Disclaimer: The parts that make sense aren't mine.

Archer lowered his throbbing head into his hands and wondered, for at least the twentieth time in the last hour, what the hell he was supposed to do now. After his obscure comment about an interstellar war, Harris had refused to answer further queries and shortly terminated the link, which had yielded the promised result. There was no record, anywhere, of a communications log. Archer had spent the better part of an hour searching and could find no sign that his entire conversation with the mysterious agent had been anything but purely imaginary. It hadn't been, of course, he knew that; but proving it would be a different matter and would probably cast doubts on his mental health and, at the very least, upon his fitness for command.

He considered his options.

In four hours, the Enterprise was scheduled to depart this wretched little planet and head for a rendezvous site with a Vulcan vessel carrying his new Tactical Officer. Reed's body – or rather, the body of Reed's clone – would be transferred to the Vulcan vessel for transportation back to Earth.

That had given Archer a fleeting glint of hope. If the clone's body was brought back to Earth, then surely Starfleet medical would detect the genetic anomalies upon examination…common sense had chimed in a moment later, crushing that hope with the reminder that if the Section had destroyed evidence once, they would not hesitate to do so again. Archer was under no illusions that the clone's corpse would reach Earth in any kind of examinable state, if it reached Earth at all.

The rendezvous was in nine days, which gave Archer exactly that long to figure out what to do next. Although he didn't know to what extent he could trust Harris's claims, he was at least adequately convinced that Reed was no longer on this planet. He felt no compunctions, therefore, in leaving it, and because he had no clues as to where to begin a search for his missing officer, he had no good reason, even in his own judgement, to not make for the assigned location. It was only after the rendezvous that his course of action became unclear.

Therein lay the greatest problem. Not only could he not convince Gardner that Reed was still alive or that Harris had been somehow involved in this debacle, but even if he should decide to go against orders to search for Reed, he had absolutely nothing to go off of. In addition, he had the uneasy feeling that his recent conversations with Gardner had not endeared him to the Admiral, and the possibility of being relieved of command should he show any further signs of disobedience weighed heavily on Archer's shoulders. Should he be removed from his position, the chances of locating Reed would become even slimmer.

Under the circumstances, Archer had to admit to himself, the likelihood of ever seeing Reed again was close to zero.

He briefly considered the idea of taking the Enterprise straight back to Earth, rendezvous be damned, and bursting into Starfleet Medical directly, with the clone's body in tow. While appealing, the thought didn't pan out on analysis. It was unthinkable that Section 31, based on the nature of its work, wouldn't have infiltrators in Starfleet Medical. Any real information about the clone would be instantly and easily suppressed or destroyed; and that was assuming Archer could even get the body into Starfleet headquarters. Every ship in the system would be hunting him down on suspicion of madness or treason long before he reached Earth. At best, he'd be discharged from Starfleet altogether; at worst, incarcerated. As vindicating as his idea was, it stood no chance of success.

The fact was that between them, Harris and Gardner had him very effectively backed into a corner. Archer massaged his aching temples gently. He didn't like being backed into corners, and part of the reason he'd had some success as Captain of the Enterprise revolved around exactly how proficient he was at removing himself from such tight spots. Unfortunately, this particular corner seemed to have more walls than he did ideas.

Beyond even that was the fact that Reed had left of his own accord. Archer hadn't needed Harris's confirmation to lead him to that conclusion. Reed's loyalty had been suspect since he had first lied about the Klingon weapons signatures, and the circumstantial evidence available was more than enough to lead Archer to believe that his absence was voluntary.

Archer tried to analyse his reasons for wanting to pursue Reed. Surely it was his duty as a Starfleet officer to retrieve a missing crew member; but according to Starfleet, Reed was officially dead, and with that death had also died Archer's legal responsibility as his commanding officer. Regardless of what Archer knew, he couldn't legitimately go after Reed under the pretence of Starfleet's authority.

Concern for Reed's safety and wellbeing, then? Certainly it was a major consideration. But, once again, if he had left voluntarily, then by doing so the Lieutenant had given unspoken consent to be exposed to whatever dangers he might potentially face at Harris's hands.

Unhappily, Archer had to admit that at least a considerable element of his intense desire to find Reed was a combination of anger and the betrayal he felt. He wanted to see Reed's face when he realised just how badly he'd screwed up; and he wanted to know why he'd done it. Why, after swearing his loyalty in no uncertain terms?

Even to Archer, those didn't sound like good reasons to disregard direct orders and launch off on a wild goose chase that would inevitably yield no results.

Besides, he told himself, he apparently didn't know Reed nearly as well as he'd thought. Perhaps everything he'd ever known about the man was a carefully crafted façade. Would he even care about what he had done, about the trust he had broken? If Harris was to be fully believed, then perhaps not.

Archer groaned softly. He wished he could call upon Tucker or T'Pol for help, but he already knew what T'Pol's answer would be – that it was, under the circumstances, illogical to attempt further search – and the days when he could confide in Tucker had waned. That was his own fault, of course; he'd allowed the Expanse to change him. He'd compromised his morals and grown more ruthless, far more prepared to pull rank at the slightest provocation. He'd steadily driven Tucker away and their friendship was now extremely shaky at best, especially with his recent unwarranted sharp words to the engineer. In any case, this was a decision no one but he could make. And, at least for the moment, he had little choice in the matter.

Sometimes, Archer mourned, the right thing to do…was also the wrong thing.

He ran a hand through his hair to smooth it before walking out onto the bridge. Alpha shift was on again. He wondered if they'd ever left. By the acute weariness in all the faces except T'Pol's, he doubted that any of them had been off the bridge for more than a few hours in the last two days.

"T'Pol, recall the search parties." He spoke softly. His mouth felt dry and numb. "Travis, lay in a course for the rendezvous point with the Vulcans and prepare to break orbit. Hoshi, please open a ship-wide channel." He walked over to the communications array and waited for her nod of confirmation.

"Crew men and women of the USS Enterprise, this is your Captain, Jonathan Archer, speaking." He had never been so formal in an announcement before. "I am sure by now you have heard many rumours concerning an attack on a particular crew member. I regret to inform you that Lieutenant Malcolm Reed has died of injuries sustained from an encounter with a semi-intelligent species on the planet we are currently orbiting. Our efforts to investigate his death have been unsuccessful. We have been unable to locate any members of that species. Later this evening I will be sending a written memorandum detailing the circumstances and our efforts more fully. I will also provide details to several temporary changes in the chain of command.

"Starfleet command has ordered us to rendezvous in nine days with a Vulcan vessel, which will bring us a replacement for the position of Tactical Officer and transport Lieutenant Reed's remains back to his family on Earth. We will break orbit within the next three hours.

"I appreciate your continued service in this difficult time. Please do not hesitate to reach out to one another to provide and receive support. If you require temporary relief from duty, please coordinate a replacement through your chain of command; again, you will receive clarification on that very soon. However, I must stress the importance of maintaining efficiency and readiness. I'm sure you all know that Lieutenant Reed would say the same thing." The words tasted bitter in Archer's mouth. "Thank you for your attention. In thirty seconds, we will commence a moment of respectful silence in honour of Lieutenant Reed. All non-critical systems on the ship will power down for sixty seconds. Please use this time to remember him and reflect on his honourable service and sacrifice.

"Archer out."

He nodded at T'Pol to begin the power-down sequence. The comfortable hum of the Enterprise faded slightly and the lights flicked out, leaving the bridge illuminated only by the faint lights of dimmed critical systems controls running on emergency power.

Archer thought about Reed as he had first met him, reserved yet eager. How much of that had been real? Had he known, even back then, that he was simply loaning himself to the Enterprise? He thought of all the times he'd seen Reed sitting at the tactical station, just waiting to set off some fireworks if any impudent alien should fix its sights on the Starfleet vessel as a prize. He thought about Reed's fierce devotion to the crew. He remembered how Reed's staff had always talked about him – joking about him, occasionally, but only ever with respect and admiration in their eyes.

He thought about Reed's pale face as he lied about the weapons signatures, lied though he knew he was already caught. He thought of his own abhorrent verbal attack using Reed's family. How much of that reaction had been feigned? For that matter, how much of what Reed had told him about himself and his family was even true? Was anything the man had ever said more than another layer of paint on the mask of his identity? He thought of the last time he'd seen Reed, requesting to join the away team as if it were the most natural thing in the world. What if Archer himself had suspected then that something was amiss? What if he'd simply refused the request?

The lights flicked back on, making Archer blink. The Enterprise's familiar hum swelled back to its normal level. Archer raised his head and straightened. Beside him, Sato sat rigidly upright, her posture the image of Starfleet professionalism. Tears ran unchecked down her face. Archer couldn't even bring himself to offer consolation. How could he, when anything he said would ring hollow in his own ears?

Why, Malcolm?

He would hunt to the ends of the galaxy if he had anything to go on. But at least for the moment, his search was dead in the water.

Reed did not resist as he was propelled roughly through the Romulan ship by two guards. There was no point whatsoever in struggling. Even supposing he did escape, there was nowhere to run. His mind still reeled with Harris's betrayal. More than hatred for Harris, he felt anger at himself. He should have known that the agent would sell him out eventually. He had seen it happen before – not quite so blatantly, granted, but he still should have known better than to think Harris really intended to send him on a legitimate mission after so many years without re-training. But he hadn't. He'd been gullible. Harris had called and Reed had come running like a dog at its master's bidding, blind to the danger and deception at work, ignoring his greater loyalty to Archer because…why? Why had he broken his word to the Captain?

Reed tried to tell himself that he hadn't had a choice, but it wasn't true. Harris had offered no choice, but that didn't mean there had not been a choice to make.

You were protecting yourself, Harris had said. You haven't changed. You thrive on deception.

Reed had been blindfolded before stepping out of the airlock. The point of that eluded him. He was their prisoner, with essentially no chance of escape, and if Keyar's words to Harris were to believe, anything he did see wouldn't be of much use. Probably the Romulans intended to leave him with permanent brain damage when they were done with him, if they left him alive at all. He did not trust Keyar's assurance to Harris that he would be kept alive. Rather than a security precaution, the blindfold was most likely a method of intimidation, the first of many steps to subjugate his will. Covering his eyes wasn't going to work, Reed told himself with false confidence. He wasn't worried by not seeing where he was going.

He tried to pretend that he wasn't afraid of what would come next, either.

His skin crawled with cold he was dropped unceremoniously into a seated position on hard, chilly metal. Tight straps secured him around the ankles, waist, and wrists. He had been tied down entirely too often in the last several days, Reed thought grimly. He felt hard hands probing the inside of his elbow, and before he could ascertain what was being done there came the sharp prick of a needle. A blood draw? If so, it seemed to last a long time. In the darkness of the blindfold, Reed was unable to judge whether or not he was growing dizzy from loss of blood. He also had no way to mark time, which was even more disconcerting. When he started counting out the seconds by tapping the fingers of the arm not being milked for blood on the side of the chair, his forefinger was seized without warning and bent backwards far enough to make him gasp with pain.

The Romulans did not speak to him. He heard occasional snatches of conversation, but they did not wear the translators that Keyar had used to communicate with Harris, and as a result the words were meaningless. There were times when he thought some of their words were directed at him, or were at least about him, but he never had the chance to respond. Always the risk of speaking unsolicited was too great. He knew better than to set himself a precedent of speaking before the Romulans. If he spoke to them once he would surely speak again. Better to hold himself to a policy of silence and hope that he could still enforce it under interrogation.

He wondered what Harris expected of him. Surely Harris would not have handed him over if he'd thought Reed capable of giving up any information he didn't want in the hands of the Romulans. On the other hand, what if he had simply expected Reed to resist – either from loyalty to his handler, or out of principle? Reed doubted that. Harris never left anything to chance, and it was clear he no longer placed the same trust in Reed that he once had.

On the other hand, Reed's distrust of the Romulans ran deeper even than the last few hours? minutes? days? in their custody had fostered. The Romulan Star Empire had threatened to destroy the Enterprise once, and it was a particularly unpleasant memory for Reed because he'd been the one pinned to the outside of the starship's hull by a Romulan mine. In fact he'd pulled out his air hose in an effort to force Archer to take the Enterprise to the safety provided by warp speed.

You've been manipulating Archer all along, he could almost hear Harris saying.

Perhaps it was because of his association between the Romulans and a threat to the Enterprise that Reed wanted to resist. It was ridiculous to think that whatever information he divulged or refused to would have any direct, immediate impact on the Enterprise, but the thought of giving his captors whatever information they sought felt like a violation of the trust Archer and the crew of the Enterprise had placed in him.

How ironic. As if he hadn't already violated that trust beyond any redemption.

The metal chair moved, startling Reed. He felt the back slowly lowering into a lying position, and with no visual perspective it felt like he was being arched painfully backward long before the adjustment stopped. The arms of the chair slid down and the leg support lifted, effectively converting the chair into a table. He felt it moving, or imagined he did. Silence fell among the Romulans. Reed felt his heart beating double time from both blood loss and the renewed surging of adrenaline. What was happening now? A sharp prick in the inside of his elbow alerted him that the needle had been removed.

The blindfold was pulled away, letting in light that pricked painfully against Reed's eyes, which had become unused to any illumination. He could not at first open his eyes beyond a slit. He saw and felt the shadow of someone moving close to his head, and a hypospray was discharged into his neck.

He knew immediately that he had been drugged in some way. Reed winced at the alienness of the sensation, for it was like nothing he had ever received in a medical facility or elsewhere. His pulse increased and he found himself panting for breath. This time, the symptoms were not primarily due to fear. He gripped unsuccessfully at the flat metal surface beneath his hands in a vain effort to alleviate the sense that he was falling. The green tint to the light around him lent an ethereal touch to his surroundings.

"Can you understand me?"

One of the Romulans was speaking to him in English. It took Reed several heartbeats to process the words. He found it immensely curious to hear his own language in such a foreign place, and gaped blankly up at the alien face. A hand slapped roughly against the side of his head, prompting a volley of angry protests in the Romulan language from the English-speaking voice. Reed understood from the Romulan's instant switch between languages that it was actually speaking English rather than using a translator. He wondered where it had learned a human language. From the Section, perhaps? Reed's thoughts grew confused, distracted by the sting on his face where he had been struck. It had felt a dull blow initially, but whether because of the drug or some other cause, he now felt that he was being pricked sharply with a host of invisible pins.

"Do you know where you are?"

The Romulan was back. At least, Reed supposed it must be a Romulan. He was growing less certain of that with every word of English that it spoke. Maybe this was a human in disguise. Maybe it was one of Harris's agents testing him. Reed's understanding of the situation was slowly dissolving. He tried to focus his mind. Was this an interrogation? He was being questioned. He was tied. Harris? He had seen the agent recently, he knew. Some training exercise of the Section's devising? He pulled tentatively at his bindings, but they held firm and after a few seconds of numbness his tugging brought to life the same sharp pricking pain that was just beginning to fade from his face.

A bright light flashed directly into Reed's eyes and he recoiled away from it until his eyelids were forcibly pried open to allow the unwelcome intrusion of light. He heard voices discussing him and imagined he could almost understand them. They were speaking English, surely? Why could he not grasp their meaning? Perhaps it was Phlox and Archer, having a grim consultation about his health. Keeping their voices down so he couldn't hear and interject. Why was he in Sickbay? Had he been injured?

"I'm fine, Captain," he told the shadowy Archer. "There's nothing wrong with me." He had difficulty hearing his own voice. Phlox came to the side of the bed.

"Can you understand what I'm saying?"

He spoke in an odd accent and didn't seem to have heard or understood his patient. Reed was struck with the sudden impression that he was the one speaking unintelligibly, not the Doctor and the Captain. He made an effort to regain coherence.

"Yes."

"Do you know what's happening to you?"

"I'm fine," Reed told him in puzzled annoyance. "Let me go to the bridge."

"You aren't on your ship."

What an odd thing to say. Reed blinked slowly up at the figure above him. It wasn't Phlox. The face was different: smoother, more Vulcan, with a heavy ridge across the forehead. This was all too strange.

"Who are you?"

Even he could tell that the words did not come out as he intended, but rather as a stream of disjointed syllables that made no more sense to him than to the creature looking down at him. Not-Phlox looked up and said something in a different language to the others in the room. Reed rolled his head to the side to see who he was talking to. The greenish light was enough to see by, but a pale mist obscured Reed's vision. He couldn't make out the figures.

"Please," he tried again. "Just let me go to the bridge."

There was sound, and the touch of something on his face. Reed was too confused and disoriented to react. He was falling again, falling into a fog that blotted out both sound and sight.

"Yew can't do this, Cap'n."

Tucker glared across the ready room table at Archer with anger born of desperation. He'd been horrified to hear the Captain announce over the ship-wide intercom that Reed was dead, when he knew so much to the contrary. Archer had shortly afterward summoned him, along with T'Pol and Phlox, into the ready room.

"It's not up to me." Archer looked extremely weary.

"Cap'n, Malcolm's alive! Yew can't just – leave him!"

"What would you have me do?" Archer snapped. "Ignore Admiral Gardner's direct orders and start a search – where? Where would you suggest we start looking?" He dropped his head into his hands as if the sharp reply had drained the last of the energy out of him.

"The Captain is correct," T'Pol interjected. "We have no evidence of where Lieutenant Reed is. Trying to search for him would be illogical."

"That's not all," Archer said, shooting a grateful glance at his First Officer. "I believe Lieutenant Reed's departure was not involuntary."

"What d'yew mean?" Tucker was incensed. "Are yew accusin' him of desertion?"

"Yes," Archer said simply, taking the wind from Tucker's sails. He looked up at his three senior officers. "I'm sure you all remember what happened back when we had to do the high-warp transfer with Commander Tucker – or at least, you've heard rumours," he added in Phlox's direction. The Denobulan nodded.

"Yew put Malcolm in th' brig," Tucker said, a hint of accusation in his tone.

"I did." Archer sighed. Even now, he still wondered if it had been the right thing to do. He'd been too angry at the time to get a proper explanation, which Reed had seemed unwilling to give anyway. "Lieutenant Reed lied to me about the weapons signatures found on the remains of the Rigelian ship that took Phlox from Earth. He knowingly hid the fact that they were Klingon."

Tucker looked thrown off guard. "But…why?"

"I wish I could explain his motives," Archer said grimly. "I can only tell you that he acted on the orders of a man named Harris, a former employer of his. I allowed Lieutenant Reed to retain his position provided he never again contact Harris. He agreed and pledged his loyalty to Starfleet." To me. "I took him at his word because he had never lied to me before." That I know of. "Apparently I should not have. Trip, when you told me that an encrypted communication had been made from his computer, I immediately suspected Harris. I confronted Gardner about Harris." That hadn't been his most brilliant move. "He claimed not to know anything about him. Then Harris contacted me directly."

Archer met Tucker's eyes squarely. "Malcolm left willingly, Trip."

"Yer gonna believe the word of this Harris person?" Tucker demanded.

"Goddammit Trip, think about it," Archer growled. "He asked to go on the away mission. He intentionally let himself become separated from the rest of the team. Does that sound like coincidence?" He paused, frustrated by how weak his arguments sounded when spoken. He knew Reed had left voluntarily; but, spoken aloud, his evidence sounded unconvincing. "I believe what Harris said. Malcolm disobeyed orders and lied to me once. I don't find it so implausible that he did it again."

"Well I do," Tucker started hotly, but T'Pol spoke over him.

"Commander, whether Lieutenant Reed left willingly is a largely immaterial question. It is impossible to attempt a search when we have no evidence whatsoever to suggest where he may be."

Archer disagreed about Reed's voluntariness being irrelevant, but he needed all the support he could get. "Another thing you're forgetting, Trip – if I disobey Gardner's direct orders, even for what I think is a good reason, I'll be relieved of command. Then there's even less chance of finding Malcolm, because even if some evidence of where he went did come to light, we couldn't pursue it. I can't just commit mutiny on the off chance that we'll find one person in an entire galaxy, with no idea where to begin looking."

Archer could tell that Tucker still disagreed, but some of the fight had gone out of him. "But we can't just abandon him."

"Commander, we are not 'abandoning' anyone," T'Pol said. "I am quite sure that if any new evidence surfaces, Captain Archer will find a way to pursue it. However, for the moment, he is making the only possible choice."

"If you have a better suggestion, I'd love to hear it," Archer added to Tucker, more needlingly than was perhaps entirely warranted. The engineer didn't answer.

"None of what we've discussed leaves this room," Archer said. "Is that understood? No one outside of the four of us is to know that Malcolm is still alive."

There was a muted agreement from around the table. "Very well. You're all dismissed."

He lowered his face into his hands, exhausted, as they left. Phlox hung back.

"Captain, are you well?"

Archer raised his head slowly. "I'm fine, Phlox. Why?"

"You seem unusually irritable," the doctor said. "I understand this is a stressful time. I'm sure T'Pol would be willing to take command for a day or two if you need to take a short leave."

'Stressful' didn't begin to cover it. Archer shook his head, knowing that relinquishing command at a time like this, even temporarily, was out of the question. "I'm just tired," he said dismissively.

Reed did not know when he had woken, and for a while he was not even sure if he had.

He could hear nothing. Something malleable and slightly itchy was wrapped around his face: he was blindfolded again. He was in some very small space, and the walls crushed in on him oppressively. He was folded into a painfully cricked ball. The air was moist and stale, warm with his body heat.

Reed felt carefully around with his hands – as far as he could move them, which was not much – and encountered the ceiling of the compartment scant inches above his head. It crushed down on his shoulder, holding him in his awkward hunched position. He tried to readjust, but the small box was too cramped and the inability to move sent bright jolts of terror through him.

Reed forced himself to remain still. Don't struggle. Relax. He panted shallowly, the narrow walls curling him up and preventing him from taking a deep breath. Had the walls grown closer in the last few minutes? Were they slowly crushing in on him? In a panic he wriggled one hand up to his face and clawed at the cloth wrapped around his head until it came off. He opened his eyes.

Complete blackness greeted his sight. It was as if he had not removed the blindfold at all. Reed blinked several times, feeling his eyelids move but unable to notice any visual difference. He moved his fingers directly before his eyes and saw nothing. Had he been blinded? Blind and left to die in a slowly crushing chamber with the air going bad around him. Reed heard a strange sound, like a low groan, and it took him far too long to realise the source of the sound was himself.

He was panicking. That would do absolutely no good.

He still had his hearing, he reminded himself. He managed to get a hand against his face once more and could find no aberrations in the skin around his eyes. Nor did they hurt, as he imagined they should if they had been injured. Most likely his eyes were fine and it was just very dark. The walls were not closing in, he told himself firmly. It was his mind playing tricks on him because he couldn't see.

He realised he was tense and shaky, covered in a cold sweat. With a physical effort, he began to relax every muscle in turn, starting with his feet and concentrating on the task. When he had finished he was slightly calmer, though his heart still beat a wild tattoo inside his ribcage.

His back and neck ached abominably with the forced cricked position. Cautiously, Reed tried to adjust to a more comfortable position. There was no space to do so. The suppressed movement triggered an overwhelming urge to struggle, instantly undoing the relaxation he had forced on himself. Reed gave up the effort to get more comfortable and started the relaxation technique over again.

"It's just a meditation exercise," he said softly, aloud. His voice sounded hollow and scared in the narrow space, but it reassured him of at least one of his senses.

He settled his breathing into a pattern. In four counts, hold four counts, out four counts, hold. Repeat. He continued until he had evened his breathing out enough to calm his mind out of provoking the feeling of suffocation.

"Just a new kind of training," he told himself. The sound of his own voice was just the slightest bit comforting, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. He tried to distract himself with thoughts of the Enterprise. Somewhere, they were looking for him. Archer would not give up.

Archer thinks you're dead.

Reed forced the thought away, arguing back against it. Maybe the clone's body hadn't been found. Maybe it had, and had somehow prompted suspicion. Maybe the Enterprise had picked up traces of the Klingon vessel and had pursued it.

There's no one coming.

The darkness disoriented him and he shut his eyes to block it out. Now that he was making an effort to think, Reed could feel the aftereffects of some intoxicating substance in his mind. It was difficult to maintain any thought. He could distantly remember Harris telling Keyar I'd like to get back whatever is left, but the memories of green light and blurred faces that assailed him when he tried to construct what had happened afterward remained distant. Beyond an understanding that he must be in the custody of Romulans, he didn't know where he was or what had been done to him.

Reed fixed his mind as firmly as he could on the Enterprise. His ship – it would come for him. Wouldn't it?

It had to.

A/N: Yeah...I'm a sadist.