IV: Malcolm Wallace
Dealing with the fallout of Josh's transgression was the least pleasant thing Jim had done since his arrival in Terra Nova, even counting the grunt work he'd been assigned his first few days and all the various opportunities he'd been presented with to risk his life since. It was a good thing Taylor didn't believe in imprisoning colonists, because from the way he ground his jaw when Jim reported what had happened, the Shannons might have had an empty place at the table for awhile.
As it was, Josh would be wearing a tracking tag for the foreseeable future, his movements restricted to school and construction crews without express authorization, and he'd have to keeping turning over half his income to the infirmary as repayment for damages until Taylor deemed his debt paid. At least the chems had been recoverable. If the azimeth had already made it into Mira's hands, Jim doubted Taylor would have been even that lenient.
Dealing with Boylan was far more rewarding... for about the first five minutes.
The primitive part of Jim's soul bared its teeth in self-satisfaction when he and Wash found the stolen merchandise under the barkeep's counter and dared him to give an innocent explanation for its presence. Unfortunately, that was all they found; there was no other proof that Boylan had ever done anything more than engage in a little under the counter dealing. And when they tried to question him about those connections, to try to narrow down the identity of the actual spy, Boylan threw another wrench in the works: he waited until Jim was in the room alone with him, then started hinting at a dark secret buried at the base of Pilgrim's Tree.
Concerned about his motives, Jim investigated alone... and suddenly found himself in the middle of the worst ethical quagmire he'd faced since his arrival. The secret turned out to be a body, one not mentioned anywhere in the colony's records. One that Boylan had apparently been holding over Taylor's head for quite some time.
It wasn't the first time someone had implied that Taylor wasn't the heroic leader he made himself out to be, and Jim's cop instincts had been telling him all along that the man had layer upon layer of secrets that he wasn't keen on sharing. But Jim knew Taylor, as well as the man let anyone know him who hadn't served with him for years, and probably even better than some of those. Whether Taylor was just keeping an unknown quantity close, or if he really had taken to Jim that quickly, he'd given Jim a lot of authority and trust within a very short span of time. And from everything Jim had learned over the course of those months, he didn't think Taylor was the type to commit outright murder, whatever Boylan might imply.
Self-defense, though, or defense of the colony as a whole- that, Jim could believe as a motive. Taylor seemed to think of himself as Terra Nova, in the sense that history texts used to refer to the earliest legendary sovereigns: that almost archetypal, "the king is the land" type of connection. And if that was the case? Regardless of the details, there was no possible way trying to conduct an investigation without his knowledge wouldn't end badly.
Forcing a confession out of him would only endanger their working relationship, and Elisabeth's position as well, since she'd have to perform the autopsy without official authorization to maintain secrecy. And if Boylan was lying altogether... well. Taylor had been good to Jim, and the colony was his family's new home. He wasn't about to throw all that away on the word of a man who'd sold his son to the enemy.
He made his decision, then radioed Taylor to come out and join him. And in return for Jim's show of faith... Taylor finally let him in on one of the difficult, private secrets he'd been keeping.
It was no wonder the man was so paranoid; it turned out that his own son was working for people who intended to turn the colony into a strip mine to benefit a few ruthless corporate interests back in 2149, and never mind all the innocents who'd traveled there to start new lives. Jim felt raw by the time the conversation was over- but even more dedicated to Taylor's cause than before. He'd been right about the body; and he'd been right to put his faith in the Commander, too. They came to an agreement, then arranged a confrontation in the infirmary to throw off the spy, just as if they hadn't spoken.
After all of that, when the first shred of physical proof of the spy's identity fell into Jim's lap a week later while Taylor and Wash were both OTG- well. He wasn't about to let Taylor down.
It might be a little weak. A single blood drop dissolved in a jar of paint sealant in a neighborhood still under construction? With nothing else to go on and no witnesses to anything other than the fact that a flashing light had been sighted at roughly the location? Yeah, they'd have had a hard time getting any concrete evidence out of that scenario even back uptime. But it was something, and Jim didn't care who he had to sweet-talk- even if it was Dr. Malcolm Wallace- to wrest something useful out of it.
"Come on, Malcolm," he wheedled the man from the doorway of his lab, offering him the jar he'd retrieved from the scene of the crime.
Malcolm didn't bite; he barely even looked at him as he walked briskly across the room, a vial full of liquid in one hand. "Absolutely not."
His tone was firm, but Jim knew a brush off when he heard one, and wasn't about to take that for a final answer. "Tell me why," he demanded, following Malcolm to his chosen workstation.
"Because," Malcolm drawled derisively, clinking several small glass containers together as he busied himself not looking Jim in the eye. "It's the chemical equivalent of a needle in a haystack. The dominant ingredient in paint sealant is toluene. Among its many talents: destroying red blood cells."
"So, just to clarify. You're not going to help me," Jim replied, pursing his lips as he thought over his plan of attack for the conversation. He wasn't going to leave until Malcolm had agreed; but there were ways, and then there were ways, of getting him to cooperate.
"Nope," Malcolm replied cheerily, still ignoring him as he bustled around conducting tests.
It was too bad Jim had never taken any college courses in chemistry, because he would have given a lot to know whether any of the things Malcolm was doing were actually meaningful, or if he was just having fun being an asshole. It wouldn't really surprise Jim either way; he was a brilliant guy, but he was also really used to getting his own way. He really didn't know what his wife saw in the man. But Taylor liked Malcolm too, even if he also said he was a pain in the ass, and Jim had dealt with children acting out because someone else had possession of their favorite toy before. He was pretty sure he knew what Malcolm's real objection was, and he wasn't going to let him skate on it.
"Why?" he asked, as patiently as he could.
"Because I'm busy with something else," Malcolm replied, tone tart with dismissal.
Right. Next step. Jim eyed a nearby long lab table and all the delicate glassware set up on its surface, then stalked over.
"I'm hunting a spy, Malcolm," he said grimly, setting his precious jar down with an audible clunk so he wouldn't accidentally drop it, and had the satisfaction of seeing Malcolm look up at last, glancing between Jim and all the breakables at his elbow in alarm.
"Yes, well that's not my problem," the scientist said, cautiously. "And I don't think anything on that table is going to help you."
"Maybe not directly," Jim replied, casually placing a hand on its smooth surface next to a set of capped bottles full of colored liquids. "But I bet it would get me some kind of result, if I just..." He made as if to slip and cast his weight against the table, and smirked as Malcolm visibly twitched, taking a half-step forward before realizing Jim hadn't actually done anything yet.
"You really want me to go through here like a wrecking ball until I get my way?" Jim continued. "Because I will, Malcolm, if you don't grow up in a hurry. I know you don't much care for me, and your respect for Taylor goes about as far as he supports you, so I'm hardly surprised you're ignoring the fact that I'm the Commander today and what I say goes. But you do have to live in this colony, same as the rest of us. And more to the point, so does Elisabeth."
Malcolm finally set down the beaker and eyedropper he was holding, mouth set in a defensive line. "Ah, so we're talking about that, now, are we?"
"I'd really rather not," Jim replied, shrugging. "But if it gets your attention..."
Malcolm snorted. "You still can't stand that she cares for me, do you?" he said, tipping his chin up. "I knew that little talk we had after Outpost Three was just a smokescreen for her benefit."
"Yeah, and you keep on stirring the pot anyway, don't you?" Jim shook his head. "But you're wrong. It doesn't bug me that she cares for you, Malcolm. What bugs me is your attitude, the way you act when she's not around to see you doing it. If you can't handle the fact that she's my wife, then you have no business spending time with her outside of work."
He regretted the euphemistic language he'd chosen when Malcolm's tone grew intolerably smug. "'Spending time with her', really. You can't even say it, can you?"
Jim clenched his hands on the table, trying to keep a grip on his temper. "You really think she wants to be fought over like a piece of meat, Malcolm? Then wow, are you involved with the wrong woman. I respect her right to make her own choices. If that includes you- well. I know you've got history, and I'm willing to make allowances. But she isn't ever going to choose to leave me, no matter how persuasive you think you are."
It was his turn to be smug as Malcolm's expression darkened to a scowl. "You're not the first boyfriend either of us has had outside our marriage, you know," Jim continued, scornfully. "You weren't even back when you met up with her in 2142. Yeah. Didn't think I knew about that, did you? We're a family, and you can take what she's willing to give you outside of that, or you won't. It's your choice."
That took the wind out of Malcolm's sails, and he stared at him, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're serious about that, aren't you," he said in astonished, disgruntled tones. "So it's true, then?"
And there was the next attempt at a diversion. It really was a lot like arguing with Josh- not exactly a pleasant association at the moment. Jim frowned. "So what's true?"
Malcolm snorted. "About you and Commander Taylor. I wondered, after all that rigmarole with the dragonfly- I knew there was something more going on than just a pistol charger coincidentally set to the spy's frequency. He deliberately lured the little beast to your house. I just couldn't figure out why, after the fishing trip and your appointment as alternate SIC- why the turnaround? But perhaps he got jealous, after the way you and Elisabeth faced him down together over that skeleton."
Jim sighed. He might have known their little staged play would backfire on him in some unexpected fashion. So what explanation could he give that Malcolm would buy, without revealing any sensitive information?
"I don't know why everyone keeps saying that. There is no 'me and Commander Taylor'. Look, it was a test, all right? I came across some information critical to colony security- and no, I'm not going to tell you what, it's classified for a reason- and he made an opportunity to discuss it with me in controlled circumstances. After which, we came to an agreement."
"Controlled circumstances." Malcolm's expression went through the same contortions Josh's had, when he'd seen the finger-shaped bruises on Jim's arm a few weeks before. "By which you mean, alone in the underground ComCen. With restraints, and locked doors- look, if you wanted to indulge in a little role play, I wish you'd left the rest of us out of it. Do you know how much of my valuable time I set aside to work on that damned bug?"
Jim ignored the insinuations as if they were beneath his notice, reaching over to tap a finger against the jar of sealant. "Probably more than I'm asking for today," he said, pointedly.
"Well, I'm not going to play along, again," Malcolm replied, mulishly. "Think up ways to impress Taylor on your own time."
"Damn it, Malcolm!" Jim ran a hand through his hair, casting his eyes up to the ceiling. If this went on much longer, Elisabeth might just have to forgive him for introducing his fist to Malcolm's jaw again. "That's not what this is about. This is about finding the Sixer spy. You think they're going to stop at raiding our convoys and taking pot-shots at Taylor?"
"They've been content enough with that for more than two years now," Malcolm sniffed, feigning unconcern.
"And they haven't escalated at all in the last couple of months?" Jim replied, dryly. "You know they're building toward something. I don't think I have to go into detail for you to understand that at some point, they're going to try to take this colony again. And the more intel and materiel they're able to steal from us in the meantime, the better the chance they have of making that happen."
He picked up the jar of sealant again, waggling it in the air between them. "Come on. Give it a chance, Malcolm. I'm not asking for perfect results. I'm asking for something, anything, to give Elisabeth so she can find a clue as to who's sabotaging us. Unless you're trying to tell me that it's you..." He raised his eyebrows, challengingly.
"You're insane!" Malcolm objected instantly, affronted. "Of course it's not me. I'm the chief science officer of this colony! I have as much invested in its future as anyone; and they've damaged my work as much as anyone else's."
"I'm not insane: I'm motivated," Jim said, giving him a sharp grin. "You may be the CSO, but I'm the Sheriff, no matter what your opinion is of me and my siren." He made the same mocking, whirligig motion above his head that Malcolm had back before the incident at Outpost Three, making fun of Jim's uptime job. "And my wife's one of your doctors. Can't we work together on this?"
Malcolm winced a little at the gesture, his expression softening, and Jim pressed on, seizing the advantage. "I admit, seeing you with Elisabeth isn't easy for me. I went two years without seeing her even once, and the second I'm out, we're here- and you're here, taking up more of her time than I want to spare. Of course I'm jealous. But like I said: it's her choice, and I know you're not a threat to me. So I can work with you, for her sake. And the colony's. If you'll let me."
Malcolm frowned, mollified as Jim had expected by the admission- but still a little suspicious. "And Taylor's. The more I think about it, the more you deny it- the more I'm certain something's there. I was watching him at the festival the other night, you know. After that 'misunderstanding'? When he said, 'my friends', he sought out Wash; when he said 'my family', he looked at Skye, and when he said 'my loved ones'..." He let the sentence trail off suggestively.
Jim flushed a little. Yeah, he'd noticed Taylor looking at him, too; he'd been staring back, after all, arms around his family and spirit full of their recent agreement to fight the bastards planning to destroy Terra Nova in any way they could. But it had been Harvest Festival. Almost the whole colony had been there, commemorating Arrival Day and listening to Taylor's speech. It would be ridiculous to assume Taylor hadn't just been connecting with the crowd like any accomplished speaker.
"You're imagining things, Malcolm. He trusts me, that's all. This colony is the most important thing in the world to him, besides his son- and he knows I feel the same way. I don't have any ties back to 2149- no sponsors, no superiors, no family, no way the Sixers could get to me- and he knows it."
Malcolm smirked at that, finally in a positive mood. "You keep telling yourself that. I think I'll see what Elisabeth has to say on the subject," he said, wryly. Then he thrust out a hand. "All right, then. If you're willing to behave like an adult, so am I. You treat me like a respected colleague, and I'll do the same."
He looked like he meant it, too- at least in the moment. Objective achieved: and without any destruction of property or bruising, too. Elisabeth would be proud.
"We'll try, anyway," Jim replied, shaking the proffered hand. Then he held out the jar. "You'll do it, then?"
"Provided there's anything to be done," Malcolm agreed. He took the clear container from Jim's hand and shifted it over to his workstation, where he picked up a pipette and thrust it into the transparent liquid.
Something about the results of that action seemed to surprise him, though, because his eyebrows almost immediately flew up. "Which... hmm. There very well might be. It looks like there's a chance- a slim one, but still a chance- I might get a clean sample out of this after all," he said, wonderingly.
Thank God. "I'll leave you to it, then. Thanks, Malcolm," Jim said, smiling in relief. Then he clapped a heavy hand on the doctor's shoulder- he couldn't quite resist at least that much of a reminder- and headed for the door.
Malcolm's voice drifted absently after him, already absorbed by the puzzle. "You're welcome. I think."
-(4/6)-