Disclaimers: I do not own these characters; this is written for fun, I make no money etc.

Spoilers: The Crossing

A/N: I had this idea a few years ago. Apologies if it's been done to death, but I've got into writing fanfic through Stargate Atlantis, and just popped across here recently for a little variety. I hope you enjoy my first offering for Enterprise.

Summary: Malcolm faces the crewman from the turbolift in The Crossing. A short tag. It gets a little soft, but I hope it's bearable.

There was only the background thrum of the engines masquerading as silence in the mess hall. They were the quiet hours of the night, and she was the only person in the room.

So tired. She rubbed a hand over her face, and then returned to gazing down into her cup. It had been a shock, learning that those senior officers had been possessed by an alien species. The realisation that the Lieutenant in the turbolift had not really been the Lieutenant had left her…numb. She had found it hard to complete her report, found it hard to distil the bare facts from her mind. But she'd finally finished, and handed it in. That was two hours ago. Tired but unable to sleep.

Another swirl of the cup, and she drained the remainder. She recalled how she had been completely unperturbed at the time. She was used to looking after herself, of course. There really weren't many inappropriate interactions these days, but it was not unknown, and she knew she could handle any uncomfortable situation. But to learn that it wasn't him after all…She had to face the fact that this revelation had caused her to be, well, disappointed, on more than one level.

So everyone had always known he was an insensitive womaniser; that was his given reputation. The perception of her peers. But she had only ever observed him as someone who actually acted with humble charm, and was genuinely chivalrous, and her constant source of regret was that he'd never been any of these things to her. After all, she was a lowly crewman. A nobody. She wasn't sure she'd even shared eye contact with him in all the time the Enterprise had been in commission. She blinked hard, trying to block the image in the turbolift from her mind.

For a brief moment, she had been noticed, acknowledged, in whatever form. But it was nothing after all. And she was nobody again. It hurt. She could not sleep now…something else seemed to nag at her mind. Her skin felt dry as she rubbed randomly at her thumb, as if to remind her that she still existed.

Sadly, she figured the sooner she let this go, the sooner she would sleep. She was about to push back her chair and leave, when the door to the mess hall slid open, cutting through the night quiet. In the low light, she saw who was coming into the mess, and her heart refused to stop thumping. None other than Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, presumably the authentic version. Being the only occupant of the room, he looked across at her. When she saw the look of sheer terror on his face, she could feel nothing but sympathy for the position he was in.

She could see him tense, as if considering whether to rush out and never return. It looked as every drop of blood had left his face. In a dramatic recovery, he managed a brief nod, and a strangled acknowledgement, "Crewman," as he swiftly strode to the serving hatches.

As he turned round with his cup in hand, she decided to act. "Please, join me, Lieutenant. Unless you aren't staying…" She saw him hesitate, then a resigning resolve seemed to bolster him, and he headed in her direction.

"Now would seem as good a time as any to apologise, Crewman Valetti." His soft, sad tone was all that was needed to know that he had read the reports, and knew exactly what had transpired, and with whom.

"None needed, sir. After all, it wasn't really you, was it?" She tried to make light, and appear undisturbed.

He sat down slowly opposite her, as if he knew he had to face a few truths. He cleared his throat, nervously. "Em…are you…all right?"

She smiled. "Yes sir."

"Oh, good." It seemed little comfort to him, obviously. "I read the reports, of course. I feel…very…bad about it." He swallowed.

She waved a hand dismissively. "Please don't worry. Like I said, it wasn't really you, was it?"

He looked down, and seemed almost angry. "No, but, that's not to say it didn't use my…memories, or something. I mean, look at the one that had Commander Tucker's body. It ate every bloody dessert on the ship! You can't tell me that doesn't show some of the Commander's nature. What does that make me?" He fixed her with a questioning glare, but it was himself he was questioning, not her.

She shrugged. She decided not to answer with 'What everyone always thought you were' and chose something more tactful. "If you excuse me saying so, sir, you have a certain reputation as being quite a…physical person. Perhaps it was simply using you to explore that side of human nature." She couldn't resist studying his uncomfortable expression.

"Great." He muttered. "Only interested in one thing, is that it?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Well, if you did have any influence on what happened today, you did very well. Choosing T'Pol was the best option. She's strong enough to defend herself."

The shock caused his face to take on an almost greenish hue. He managed to squeak, "You know about that? I wouldn't have thought they would let you see all the reports…"

Shaking her head, she replied, "Oh, no, sir, I'm sure it's all classified. I know because…well…it's just, T'Pol came to see me, you know, to check if I was OK. Maybe check that I was telling the whole truth, not…hiding anything…"

He looked positively ill now. "Bloody hell." His head dropped into his hands, and it stayed there.

She took pity on him. "Really, it's all right, sir. It's all in the report. It was nothing, I swear."

She watched as he slowly lifted his head, but his eyes were narrowed, and he was looking at her with a furrowed brow. "If it was nothing…why are you here? Why can't you sleep?" He had all he needed to disbelieve the alien had done more damage than he had been told.

It was her turn to be uncomfortable. She knew that she had to tell at least a modicum of truth, or he would remain convinced that he was responsible. Which of course he was, but not in the way he thought.

"It's just silly, sir. Not for you to worry about."

He tried to catch her eyes. "What do you mean? Is it about what happened today?"

"In a way, yes, but it's not your fault, sir."

He frowned again. She swallowed, and decided to give him a little respite.

"I swear, sir, it didn't bother me at the time, I mean, everyone thinks you're like that anyway…" she could hear him groan again, "but after, when I knew it wasn't you, sir…I actually felt…guilty. I mean, I've never thought you would say those things, you don't seem that way to me, sir."

His eyebrows were lifting as he listened to her continue.

"If only I'd realised, sir, known something was wrong, I could have told someone, had you…it…stopped, before…"

He grabbed her wrist gently, "Hey! Don't say that. You couldn't have known! Don't say that."

She pulled her hand away. "I'm sorry, sir. I should have done a better job."

"No! That's enough, crewman. There was no way you could have known. End of story." He sat back, sighing, and ran one hand through his hair. "Bloody hell, what a day!"

She looked at his crumpled figure. "I just wish I'd known you better, sir."

His head whipped round to look at her. "What's your name, Valetti?"

"Lisa…sir."

He held out his hand across the table. "How do you do, Lisa Valetti. My name is Reed…Malcolm Reed." There was a faint smile there, if you looked very closely.

She slowly reached out, and let him take her hand. She whispered, "Pleased to meet you."

He smiled, fixing her with those blue eyes. "Right. That's a better start, don't you think?"

She nodded. Much better. In fact, she felt like more like somebody now. And he hadn't taken his hand away, yet. Yes, that was much better.

A/N: Hope you liked it!