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Archer stepped out of the lift on B deck and headed for Malcolm's quarters. He felt unsettled. Two days had passed, the lieutenant had been released from sickbay and the Captain knew this conversation was due, but he wasn't looking forward to it. Trip had reported what Malcolm had told him, and Archer felt torn. He would never be the kind of captain Reed expected. Here was a man who considered it a punishable offence to be fifteen seconds late for duty. He didn't want to make an improper show of leniency, but neither did he want to act according to strict rule. Also, Phlox seemed to think that something was troubling the lieutenant. Trip too. And after all they had been through together Archer considered Malcolm a friend; a friend who, at the moment, apparently was a friend in need. As usual with Reed, though, he didn't know how to help him. He'd have to walk a very fine line. Well, here he was.

"Come," Reed's voice called, answering the bell's chime.

Archer opened the door and entered the pristine quarters of his armoury officer. Malcolm was sitting at his desk with a pad in front of him, and stood up clumsily at the sight of his CO.

"Please, Malcolm. You're not on duty," Archer said. Then he asked, "Are you feeling any better?"

"Yes, Sir, quite, thank you," Reed replied, and the Captain was pleased to notice that his voice was strong and clear.

The lieutenant was still standing, so Archer went to sit on the bed and gestured that he should return to his chair.

"Reading anything interesting?" Archer enquired, with a glance at the pad.

"Yes, well… at least for me," Reed replied with an awkward glance. "It's philosophy, Cicero's De Amicitia. 'On Friendship'," he added, as an explanation.

"Ah," Archer said, nodding.

Reed cleared his throat. "Captain, I suppose you are here to discuss the accident," he said huskily.

"I just want to see if we can somehow understand what went wrong," Archer replied, trying to sound neither harsh nor soft.

Malcolm turned to face him. "Sir…" he shook his head, looking for words. "As I told Commander Tucker, I can't really say. I would lie if I told you that I believe I did something wrong. But all I know for certain is that I was performing a delicate operation without paying the proper attention, and that is inexcusable." His gaze did not falter, but Archer could read in his troubled eyes that the admission had been a difficult one.

He studied him for a moment then asked, "Malcolm, what were you doing cleaning a phase pistol at twenty-one-hundred hours, after your shift had well ended?"

Reed lowered his gaze. "I…" He thought for a moment then raised his eyes again to meet his Captain's. "I needed something to do. I had received a message from Earth and was not in the mood for movie night."

Archer knitted his brow. So perhaps Phlox and Trip were right. "Bad news from home?" he enquired gently, hoping Reed would not take his prying the wrong way.

The lieutenant hesitated a moment. "My family is fine," he finally answered noncommittally.

Archer was at a loss. What was he going to tell Reed now? That he'd throw him in the brig? That he'd forget and forgive? Both options would be equally unacceptable, not to mention disappointing for the lieutenant, although he had no doubt which one the man would pick were he given the choice. How about telling him the truth?

"Malcolm, much as I would like to, I can't just let the matter drop. I'm sure you understand that I must report the accident to Starfleet Command and they will want to know what went wrong," he said squarely. "As do I, actually. I'm quite reluctant to believe that you, of all people, could have done something so inept as to make a pistol explode while cleaning it. But we need evidence. I have T'Pol working on it. I want you to contact her immediately should you remember anything else at all. I'll wait another couple of days before filing my report; I'm hoping something will come up in the meantime."

Reed averted his eyes. "I appreciate it, Sir," he replied. "But I'm prepared to face any charges you will feel appropriate to move against me. As I said, being distracted, especially in my line of work, is totally unforgivable."

"I must agree with you there, Lieutenant," Archer remarked, trying not to charge the words with too much accusation. "Still, you have a near-perfect record and I'm not eager to mar it. Fortunately no one was killed and tactical systems are intact. Trip and Phlox tell me you got your hands and arms burnt in an attempt to minimise the damage. That is commendable. If we can prove that the explosion was not a consequence of something you did wrong I am willing, for this time, to close an eye on your distraction."

Archer got up and Reed immediately followed suit. The Captain saw him stand automatically and somewhat painfully at attention, his eyes riveted to the far wall. He sensed the lieutenant was seeking comfort in that military discipline which was so deeply ingrained in him and for once the Captain felt touched – rather than annoyed – by the lieutenant's ways.

He reached out to put a hand on his arm. "Don't be too strict on yourself, we all make mistakes," he said to him, as he had already so many times. "Perfection does not exist in this world. Perhaps after we're dead, who knows… but not in this life," Archer added, and saw something cross Reed's eyes, but it was gone in a flash.

For a moment he feared he had said something wrong, for the lieutenant seemed quite unable to react in any way to his words. Then Reed nodded, relaxing his posture a little, and Archer felt a glimmer of hope that he had perhaps been able to reach out to him, though he couldn't figure out how exactly he had achieved that.

"Commander, do you have a moment?" T'Pol enquired, raising her voice just enough for it to be heard over the noise of the warp engine.

"Be with you in a minute," Trip answered, casting a fleeting glance in her direction from the raised platform in front of the formidable machine.

The Subcommander walked a few steps away and refrained from raising her hands to shield her sensitive Vulcan ears. A moment later Tucker was at her side, tugging her gently towards his desk, in a quieter spot of engineering.

"What's up, T'Pol?" he questioned. "It's not too often that we see you in the bowels of the ship."

"Commander," she answered, going straight to the point, "I believe we have found evidence that may free Lieutenant Reed from blame."

"What?" Tucker exclaimed. "That's great. What exactly have you found?"

"I asked the Lieutenant's SIC to check the other phase pistols in the armoury. Apparently a few of them had been replaced with new ones on the day of the accident. All of the new pistols have been found to have damaged power cells. They are from a supply that was stored in the cargo bay hit by an anomaly last year in the Expanse. That is what, presumably, damaged the weapons. One is missing, undoubtedly the one that exploded."

"T'Pol, you're a genius!" Trip said enthusiastically.

"I only used logic," the Subcommander answered with unimpressed calm.

"Have you told Malcolm already? Or the Capt'n?"

"I informed the Captain. He appeared to be quite pleased. He said he would 'leave the pleasure of breaking the news to the Lieutenant' to you." T'Pol concluded, latching her hands behind her back.

"Can't wait to do that," Trip said with a wide smile.

Tucker entered the observation lounge and looked eagerly around. He spotted Malcolm right away, for he was the only person there. Most of the crew were either having supper, or on duty. The lieutenant was sitting at a table, looking out of the porthole, absorbed in thought. He exuded such calm and quiet that Trip's ebullience was suddenly quenched down and the engineer almost felt like he was intruding. Then the thought of bringing Malcolm such welcome news provided the impulse to move forward.

He was almost at the table when he saw Reed shake out of his reveries and turn his head to him. Trip smiled to his friend and Malcolm broke into one of his puzzling smirks, which left the engineer wondering in what kind of mood he was, for his eyes remained quite stormy.

Trip slipped into the chair in front of him and the words he had virtually been rehearsing for the past few minutes all of a sudden remained bottled up inside: Malcolm's gaze was so intense and piercing that it commanded him into silence.

They remained like that for a long moment, staring at each other, with Trip trying to fathom the depths he saw in his friend's eyes. Finally Reed spoke.

"What do you believe happens to us when we die?" he asked softly.

Tucker leaned back, frowning. He hadn't come prepared to answer such weighty questions but Malcolm's gaze kept him pinned. He took his time to formulate an answer.

"Well, I believe a part of us still lives on," he replied in the end.

Malcolm nodded slowly, almost to himself.

"Why are you asking me this, Malcolm?" Trip gently enquired, feeling more than a bit intrigued.

"I had a… dream the night before the accident," Reed replied huskily. "I suppose there is no other word for it," he added as an afterthought, in a near whisper. "Someone was standing in a corner of my quarters. A friend from England."

"A friend?" Trip questioned.

Reed raised his eyebrows and gave a breathy little laugh. "Yes, I know it sounds odd, but I have… I had a friend back home."

Trip's eyes widened. "Ah, I never meant to say…"

"I know, don't worry," Reed interrupted him. "It's no secret that I'm not the easiest person to make friends with," he added with no hint of annoyance in his voice.

After a pause he continued, looking at the stars streaking past, "David and I were at school together. We both had authoritative fathers who wanted us to follow in their footsteps, and we both hated our predestined careers. I suppose that's what created the bond between us. I was to join the Navy, he was to become a doctor," Malcolm said with a soft snort.

Trip waited for him to continue, but the lieutenant seemed lost in his thoughts. So, after a few moments he asked: "What did your friend do, in your dream?"

Malcolm turned to look at him with narrowed eyes. "He just… stared at me and his eyes were filled with sadness." Trip saw him swallow past a lump in his throat. "I was deeply upset by that. He seemed so utterly sorrowful. I woke up with a start," he concluded, averting his eyes again.

"Sometimes dreams can be weird," Trip offered, seeking to bring some comfort and managing only to find commonplace words.

"They certainly can," Malcolm commented bitterly. "That afternoon Hoshi gave me a message from Earth. It was from my sister. David had died in an accident the day before," he murmured painfully.

"Died…?" Trip asked in a faint voice. A moment later realisation dawned on him. "That's why you came to me that night," he said, and the blush that coloured Reed's cheeks confirmed his guess. "Ah, why didn't you tell me," he said gravely. "I would've stayed with you, Malcolm."

Reed pulled a wry face. "Seeing that in the end you didn't get to watch your movie anyway, I suppose it would have been wiser. But you sounded so happy that I didn't find it in me to spoil your evening."

Trip shook his head. "What are friends for, then?"

"Indeed," Malcolm commented, and his voice was tinged with anguish. "After I joined Starfleet, it wasn't long before I lost touch with David. I knew from my sister that he eventually bent to his father's will and went through University; became a damned doctor like his old man wanted. We just… were no longer in contact. Entirely my fault, I'm afraid."

After a pause he burst out, "I should have written to him. I knew he wasn't happy. I should have…" His voice faltered.

Trip reached out and put a hand on Malcolm's arm, careful of his injuries. "Is that why your mind was not on the pistol you were cleanin'?" he asked, and saw Malcolm shut his eyes tightly in self-disgust.

After a moment he opened them again and murmured, "I saw him again, in the armoury. When the blast hit me and darkness began to engulf me he was there, his eyes wide with alarm. He never moved, never said anything. Just stared at me in terror."

Trip saw Reed's jaw clench and muscles tense. The lieutenant shifted in his chair, wincing, and Tucker realised this conversation, liberating as it may well be, was costing his mending friend quite a bit of physical and psychological discomfort.

"The person you mentioned you weren't sure you'd seen…" Trip remembered. "I thought, then, that you were confused because of your concussion."

"I was, sort of," Malcolm replied, staring at his still bandaged limbs. "I was feverish and could not figure out if I had seen him physically in the room with me, or after I had lost consciousness, in my imagination."

"And then, in sickbay, I dreamt of him one last time," Reed continued, his breathing coming faster. "He finally spoke to me."

"What did he say?" Trip asked.

"Good-bye," Malcolm replied numbly. "He stretched his arms out to me as if wanting to touch me, and began to disappear, smiling a sad, nostalgic smile. I haven't dreamt of him since."

Trip saw his friend shudder. He didn't know what to say to him, so he just sat there with his hand on Malcolm's arm.

"I should have contacted him, in all these years," Reed murmured, lifting his eyebrows and shaking his head. "Now that he is gone, there are so many things I would like to tell him. How much his friendship meant to me. I don't believe I ever told him that. After all the hours we spent dreaming of where our lives would take us… making plans of how we would escape from our fathers' clutches, I got to follow my dream and just… forgot about him," Reed said with a snigger of self-loathing. "He came to see me off when I left for San Francisco, happy to know that at least one of us would achieve his goal in life. That was the last time I saw him. In person, that is…" he concluded, staring out of the porthole with dark eyes.

There was a long moment of silence.

"Do you think what you saw was a… ghost?" Trip asked.

Malcolm hesitated before answering. "I don't know what to believe. I just know what I told you. I dreamt of him and then received news of his death. And then I dreamt of him again, and he was saying good-bye," he said quietly.

"Well, it's not as if we haven't seen any strange things out here." Trip replied, almost to himself." Then he added, "Look, Malcolm, let's say that it was actually your friend, visiting you in your dreams, it means he felt the bond still existed between you two," Trip suggested. "If you ask me, it means he felt your friendship was important. From what you said it sounds like he was pretty distressed when that explosion injured you. Life does that to people sometimes, draws them apart, physically or even in a more profound way. It's normal. And it's not as if you've been on a pleasure boat. The kind of lives we've recently led would make anyone get distracted in their relationships. But your friend knew you hadn't really forgotten him, just pushed him in the back of your mind, so to speak. He came to you to say good-bye. I think you should feel good about it, cherish the memory."

Neither of them spoke for a long while. Then Malcolm broke the silence again. "That last time, in sickbay," he murmured as if thinking aloud. "He was smiling at me. A sad smile; but still a smile." He paused. "I hope that he is happy, wherever he is now. Perhaps he has found the perfection we strive in vain to achieve in this life." There was another pause, then Malcolm turned much clearer eyes to meet Trip's and added, "Thank you."

"Any time," Trip replied sincerely.

Tucker waited a few moments then gave Reed one of his sunny smiles and said, "Hey, I have important news for you, Lieutenant. I bring you good tidings. T'Pol has found that the new phase pistols in the armoury all have damaged power cells."

Malcolm regarded him with a blank stare. After a moment he stuttered, "What? How is that possible?"

"Those weapons were stored in the cargo bay that was hit by an anomaly, last year in the Expanse. T'Pol believes that's what damaged them," Trip explained. "And the best news is one is missin'," he concluded wagging his eyebrows meaningfully.

"So… the pistol I was cleaning…" Reed's voice trailed. He closed his eyes and leaned back, relief clear on his face.

"I say this calls for a little celebration," Trip said happily. "I think I have just what we need, stashed away in a secret place in my quarters," he added mischievously.

The corners of Malcolm's mouth turned up slightly. "I can't get pissed, Commander. In fact, I can't even indulge in one innocent little beer. I'm still under medication and Phlox would chop me into pieces and feed me to his bat if I did," he replied with a smirk.

Trip frowned playfully. "Spoilsport," he commented.

"But don't let me stop you," Malcolm added. "I can always celebrate with some tea, provided I manage to hold a cup, with these lovely Tutankhamen-like hands."

"Now, you're talkin'. Come on, then," Trip said, starting to get up.

"Trip," Malcolm reached out with a bandaged limb to stop him. He looked uncertain, and Trip sat down again, regarding him in concern.

"Are you ok?" he enquired.

Malcolm nodded. Then he took a deep breath. "This experience has taught me in more than one way. I cannot know what life might bring me tomorrow, or even in an hour," he said in a firm voice. "So, before I make the same mistake twice, I want you to know… your friendship is important to me, and I am grateful for it."

Trip smiled. "Same here, Malcolm," he replied.

The door hissed open and Captain Archer appeared.

"Gentlemen. Good thing there are internal sensors, or I'd still be looking for you," he said with a grin.

"Uhm, Capt'n, there are also comm. links," Trip replied raising his eyebrows.

"Thank you for reminding me, Commander," Archer bantered. "But I wanted to see Malcolm in person and didn't think it would be nice to make him walk all the way to my ready room, since he's still convalescing."

"I would have come, Captain," Malcolm replied, instantly rising to his feet. "I'm really not that badly injured. Oh," he suddenly remembered, "I must hurry to sickbay for my evening session of dermal regeneration, or Doctor Phlox will skin me alive. Uhm, no pun intended."

"Yeah, you'd better not make the good doctor wait," Archer agreed with a chuckle. "I just came to say that I'm glad I won't have to throw you in the brig," he added with a genuine smile. "I knew you couldn't have blown up a phase pistol by mistake," he concluded, stressing the last two words.

Reed tilted his head, blushing slightly. "Thank you for your trust, Sir," he said. "I too am quite relieved to know that I'm still capable of cleaning a phase pistol without blowing up the ship," he added with a lopsided smirk. Then, more seriously, he added, "This won't happen again, Captain."

"I'm counting on it, Lieutenant," Archer replied.

"Mind if I join you after sickbay, Commander?" Malcolm then asked, turning to Trip.

"Of course not," the engineer answered.

Reed nodded to his superiors and made to leave. When he was half way to the door he stopped and turned again. "Captain…" he said.

"Lieutenant?"

"Thank you, Sir."

Archer knitted his brow. "What for, Malcolm? You have already thanked me."

"Something you said to me. And for being the Captain you are, Sir."

Archer opened his mouth to say something but no words came out, and a moment later Malcolm had already reached the door and left. He turned to Trip, finally finding his voice again. "Are we sure he is all right? I mean, concussions can be nasty things," he commented gravely.

Trip burst out laughing. "He's fine, Capt'n, don't worry."

THE END