A/N: So, as always, just a quick word to my delightful reviewers:

Jen717: Ok… I've picked up on that in this chapter. Thanks for picking up on that!

Angharad: My sentiments exactly. I hope this chapter lives up to your hopes for Stuart Reed's character… however, I've just watched Silent Enemy, and have realised that my characterisation of Reed senior is hideously OOC… I'll probably get flamed now! *hides behind Malcolm*

Reedie: Your wish is my command!

KaliedescopeCat: Thanks for your comments there… I might change the summary on chapter one if I get the chance… glad you liked the death scene, I was worried that it might be a bit weird, but… yeah. Thanks.

Exploded Pen: Sorry if I've depressed you!

Sorry if I've forgotten anyone.

Ok then… this chapter I'm trying to deal with people's reactions to Malcolm's death… mainly Madeline Reed, Hoshi, Trip and Archer. I've been trying to get across things like guilt, anger from some people towards Trip for "sending" Malcolm to his death, and just an explosion of disbelief and shock. I don't know if I may have overdone it a bit, as I fortunately have very little experience in these matters. I've also tried to make Stuart Reed *nice*, hopefully you won't think he's too OOC.

Summary: Malcolm has just died, and his family must be informed. The crew of the Enterprise must also face up to the funeral, but they find that Malcolm was well prepared for death, and even left a goodbye…

Disclaimer: Um… I own nothing. I don't own Enterprise. I'm not sure who wrote the poem used later on in the chapter, but it wasn't me. 'Nough said. Just read the fic.

Chapter Three

Stuart Reed was nervous. Nervous, for perhaps the first time in his life. This is ridiculous. He told himself sharply. Worried about meeting some… kid. He glared at his reflection, and ran a hand through his hair for perhaps the fiftieth time that evening, and glanced at his watch. His wife, Mary, shot him an amused glance from behind the book she was reading.

"Really, Stuart, I don't see why you're so worried." She said, smiling. Stuart glared.

"You don't understand." He snapped, and Mary looked at him reproachfully. Stuart sighed. She could still pin him with that glare, even now, years after she had first given him that glare, one night in a club when he had accidentally spilt a drink over her. The beginnings of a beautiful friendship. Stuart thought wryly, before returning to the mirror.

"Of course I understand." Mary said, putting her book down. "Madeline is my daughter too, you know." Stuart frowned, ever so slightly.

"But you don't have to… give her away, do you?" He shot back. Their daughter had recently rung them with the news that she was engaged, and would like to bring her new fiancé over to Malaysia to meet them. Stuart, of course, had been furious, as any father would be. He hadn't even heard about the man until Madeline had announced their engagement, for goodness sake. Mary rolled her eyes, paused, hesitant, before speaking again, her voice quiet.

"I don't know how Malcolm is going to react to all this, when she tells him, you know. If he's anything like you, he'll probably fly off the handle as well." Stuart gave a sudden start and glanced at his wife. She always got a slightly pained look on her face when she talked about their son.

"I know you miss him, Mary." He said quietly, guilt creeping into his voice. Mary gave him a sad look.

"Don't you go blaming yourself now, Stuart Reed." She rebuked him softly, and he scowled.

"I have every right to!" He said hotly, and Mary sighed in exasperation.

"It was his choice to go, you know. It's been his choice not to call." Stuart shook his head.

"If I hadn't pushed him so far -" He was cut off by the ringing of the doorbell. His heart suddenly skipped a beat. He took a deep breath and headed towards the door. Suddenly, the comm channel beeped.

"I'll get it." Mary offered, a small grin tugging at her lips at the comically pained look on her husband's face. "Go on." She nodded towards the door, and Stuart sighed. He was not looking forward to this. He just hoped Maddie wasn't holding a grudge about the way he'd reacted the day before over the comm. But then again, Madeline Reed wasn't the type of person to hold a grudge for long, particularly not against her own father. Not going to be a Reed for much longer, though, Stuart thought sadly as his hand closed around the door handle. Here we go then. He steadied himself as the door swung open. His daughter bounded in, a huge grin plastered all over her face.

"Dada! It's great to see you!" She squealed as she grabbed him into a hug. Behind her stood an extremely nervous-looking young man with dark brown hair. He shot Stuart an uneasy grin which the older man did not return. Madeline stood between them awkwardly, her eyes glancing from one to the other. Her eyes flicked towards her mother, who was leaning towards the monitor screen with a concerned expression on her face. She was completely absorbed. There would be no help from that quarter.

"Dad." She said firmly, placing a hand on her father's shoulder and looking seriously into his eyes. "You promised that you would try not to… not to…" Stuart sighed, realising for the second time that day how much of a fool he could be sometimes.

"I'm sorry." He said honestly. "I don't know, Maddie… it seems like only yesterday that you were my little girl. I don't want to lose you." Madeline rolled her eyes and hugged him.

"You silly old fool, you're not losing me. Now come on, let's get inside, I'm starving."

"Ok." Stuart grinned and turned to his wife.

"Come on Mary, you can put your gossiping off for a few hours, can't you?" He grinned. Mary turned to him, her eyes filled with tears. Stuart's heart dropped like a stone.

"It's Malcolm." She said, her eyes sparkling with pain. "He's dead."

*

Malcolm watched helplessly as his mother turned away from the screen and spoke to someone in the room outside of the view of the monitor.

"It's Malcolm." He heard her sob. "She's dead." Then he heard a cry of pain – Madeline?

"Oh, no." He whispered, and stepped closer to the screen.

"I'm so sorry." Archer said, his voice breaking slightly. "I wish there was something we could have done." Then, suddenly, Madeline's face appeared on the screen, and she was screaming.

"No!" She sobbed. "He can't be! He just can't be! It's not true, you're lying!" Malcolm watched, helpless, as his father pulled her into his arms.

"Madeline!" He said urgently, looking her in the eyes. "Don't!" Madeline ignored her father, fighting to break free of his grip. Then another man appeared in front of the screen. He gently took her hand and held it tight.

"Maddie." He said quietly, his brown eyes warm. "Calm down. Please." Malcolm frowned, and leant forward. Who was this man? Then he caught sight of the ring on Madeline's ring finger, and immediately understood. Madeline had spoken, in her last letter to him, of a "certain young man". It seemed that his little sister had finally found true love. The man turned to the screen as the three Reed's, shell-shocked, sat down, each wearing similar expressions of grief and shock. All except for Malcolm's father, who looked as though he couldn't quite decide what to do. He seemed confused, lost.

"Thankyou, Captain." The man nodded at Archer. "Maddie's told me a lot about Malcolm. She looked up to him so, as you can you see." His eyes were earnest in their desperation to help and comfort. "I'm her fiancé." He explained quickly at Archer's mystified expression. "I can – I can understand why she reacted this way. I – I'm sorry for your loss, as well as hers." And with that, the screen went blank, leaving the two occupants of the room in shocked silence, one blissfully unaware of the other's presence, the other painfully aware of all the things he had never said to the other whilst he'd had the chance.

*

Charles "Trip" Tucker was, for the first time in his life, at a complete loss for words, as he stood in the middle of the quarters which had once belonged to his best friend. Without Malcolm's quiet yet incredibly powerful presence the room felt empty, cold. He stared sadly at the bed, neatly made, as usual, and the small set of shelves which held a few books, and two framed photographs. Trip picked up one and took a closer look. It was a family photo, taken quite a few years ago by the looks of it, and though Trip knew that the dark-haired young man at the edge was Malcolm, he could honestly say that he did not know the man in the picture. The man in the photo was smiling, care-free, his eyes full of excitement and wonder. The Malcolm Trip had known, did know, was different, more weighed down by the cares which life had laid down on him. The man in the photo had had no idea that his decision to join Starfleet would take him so far from home, and eventually cost him his life. Trip gazed silently at the photo for a moment, at Malcolm's sister, who was playfully tugging at her brother's hand, and at Malcolm's parents, who were in the background, looking on in pride. And then there was the other photograph… Trip frowned in consternation as he picked it up. It too had Malcolm in it, a lot younger, too… Trip would have guessed about eighteen… he was standing, hand in hand, with a pretty young woman, who was smiling happily at the man next to her. They were both wearing Starfleet uniforms, trainee ones, and Trip could just make out the single black bar, outlined in silver, which represented the rank of trainee cadet, on both their uniforms. Both wore the red shoulder piping which represented either tactical or engineering expertise. Trip squinted at the picture carefully… the woman appeared to be wearing a ring of some kind on her left hand, on her ring finger… That can't be right. Trip thought in confusion. Unless… Overwhelmed by curiosity, he scrabbled about with the back of the frame and, with dexterity borne of many years of working in engineering and maintenance of tiny, fragile wires, prised the back off. He gently slid the photo out of the frame and regarded the neat writing on the back of it.

"Happier Times, Sadly Over." Trip read aloud, mystified. "What's that's supposed to mean?"

"I'm not sure Malcolm would want you to be trawling through his room, you know." A voice said behind him. Trip whirled around. It was Hoshi, and she looked awful.

"Hoshi?"" Trip asked in concern. "Are you alright?" Stupid question, really. Of course she wasn't alright. There were red rings around her eyes and her normally neat and tidy hair was a mess.

"The captain said that we should just clear his stuff out and go." Hoshi's voice was strangely high. "No messing about."

"Hoshi!" Trip stepped closer to the pretty young linguist, grabbing a hold of her hands. "It's alright!" Hoshi gave him a look which immediately made him regret saying those words.

"No it's not!" She said, the tears streaming from her eyes. "He's gone, and – and - and… what am I supposed to do?" She finished finally, and Trip looked at her helplessly.

"Hoshi." He said quietly. "I know what you're goin' through. We all do. Your not alone, you know." Hoshi pulled away from him, her eyes full of anger.

"You knew that the cell ship was damaged!" She shouted at him, her eyes blazing. "And yet you still let him go out there!" Trip stopped still, his breath quiet and shallow. She's right. He thought, his insides churning with guilt. This is all my fault. My best friend is dead, and it's all my fault! But Hoshi wasn't finished yet.

"You should be the one lying dead right now, not him!" She shouted, her grief now seemingly beyond tears. Trip sat down heavily, his head in his hands.

"You're right." He sobbed. "You're right." Suddenly his had brushed against a book lying open on the desktop. Mystified, he read aloud the first line of the open page with a shaking voice.

"Do not stand by my grave and weep…" Hoshi seemed to come out of a trance, and gasped, completely ignoring what Trip had just said.

"Oh, Trip, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that!" She said desperately. "It wasn't your fault, Trip! I – I forget what I just said, I didn't mean it!" But Trip had forgotten all about that for the moment.

"Hoshi." He said, his voice hoarse. "Look at this." Hoshi frowned as she lent over his shoulder to read the slightly yellowed page.

"I know this poem…" She frowned harder. "Was it open like this when you came in?" Trip nodded mutely.

"Do ya – do ya reckon – that he was…" He trailed off.

"Saying goodbye?" Hoshi finished for him. She shrugged, her eyes pained. "If he knew that it was going to be a dangerous mission…" She shook her head. This was getting more and more confusing with every moment that passed.

*

Malcolm Reed smiled grimly as he watched Trip call for silence. They were gathered in the armoury. Malcolm found that there was something almost morbidly fascinating to watch one's own funeral. Trip was standing at the front, his hands clasped awkwardly around the small book he and Hoshi had found, the day before, in Malcolm's quarters. Malcolm took a moment to glance around the room. It was clear by the expressions on some people's faces that the death of the armoury officer had affected them deeply, but it was also clear that some of them, like the MACO's, were only there because they had to be. They were standing huddled in a group, chatting and laughing. The people close to them were throwing them dirty looks, angry at them but clearly unwilling to say or do anything. Malcolm scowled and gave one a quick poke on the back for fun. The man flinched, and Malcolm grinned in triumph, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head which was rebuking him for being childish. Waste of energy, that. The voice in his head chided. Though people could feel his presence when he touched them, it was quite a draining experience for Malcolm to be in contact with someone for long enough to get any sort of message across. It was almost as though the two were incompatible; the living and… and… whatever Malcolm was. Ghost, Spirit. Angel. Whatever. Malcolm shook his head and returned to his friend's side, carefully avoiding walking through anyone in the process. He watched as the crew suddenly quietened as Trip cleared his throat, ready to speak. When he did, his voice was hoarse and shaky. Malcolm knew what was coming next. He had prepared for this day. Trip took a deep breath.

"I…" He started, unsure. Trip briefly closed his eyes and took another steadying breath. When he spoke again, his voice was firm with resolve. "I don't know how much most of you knew about Malcolm Reed, but I'm sure all of you know of the sacrifices he's made for this crew, and, eventually, the ultimate sacrifice, which leads us to this unhappy situation." For once, Trip's accent was smooth, almost as though he was subconsciously trying to imitate the speech patterns of his dead friend. He glanced quickly at the makeshift coffin, the torpedo casing, and spoke again. "He was a bit of mystery, when he first came on board. I won't try to pretend that he was perfect – he could be a real annoying, pessimistic and cynical fool at times." The crowd laughed softly, but it was laughter tinged with sadness. Hoshi was leaning heavily against the captain, tears streaming from her once-happy, beautiful brown eyes. Trip spoke up again, his voice now serious.

"But he was also one of the bravest men I ever knew, and the best friend any man could hope for. Supportive, understanding, and yet he never even attempted to trouble any of us with his problems when he had them. He was dedicated to his work, and it is a testament to that work that many of our number are still alive today. We all owe our lives, several times, to Malcolm Reed." He stopped then, and opened the book. Malcolm smiled thinly. They had found it then.

"Malcolm was also not afraid to die. In fact, he was even prepared for it. When clearing out his quarters we came across this book - " Trip held up the dusty volume for inspection, " – and a computer file. On it he had recorded messages, just before leaving Enterprise for the last time, with strict instructions that he wanted it played to his friends and family." Trip coughed. "So now, I would like to read a poem from the book we found." Malcolm smiled, sadly, this time. Trip cleared his throat and began to read.

"Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn's rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift, uplifting rush – of quiet birds in circled flight, I am the soft star that shine at night." Trip paused for a moment, fighting to regain his composure. "Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there, I did not die." The room fell into a deep silence, broken only by Hoshi's soft sobs. Malcolm gazed around the room sadly. All this melancholy atmosphere was depressing him. Malcolm made a quick decision, turned on his heel, and left as unnoticed as he had come.

*

(A/N: This bit is supposed to be in italics but my computer is being nasty today, sorry.) Captain Jonathon Archer smiled at the young, dark haired man standing stiffly to attention in front of his desk. He was interviewing the young man for the position of tactical officer onboard the new NX ship. "So, Lieutenant, you feel that you have what it takes to be Enterprise's head of security?"

"Yes sir." Came the swift, crisp reply. Archer shook his head, bemused.

"Any particular reason, Lieutenant?" The young man frowned slightly, before swiftly answering, his voice strong, confident, and slightly arrogant.

"Because I'm the best there is in my field, sir." Archer raised an eyebrow at the strangely youthful arrogance coming from such a serious looking young man.

"Isn't that a rather…boastful thing to say, Lieutenant?" Archer was fascinated. All of the other applicants for the armoury officer's job had stuttered, terrified, over Archer's questions, but not this one. He was confident, confident in his own abilities, however limited they might be. The man gave him a swift, piercing look.

"I don't think so sir, not when it's the truth. Look at my record." Archer did so, and nodded. He had been impressed when he'd first seen the Lieutenant's record, and was still finding it slightly hard to believe.

"Yes… I see you managed to beat the Kobayishi Maru test. Quite an achievement. Tell me, how did you manage it?" Archer thought he caught the flicker of a triumphant smirk before it was wiped away by the usual, almost Vulcan coolness.

"I added a little… ah… "invention", shall we say, of my own." Archer leaned forward, incredulous. The Kobayishi Maru test was one inflicted upon Starfleet trainees during their final year, and involved a transport full of innocent civilians stranded in an area of space "belonging" to a known hostile species. The idea of the test was for trainees to learn that, sometimes, there is no "easy" option to take - the lives of your crew, or the lives of civilians? Archer had "failed", miserably. However, some cadets, such as the man standing before Archer now, managed to beat the test… by cheating.

"You sabotaged the simulator?" Archer asked, grinning. The man half-nodded, a grin spreading briefly across his features.

"Not exactly, sir…I simply made the simulator believe we had stronger weapons than we were supposed to… the examiners passed me when I claimed that, were I the weapons officer on the ship, I would have upgraded the weapons long ago." Archer grinned. He liked this man.

"I see that you were top of your class when it came to graduation day… and you've also been making some investigations into EM technology?" Archer inquired in a slightly disbelieving tone. EM technology was a notoriously difficult field of technology to comprehend. As far as Archer was concerned, it was way out of his league. He was a pilot, not an engineer or a munitions expert.

"Yes sir." The man nodded. "By my calculations, it is possible to create a stable EM barrier using carefully calculated measures of polarised light energy -"

"Stop, stop." Archer held up a hand to stem the flow of techno-babble streaming from the man's mouth. "You've lost me." He studied the man's face carefully before making a decision. It was inscrutable. "One last question." The man nodded, frowning slightly.

"Very well." Archer cocked his head to one side, before asking;

"Would you die for your crew?" He was surprised by the swiftness of the reply.

"Without hesitation." The man said gravely, and Archer grinned suddenly, and held out his hand.

"Well then, welcome to the Enterprise crew, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed." Reed's face broke into the first true smile Archer had seen from him all day. He pumped Archer's hand vigorously.

"Thankyou sir. Thankyou." He turned to leave, but Archer spoke up once more, his voice softer.

"And Malcolm - my condolences." Reed frowned.

"What?" Then realisation dawned. He nodded heavily. "The Sovereign." Archer nodded gravely, once again searching the Lieutenant's face for some sort of emotion, but, once again, it was completely inscrutable.

"Yes. Your wife." Reed flinched at this, and Archer began to say something, anything to comfort the man, but when Reed again spoke his voice was cold and emotionless.

"I assure you captain, I am perfectly fine." And with that, he swept from the room, leaving an extremely confused and concerned Jonathon Archer behind him.

*

Archer sighed as the memories came flooding back to him. He was sitting in his ready room, sitting in front of the communications monitor.

"Yes." He replied to the man at the other end of the line. "He was… quite a mystery." Stuart Reed sighed.

"You say he left… messages? On his computer?" He asked, clearly mystified. Archer looked carefully at the older man – he could just make out, in the harsh features, Malcolm's stern jaw, and high cheekbones. Steel-grey hair which had once been blond was sticking up in way which reminded Archer all-too forcefully of Malcolm's hair "style" after a fight.

"Yes." Archer managed to get out finally, and Stuart Reed shot him an odd look.

"Have you listened to them?" The man's tone was suddenly cold, hostile even. Archer drew back slightly, offended.

"Of course not. Malcolm wouldn't have wanted us to, so we didn't." Stuart's expression softened.

"I'm sorry, captain. Things have been very… tense, lately." Offhand sarcasm entered his tone. "Can't think why." Archer winced.

"Sorry." He muttered, but Stuart shook his head.

"No, I should be the one apologising. I… I don't really know what's come over me, actually, recently…" The older man trailed away, his pale blue eyes filled with pain and confusion. Archer gave a sympathetic nod.

"I think all of us can sympathise with that, Mr Reed." Stuart shot him a piercing glance, clearly thinking, hesitated, then spoke again.

"You know something, captain?" He asked, his voice heavy. Archer shook his head, and Stuart looked down at his hands in guilt and grief. "I was proud of him, you know." He took a deep breath. "So proud."

*

A/N: So, what d'you think? I really love the poem I used for the funeral scene… In my opinion, it is a really beautiful piece of work. I hope you liked this chapter, I was finding it really hard to get it out the way I wanted it… I may be using more flashback type scenes in later chapters, what do you think? I'm wondering if there may be a reason behind Malcolm's reclusive nature, apart from his father… what if he was bullied a lot at school? This story is really turning into an enormous character study of Malcolm, Trip, and all the others… but I do have a plot in mind. Vaguely. I may even try a bit of romantic action, or even bring another "spirit character" into the mix. I will also evolve on the character of the young woman in the photograph. So, until next time… please review, it will be greatly appreciated. All suggestions and constructive criticism welcome.