A/N: Many thanks to Volley (Thanks for the tip; I will try!), Desy, JennMel and Exploded Pen (I hope you like how this fic goes with Stuart & Malcolm!)

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters you recognise. Unfortunately.

Chapter Two

Archer stood in his dress uniform and politely listened to Ambassador Collins drone on about Vulcan history and culture. She was a slim, attractive blonde in her mid-thirties, but she was absolutely obsessed with Vulcan culture. Archer left her in deep conversation with T'Pol on the finer attributes of meditation, and wandered over to where Trip was sharing a joke with the Air Force General, Hogan, and Ambassador Long.

"The General was just telling me that she helped to design our shuttle pods, cap'n," Trip spoke up, as Archer joined them, "designed most of the aerodynamics herself."

"I had a good team," she said, dismissively, "and they ignored all of my suggestions about weapons systems and combat abilities."

"Weapons on a shuttle, General?" Archer sounded amused.

"Please, call me Hogan. My rank makes me feel old."

Archer smiled, genuinely this time. The general was a tall, thin woman in her early fifties, with greying brown hair, bright green eyes and a quick smile. Ambassador Long was about a foot shorter, with close-cropped black hair and a permanent frown that belied a gentle manner.

"Captain, I thank you for your hospitality," he bowed, "this ship is most comfortable for a war ship."

"We're a ship of exploration," Archer corrected him, "but thank you."

Drifting away, Archer took a moment to assess the room. The reception was in full swing; Starfleet officers in dress uniforms mingled with the ambassadorial staff that had come aboard shortly after the dignitaries. The security officers stood in the background, stiffly to attention at all times, ignoring the wine and delicious food enjoyed by the off-duty crewmen. Chef had done well, Archer noted. He saw Admiral Reed approaching him, and immediately, the polite smile was back in place. His face was starting to hurt with the expression.

"Captain," the Admiral spoke in the same soft, measured tones as his son, with the clipped British accent that always sounded so formal, "I have been unable to ascertain from the liaison officer our time of departure."

"I have some crew over at the station collecting some supplies," Archer replied, smoothly, "we'll be departing as soon as they return at oh-two-hundred hours, ships time. Our cruise to Vulcan will take approximately eight days. I trust your accommodations are comfortable?"

"You wouldn't find such extravagance on a naval ship," the Admiral's face twisted into a scowl of disapproval, "too much comfort will make your crew soft and undisciplined, Captain."

Archer quirked an eyebrow upwards. He'd hardly have described the Enterprise accommodations as being 'extravagant'. Admiral Reed was staring at him, as if to gauge his reaction. Glancing around the room, Archer could see Lt. Reed standing by the door, talking to one of the other security officers. Could the two men really be related?

"The Enterprise has been designed to cater for a crew of over eighty people who could be in space for up to five years at a time," he pointed out, at last, "in total isolation."

"Hardly," the Admiral grunted, "no more isolated than a ship out to sea, and your long range communications are more than effective enough to contact Earth. Starfleet is soft, Captain. It lacks the discipline that makes the navy strong."

"I disagree. My crew have been through some tough scrapes and they've proven themselves."

"I see little evidence of it, captain. There is a distinct lack of discipline; I have seen crewmembers fraternising openly."

Archer bridled at the comment, but kept his cool.

"In space, the rules change somewhat, Admiral," he said, calmly, "If you have a problem with the way I run my ship, you may put it in your report to Starfleet. In the meantime, I hope you have a comfortable stay. Please excuse me."

Archer turned, and walked away. By the door, he caught Lt. Reed's gaze for a moment, and glanced away. He suddenly wished his own father were here. Dismissing the thought, he located Trip, Hogan and Ambassador Long, and joined in the laughter.

--

As the evening wore on, more and more of the crew retired to their quarters. Those who had indulged in a little bit too much wine were escorted to their quarters by the security personnel, and by the end of the night, Archer, Trip, Hoshi, Ambassador Long, General Hogan, Admiral Reed and General Adams were all that were left, along with a handful of security personnel, Lt. Reed, and a few stragglers. Reed had the security guards escort the stragglers out of the room, and stood by the door, waiting for the room to clear. Only then would the last security officers leave, and the room would be turned over to the mess hall duty staff for cleaning and furniture replacement.

"Bloody good evening," Hogan was saying, her words slightly slurred as she finished her drink, "haven't had a chance to drink like this since my old CO's funeral. Bloody brilliant."

"I'm going to bed," Hoshi yawned, "excuse me, ambassador… general… admiral… general… captain… everyone…"

She slipped out of the door, and was soon followed by Mayweather and ambassador Long. Hogan was looking for another drink, and Admiral Reed scowled in disgust as a security officer escorted the last of the ship's crewmen out of the door. General Adams caught the expression, and laughed.

"If you think this is bad you should see how a bunch of squaddies can wreck a party," he said, "captain, my compliments. You have a good crew and a fine ship. This has been a very pleasant evening. I bid you good night."

"Good night, General," Archer nodded, shaking his hand as he left the room, followed by one of the security guards.

"I've had my fill of the lack of discipline on this ship. I will be in my quarters."

Admiral Reed turned on his heel, and walked out. Archer and Trip watched him go. He marched straight passed Lt. Reed, and neither man so much as glanced at the other. Archer immediately looked away, knowing it was not his place to pry. Still, it hurt to see a father and son so cold to each other, especially after the closeness he'd felt with his own father. Trip seemed to be thinking the same thing. Hogan had no idea, and had found a half-finished bottle of wine from somewhere. She was doing her best to finish it.

"He's a stuck up bastard, that one," she slurred, "not all Brits are like that, you know. I'm a Brit. Ex-pat. Lived the last fifteen years in Colorado. He makes us limeys all look like snobs. Told me on the shuttle he'd got a daughter back home. Feel sorry for her, father like that. Can't be nice..."

Archer wondered if there was a polite way to tell the general to shut the hell up, but she staggered to her feet, and waved the bottle.

"Bloody good party, Jon. Good night!"

She stumbled out, and two guards followed her. Archer traded looks with Trip, who shook his head in amusement and yawned.

"How long until we're back on duty?" he asked, through the yawn.

"Well, its oh-two-hundred hours," Archer pointed out, "we'll be leaving for Vulcan in a few minutes, and shift starts at oh-eight-hundred…"

"A whole six hours of sleep," Trip grinned, "luxury! Good night, Jon."

"Night, Trip…"

Archer watched him leave, and glanced around the mess hall. He didn't envy the staff the cleanup job. As he left, he passed Lt. Reed.

"Good night, lieutenant," he said, softly.

"Good night, captain," came the quiet reply.

--

Only when the captain left did Lt. Reed relax ever so slightly, as did the rest of his people.

"Okay," he told them, trying to keep the tiredness out of his voice, "go back to your quarters and get some sleep. When we get to Vulcan we get to do this all over again."

"Yippee," muttered a voice from somewhere near the back of the room.

"Agreed," Reed muttered, earning several grins, "you're all dismissed. Good work tonight."

"They only had to keep the crew in line," interrupted a deep voice, "I've seen raw recruits more qualified than this lot."

Some of the security guards traded glances and frowns, as Admiral Reed entered the room again, his bearing stiff and proud. Lt. Reed waved his hand at them to back down.

"You're dismissed," he repeated, and as they filed out, he turned towards his father, "Admiral. Was there something you wanted?"

His tone sounded slightly mocking, he knew, and he saw his father's hand curl into a fist.

"I wanted to tell Captain Archer that his crew is a rabble, and my report will state as much," the Admiral said, coldly, "they are undisciplined, and they lack the proper respect for authority. No wonder you joined Starfleet. Archer must be the worst of them all."

Lt. Reed's eyes narrowed fractionally. He could take the insults directed at him; they were nothing new, but to insult the Captain…

"Captain Archer is a good man who cares deeply for this ship, the crew and the mission," he ground out, "he is a far better commander than you ever could be. He is also far more respected – sir."

The next thing Malcolm knew, he was sitting on the floor. Shaking his head, he got to his feet, resisting the urge to rub his face. Shock made his hands shake slightly – it had been years since his father had hit him, and even then, it was a rare thing to make Stuart Reed loose his temper to such an extent.

"Striking a Starfleet officer is a punishable offence," he said, quietly, "if you do that again I will throw you in the brig."

"Hiding behind your uniform? Still the coward…done any swimming recently…?"

Malcolm winced. That had been a cheap shot, and they both knew it. At least his father had the grace to look contrite. Mustering what little dignity he had left, Malcolm slipped passed him, and left the room.