Chapter Five

Confessions and Recollections

Jonathan Archer was not a man who enjoyed mysteries, not the kind that got someone killed, and not aboard his ship. So when the question of what was happening in the night came up, it just overshadowed everything else. What was going on? Why had McCabe apparently visited Reed's quarters late in the night while everyone else on Alpha time was asleep? He firmly refused to put any explanation to it; that would only cloud his judgment. But he wanted answers, and he finally decided he was indeed not a patient man.

To maintain an unbiased position, he asked his third-in-command, Trip Tucker, to be present as well, but did not tell him why when he summoned the Security Chief to his Ready Room.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Reed inquired formally as the door opened. More than a hundred times, Archer had questioned this aspect of formality aboard Starships, and indeed in the Service itself. He had just signaled to the man not fifteen seconds earlier to come in. Archer would be more than happy never to hear that question again.

But then, thinking about it, he decided it was a legitimate one. "No, Malcolm, I didn't."

Reed looked at his Captain in barely concealed surprise. 'Then why call?' he wondered. He had called, hadn't he?

"But I have to." Archer concluded the thought. "Sit down, Malcolm."

When he was seated, and with Tucker leaning almost casually against the bulkhead nearby, Archer began what he had already decided was going to go down in his memory as his least favorite conversation.

x

"Malcolm, what have you learned so far?"

"Quite a lot, sir, but none of it is conclusive." He admitted, hating to do so. He always hated it when he had to admit that he did not have all the answers, and this time it showed as much as ever. "We have no definite leads as to who might have known Fr. Pineda or had a motive to kill him."

Archer tried to massage a pain in the side of his neck that had been building for hours, which ran all the way from his ear to the end of his shoulder, and showed not the slightest sign of easing. In fact, as his mood grew tenser, the pain was just getting steadily worse.

It was deep into the ship's 'late afternoon', at the tail end of Alpha shift, when under normal circumstances the 'main' crew would be standing down and going to dinner, but Archer had no appetite. All he had in his stomach was a knot.

x

"Malcolm, I'm going to be frank with you. I did not get any rest last night. I spent hours contemplating an unexpected decision, how I was going to choose which of two Priests, whom I hadn't even known until yesterday morning were coming, was going to join my crew. I finally put on my uniform this morning with the anticipation that the biggest thing I was going to have to do today was to conduct some interviews, get feedback from my officers and make a decision.

"It's now about thirty hours later since Admiral Forrest laid all this in my lap; one of those Priests is dead and the other is the Prime Suspect; though evidence she didn't do it is mounting as fast as evidence that she did. I'm tired, really cranky, so I am going to ask you a simple question and I want a simple answer."

"I'll try to give you one." He promised, hoping he would have enough answers and evidence to be able to keep that promise.

"Here goes. Why is Mother McCabe's DNA in your quarters, and why are there indications she was there prior to, and again possibly after, the time when Father Pineda was killed?"

x

Archer had read about a person going white in his face, but outside of a life-or-death combat situation he had never before seen it. But now he watched all the color drain from his friend's features, and he devoutly hoped he had not discovered the door to his own personal Hades.

It took the man many moments to answer, and when he did Archer could sense his friend had made a hard decision indeed. He'd always known Reed was a man who tried to keep his personal life an intensely private one. He now realized he was going to learn just where the other stood on the balance of privacy versus duty.

"She's … she's my … my Ex."

"Wife?" Trip asked, utterly failing to keep the astonishment out of his voice. Archer glanced back. In the mounting tension, had he actually forgotten the man was there?

"Fiancé. And I'd really appreciate it if you'd keep it to yourselves."

x

Archer had to admit this was the last thing he could have expected to hear. Trying to cover his surprise, he told his friend; "If this weren't a murder investigation, I'd give you what assurances I could. But you know I can't make any promises."

"I know, sir." Reed tried to keep a note of resignation out of his voice.

"What happened?" Tucker asked.

"If you must know, we were about four months from getting married when … we broke … when it broke off." They sensed he was hunting for wording that would assign no 'blame'. "I was Military, could see myself as nothing else. She was already deeply devoted to the Church; though by no means like she is now. We were in our very late 20's, and both of us saw that it … just wasn't going to work. We could either part as friends, or our lives would pull us in different directions." He sighed heavily, the pain of 'what might have been' clearly still heavy on his soul, despite the mask he would have them see.

"A year later I was out in space, and though I'd thought about her a lot, I haven't seen her until yesterday, and had never expected to." Archer remembered the woman's shaken reaction seconds after she'd boarded. He'd put it down to the stresses of a new space traveler. He realized now that he had been severely mistaken.

x

"We kept in touch, or tried to, but three days gradually became a week, then a fortnight, then a month. Then the day came when there just weren't any more letters." He tried to hide the pain in his tone as well as he could, and that not at all. "I guess we each looked at it as a special time in our lives that was over."

"So when you said you preferred Fr. Pineda here …"

He nodded sadly, not looking at either of them, not wanting to give them that window into his soul. He had to answer, but did not have to show them his heart… "Sometimes, when one has been … really hurt, one doesn't want to get into a situation where one can be hurt again. I lost her a long time ago. If I was going to … lose her again, I wanted it over quickly."

"And when she visited you?"

"I'd been … cold to her, when she came aboard, during the tour. I wasn't trying to be. I was trying to shield both our feelings – or at least mine… I hadn't realized how cold I was being…"

xxxx

"You couldn't sleep?" Malcolm asked. She looked at his bunk, the only indentation a small space in the middle.

"I see you couldn't either." He didn't answer. "We still have unfinished business." Still no answer. He was wearing pants and a blue tee shirt, but reached to put on a longer shirt. "You're still uncomfortable." He stopped, more uncomfortable with having been caught feeling uncomfortable after their long history together.

"You're not exactly casually dressed, either." He tried to keep the defensive tone out of his voice, but could not. He knew she knew him too well.

"Old 'habits' are hard to break." He did not smile at the tiny joke. She had put her raiment back on specifically because she had left her quarters, not because she had wanted to face Malcolm Reed this way. "I suppose I'll be spending my first few days 'establishing' myself. Whichever ship I wind up on, I'll probably be exclusively in 'uniform' publicly for at least a week."

"That's to be expected." He answered, trying for a non-committed tone. He finished buttoning the shirt, but did not tuck it in.

The silence weighed heavily in the air between them. It seemed to gather more weight every second that it grew.

"Talk to me. Please!"

"What would you have me say?"

"I wouldn't 'have you' say anything. But there must be something you want to say."

"We spoke earlier."

"We talked around each other earlier."

Uncomfortable, and uncomfortably trying not to show how uncomfortable he was, he tucked the shirt into his pants.

"Concerned about your appearance?" She asked, trying to get some reaction – any reaction – out of him.

"It would be … inappropriate … to be with you in private less than fully dressed."

"I'm hardly cloistered." He looked away. "You've got that cute little birthmark on your -." He spun back to her, and she cut her voice off at the look of anger in his eyes. Actual anger. At her! "I'm sorry. That was inappropriate. I just wanted to remind you that I'm still the person you knew."

"No, you're not."

Her eyebrows shot up. "I'm not?"

"No. You're … you're …" He waved his hand uncertainly at her. "You're a Priest."

She could barely keep from sighing. "And that makes all the difference between us?"

"Shouldn't it?"

"No. If I were to take this raiment off you would find no surprises at all. I am the same woman, the same person, you've –."

"Please, don't."

x

She was taken back. Don't what? She decided she was actually afraid to ask. She shook her head sadly. "We shouldn't fight."

"I always knew it would come to this." He said, indicating the clothing she wore. "You were always so … devout. I knew it would end like this."

"End like this? Whenever I imagined our getting back together, there was never anything of 'ending' about it."

"Why did you do it?"

"Do what? Become a Priest?" For a moment he couldn't answer, knowing to follow the thought would be to hurt her, and he did not want to do that. But he couldn't pull the thought back. Finally he nodded reluctantly. "You always knew I would. But I never looked at it as something that would come between us."

"There's no room for me in your life. You're married now to God, to your Church. They're your husband now. There's no more room in your life for me." She was surprised by how much pain there was in his words, pain that couldn't stay hidden behind his mask.

"Oh, Malcolm, that's just not so!" He didn't answer, didn't look at her. "You know that's nonsense. You're quoting ancient history."

"I'm 'quoting' things as they are."

"No. You know better." This was an old conversation for them. She knew he knew the truth, but repeated it again. "Not even the Romans cling to their old decree of celibacy. Clergy in every religion, every denomination, can marry, have families. It's encouraged." She knew he knew all that. He was not responding to any 'rule'. He was responding to his own inability to deal with it. And as she watched him she couldn't believe the look in his eyes. He was rejecting her words, rejecting her. She decided to try a different track.

x

"After the post-atomic horror all denominations suffered. Worldwide there was an average of 1 clergy for 3,800 laity. All the churches had to take a good, hard look at themselves if they were going to survive as effective forces. This is all old news."

"I know."

"Then what's clogging your jets?"

"You're not just some … Priest. You're … you."

"Last I checked." She tried to say it lightly, to ease his tension. The look he gave her was anything but relaxed. "Malcolm Reed, are you ashamed of what we had?"

"No!" But she realized his answer was too forceful, too quick.

"Then what?" He couldn't answer. "Do you see what we had, before I joined the Order, as … as a sin?" His lack of an answer was even more profound. "Oh, Malcolm."

"I can't help what I feel. What I am." He wanted to move away, but the quarters were just too small. She was still by the door, had not set a foot deeper into his room, but she was still too close.

x

Patricia McCabe wanted to ask if he still loved her, but part of her was deeply afraid to hear the answer. She knew her own answer, with all her heart, but was suddenly afraid to hear his. "Did you ever think we would meet again?" She asked quietly, wishing she knew how to ease the tension that filled the room like a warm choking flood.

"Not like this."

"Then like what?" He didn't answer. "I was as surprised as you were."

"It was a bit of a shock." He felt a smile tugging at his lips, and wished he could give in to it.

"I had no idea you were aboard Enterprise."

"Would you have come if you'd known?"

"Even faster!"

"Are you happy with what you found?"

She stopped, suddenly aware that she had no idea how to answer the question. She shook her head. "I don't know what I've found. Your plates are polarized better than your ship's."

"What would you have me do?"

"I'd have you let me in." She was still barely a step into the room, still in his closed doorway. "What is it? Is it this collar?" She reached up to her throat, but he shook his head. "Then what?"

"Whatever you wear makes no difference. I can't go back. I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I'm … uncomfortable with some of the choices you've made."

"Some?"

"This choice." He hated to say it, hated to see the look in her eyes. "It feels like … like there's a wall between us."

"It's not meant to. It doesn't have to be. Certainly I don't see it as such."

"I do." He answered with a tone of bitter frustration.

"You knew the Path I was on. That was never going to change."

"I know. It's just …" He didn't continue. The silence hung in the air between them. It hung for so long.

x

"They call you the 'Armory Officer'." She said softly.

"Yes." He was surprised, and wondered where this was going.

"On the bridge, you handle the weapons. When your ship goes into battle, the Captain commands it, but you control it."

"In defense of my shipmates."

"I'm not contesting that. But I am also uncomfortable with some of the choices you've made." He sighed feelingly. "Oh, let's not snipe at each other. We shouldn't do this. We should be rejoicing that we are together again."

"I want to."

"Then do it." He took a step closer, but then couldn't continue.

"I can't."

"Why?"

He tried to answer, tried with all his might, but finally turned away from her, frustrated with himself.

x

Patricia watched his back for several moments, praying for the guidance to know what to say.

"Do you remember when we were children, the archival entertainment programs from the early 20th Century? We used to watch them mostly when we visited your grandfather. Animated paintings on clear cells, in the days before CGI?" He turned back to her, uncertain where this new divergence was going. He remembered she'd often had that effect on him, that talent of attracting him by distracting him.

"'Porky Pig' was your favorite. That character had no confidence, a tremendous impediment, and in the end always overcame every adversity." He nodded. "In one story they had a retelling of the 'Hatfield/McCoy' feud. I don't remember what they called it, but he was in love with a girl pig from the other side.

"After the feud was over, he had such high hopes for their relationship, but in his lack of confidence he scaled down his hopes from dating through walking together through holding hands to saying 'hello'."

"I remember. But why that memory?"

"Because, Malcolm, I've been on board your ship for over six hours, and you haven't even said 'hello'."

"We kissed, for heaven's sake!"

"No, I kissed you. In hopes of getting through that polarized plating." He turned away. She shook her head sadly. "And I still haven't managed it."

x

"You can't even look at me, can you?" McCabe said, trying to keep her tone level, painfully aware that she stood just inside the door of his room, that she had made it no further in. It seemed like a metaphor for her entire day.

"I can look." He replied, turning back to her. "But things are not what they were. We're not what we were."

"No, we're not. A lot of years have gone by, but we are still the same people. Can you stand there and tell me you don't have any feelings?"

"I have feelings." He said intently. "More than I want. More than I can deal with. But whatever I feel, whatever you feel, we have to put those things aside."

"Why?" He wanted to answer, but couldn't. "We might not be able. If I'm chosen to serve this ship, we'll be together every day."

"We won't be."

Something in his words chilled her. "You sound certain. That's the Captain's decision, isn't it?"

"With input from his Officers."

She stared at him, stunned; feeling as if he'd crossed the room and slapped her. "Are you saying you'll 'vote' against me?" She asked quietly, unable to raise her voice.

"Not against you."

"But not 'for' me. You'll choose George." He couldn't answer, not when the only two choices were either to lie or to hurt.

She couldn't say anything. She was surprised how much it hurt. After their decades together, and then their years apart, she had wondered what it would be like to be together with this man again - forever. She'd wondered what it would be like to be married to him, as they'd been so close to doing. Four months from the date was when they'd 'broken it off', and the pain was not as sharp then as it was now.

"Just tell me one thing?" She tried to keep a pleading tone from her voice. If it was indeed over, she would not have him know that pain. He didn't answer. "After all these years, have all your feelings for me faded?"

He closed his eyes, unable to let her see the pain in them. "Reverend -."

"Patti!" She insisted. When he opened his eyes, he could see the pain in hers. She barely kept her voice under control, though it trembled just short of breaking. "I was 'Patti' to you, through more than I can remember, for more years than we've been apart. We were together Primary school through College, then you to the Academy and me on my Path; but for more years than we've been apart. I was 'Patti-Cake' to you, 'Malki'."

"Please. Don't call me that." He could barely keep his own voice level; to hide a torrent of pain behind a mask.

"It's who you are, Malki. Or is it who you were?"

He closed the distance between them, right up to her. But he could not answer. He could not speak at all because one word would reveal the pain he could not hide. Finally, after an eternity, looking into her blue eyes, he managed to get the words out through a throat infinitely tight. "It's who I can never be."

"But is it who you want to be?" He tried to answer, tried so very hard, but his throat was so tight. He wanted her so badly. He wanted her back in his life. He wanted her as his wife. Finally he could only nod. "Then be it!"

He tried to answer. He wanted her. Needed her. He finally managed to force his voice through the tightness strangling him. "I can't."

x

"Well, then I'm going to tell you something you are not going to want to hear." She said softly, trying to keep her own emotions from shattering her voice, trying with all her strength, all her years of training, to keep her tears hidden. "I have never stopped loving you, Malki Reed, even though until today I was sure I would never lay eyes on you again. You are my first, my deepest love. For the best, the greatest part of my life we were together. You came to mean everything in the world to me. You were to be my husband and I was to be your wife. God has granted us a second chance to be together, and I'm truly sorry you will not see that. I did not think we would ever see each other again in this life, but I have not stopped loving you, and I never will stop loving you."

He closed his eyes, more to hide the pain than to avoid looking at her. The last thing he saw was that high shirt collar of white encircling her throat, and her words of love and hope gave him such longing for the life he knew with all his heart and soul that he could never have, that he knew it was wrong to try to have. "Please." He whispered, unable to keep his voice steady.

"Anything!" She whispered fervently. All he could see was the darkness.

"Please leave."

x

There was a long, agonizing moment of absolute silence. It seemed like half a minute before he heard the sound of the door at her back. When it slid shut again, and he finally opened his eyes, she was gone.

xxxx

"Malcolm, I can understand, and sympathize with, what you're going through." Jonathan Archer assured his friend. He felt like he had invaded something he'd never wanted to know, had no real business knowing. And he hated himself that he had to ask one more question. "The computer records show the door opening a third time."

"I almost went after her." He confessed. "I tried, but I couldn't."

"But you realize how it looks."

"I know, but that's not how it happened."

"I realize that. But I hope I don't have to tell you what this also means."

"You don't, sir. I've already thought of it." Indeed, ever since he'd realized that he had no idea of the time or duration of their 'conversation', he could not get his mind off one thing. As confident as he was in her innocence; his choice to vote for Pineda would seem, to others, to be a most powerful motive.