduct us?" Archer glanced at his Security Chief, noting that the man seemed particularly uncomfortable with this sudden request. He tried to hide it behind a carefully maintained mask of professional detachment, but could not do so from his friends.

McCabe had picked up something, Archer decided. If so, perhaps it was best to clear up any possible problem early, but he could not see what was bothering the man. Putting on his best non-committal smile, Archer answered the woman with as short a pause as possible.

"No imposition at all. Lieutenant?"

There. He threw the ball back into Reed's court. If the man had a problem, now was the time to say so. "Of course, Captain. I'd be …" He glanced at the two clergy. "…delighted." He concluded, making it as smooth as possible, which was not at all.

xx

As the group left the Shuttle bay for their respective duties, Archer found his Chief Engineer walking beside him a few meters down the corridor. "I never thought I'd see Malcolm so far gone."

"What do you mean?" He asked, wanting the other man's input.

"Come on, you didn't see that look in his eyes? He couldn't take them off our Mother Patricia McCabe. Can't blame him a bit, however; she sure is a stunner."

Archer looked at his friend. This was a viewpoint he had not considered. Maybe Trip was more observant than he was. If so, it explained a lot in a much better way than he'd feared. "You think so?"

"Oh, yeah. You know; if I took a twenty pound sledge and," he pantomimed a hefty swing, "got him just between the eyes, I think he'd respond more naturally than he just did."

"You're a fine one to talk." Archer said with a smile. "I remember when you first laid eyes on Miss Anlor, about eight months ago or so. You were all set to start running the Enterprise on diesel." Trip smiled wryly at the memory.

"I guess we all get blown out of the water in our own ways. With me, it was like a torpedo at the water line. He looks more like he's been depth charged."

xxx

"You're kidding! You were in the Royal Navy?" Reed exclaimed, hugely impressed.

"Nearly 28 years." George Pineda confirmed. "I 'retired' as a Lieutenant Commander and entered the Priesthood about 10 years ago. During the past 5 years I've served on three vessels in Starfleet: the 'Daedalus', the 'Aurora' and the 'Rising Star'."

"'Rising Star'? I served on her nearly 15 years ago, under Captain Spalding."

"Spalding's retired now. Binghamton's in command."

"Old Lead Bottom?"

"More like 'Rust Bottom' now," Pineda held up a finger, "but you didn't hear that from me." He pulled himself up with an air of dignity. "I have to show proper respect."

"Oh, of course." Reed agreed broadly. He found himself really liking this man, in particular his down-to-earth nature. He was not at all what he'd expected.

Through this, Mother McCabe retained a quiet perspective, listening to the two men exchange notes and comparisons and stories as they toured. But every time he caught her eye, Reed's composure faltered slightly. He simply could not look at her without feeling … he did not know exactly what he was feeling, but no one could miss the effect she was having on his equilibrium, particularly not her partner.

"Perhaps it's time we turned in." Pineda said, thinking to clear the way for the two 'youngsters' to talk. "Tomorrow is a busy day, and I'm sure your Captain is going to want to get into the interviews."

"I expect so."

"When do we rendezvous with the 'Sevigny'?

"Monday."

"Fine. Then we'll both be serving the first Lenten Mass prior to that. A good opportunity to meet the crew, and vice versa."

"That it should be."

Finally, they arrived at guest quarters on deck D. Reed showed Fr. Pineda to his rooms first. They, of course, looked from the outside exactly like any other, except for being labeled D/67. Pineda extended his hand, offering. Mother McCabe, closest to the control, did the 'honors', pressing the button to admit them.

Inside, the rooms were no different from any other guest quarters; a single 'large' room which served as living and working area by virtue of a bunk, desk and chair, and a smaller half-room to their left, which area would be 'shared' by a corresponding half-room next door. The man needed no real introduction to the accoutrements, what little there were in the Spartan quarters.

Mother McCabe looked around at the few items of interest, which took about fifteen seconds, waiting patiently while Reed and Pineda continued their conversation, which went pretty much along the lines of Reed's apologizing for the small size of the guest facilities, and Pineda assuring him he'd dealt with smaller during his days in the Service. Then, it was time to introduce Mother McCabe to her rooms. McCabe, again closest to the door, let them out.

Reed barely looked at the woman as he activated the door next to that of the elderly Priest's quarters, letting her precede him into the room, all efficiency, officer and gentleman. He showed her where everything was with as much professional detachment as he could muster as she stood expectantly; barely patiently listening to his capsulated review of the contents of the room, as she'd pretty much heard it all a few seconds earlier.

Her room was a mirror image of Pineda's except that her 'refresher' was located aft rather than fore. Reed concluded his review as impersonally as possible, finishing with "if you need anything, just use the intercom." He started out.

She stepped directly in front of him.

"Why are you uncomfortable?" She tried to keep her voice even, unthreatening. No need to put his back up too soon.

"I'm not uncomfortable, Reverend Mother." He did not meet her eyes, however.

"Is there anything … anything at all … that you want to say to me?"

"I wouldn't know what to say, Reverend."

She tried to restrain a sigh of impatience. He was really going out of his way, she thought, to make this difficult, far more so than it had to be. "Please, you don't have to call me that. If I'm going to be the one assigned here, you don't have to be so … formal."

"I'm not being 'formal'. It's just that …" His voice trailed off.

"What?" He didn't answer. "You've made your discomfort quite obvious, as if I could have any trouble telling."

"I'm sorry, I had no idea."

There was a moment of silence. Another. A longer moment. A much longer moment.

She shook her head sadly. "Malcolm Reed, is there anything more you want to say to me?"

"I'm sorry?"

She sighed feelingly, exasperated. "All right, if you won't, I will!"

She reached out, grasping his uniform just below his chin and pulling the surprised man to her open lips, kissing him fervently. She held him firmly in a tight embrace as he stood stunned. But then, a few moments later, he slowly put his arms around her as she kissed him with more fire, deeper, as if she would draw him through her parted lips.

Gradually his reserve dropped, and he started to return the kiss, though barely able to match her fire. He felt monumentally uncomfortable, but after many very long moments he managed to force himself to forget that he was kissing a Priest.

When she sensed that his shields had finally dropped, that he was beginning to allow himself to enjoy it, she let go, and he could pull back. Both of them were breathing harder. There was a dazed look in his eyes.

"There, Malcolm! That's how you greet an ex-fiancé!"