As Malcolm returned to the armory, he was happy to know that the ship was making good time, and would definitely arrive at earth soon. The armory was in perfect shape, and he had to admit to himself that the addition of Welles and his crew were a part of that accomplishment. Whatever else he was, Welles knew his job. Malcolm had remembered more than once, the only time the two Enterprise ships had battled each other, when Captain Lorian stole the injectors in an attempt to stop the Xindi's weapon. Welles had been at tach on his ship, and had lost that battle to Reed. Maybe that was the cause for all the...well, he wouldn't call it hatred, exactly, but there was definitely animosity directed at him every time he spoke to Welles. But this afternoon Malcolm was in a good mood when he entered the armory, and was pleased to see everyone hard at work. He made a quick round to check on each individual, giving praise or encouragement as he went.
As he neared the phase cannons, he spotted Welles, a padd in hand, running a diagnostic on the forward cannon. "Good morning, Lieutenant," he greeted the other man, who glanced up at him. "How's the diagnostic progressing?" He looked at the information on the padd Welles handed him and frowned. "Why are the encryption codes on the padd?" He glared at Welles, "they're supposed to stay on the mainframe, that's basic security!" He shoved the padd back towards the other man, folded his arms and waited for an answer.
"I'm sorry, sir," Welles' voice was icy, the 'sir' almost mocking, "we did it this way on my ship, we downloaded the codes temporarily, re-encrypted them, then brought them with us. It increased efficiency and timeliness, and–"
"I don't give a damn what you did on your old ship," Malcolm growled, his voice low but menacing. It was the tone that sent his regular crew scurrying for cover; they knew their chief was one step away from exploding when he used that tone of voice. He was suddenly fed up with the man. "This is MY ship, MY armory, MY security, and MY tactical positions, and you will follow MY rules." Andrew stood frozen, eyes front, staring past Reed's shoulder. "Look, Lieutenant," Malcolm leaned forward into the other man's face, "I understand that you are used to being in charge, I do. But you just can't seem to let it go that your ship is gone, your armory is gone, and you are under my command now, can you? If you cannot accept that fact for the remainder of the time you are here, then I have no use for you on this ship. Is that clear?" Andrew nodded stiffly, "Yes sir," came his automatic reply. Malcolm still leaned in, his eyes locked on Andrew. "Good. You're relieved of duty for the rest of the day, and when you report tomorrow, I trust it will be with an improved attitude. Dismissed." Malcolm spun on his heel and stalked away, while Andrew watched him depart. He looked down at the padd he held, turned it off, pocketed it, and marched after his boss. He didn't speak to any of the crew, who all stole glances at him as he moved, and he left the armory swiftly and silently.
Andrew didn't want to go back to his quarters, and possibly face Mariah with the news that he'd been kicked out of the armory for the day. So he headed for the gym, grabbed some workout clothes from the locker, and tugged on a pair of gloves. Stepping up to the punching bag, Andrew pounded it with ferocity, his fists and feet punishing it as he imagined it was Malcolm Reed he was attacking. He leaped into the air, spinning into triple kicks, picturing Reed's face and body each time his foot struck the bag. Andrew paused for a moment and used the tail of his tee shirt to mop the sweat from his face. He knew he would never attack his superior officer in real life, but his workout was always more intense when he pretended he was fighting the man.
'He's–an–ass,' Andrew thought with each punch he threw, each kick he delivered while flying into the air. 'Not open to any new ideas, thinks his way is the only way,' he slammed a forearm into the bag, 'stick up his ass, just like the Reed on my Enterprise.'
He slammed his fist into the bag again, then released a flurry of punches in rapid fire succession. Of course Reed wouldn't want any advice, or suggestions from him, Andrew admitted to himself. Even though Andrew had held the same position on his own Enterprise under Captain Lorian, and had served at that slot for almost a third of his life, that was all of no consequence to Reed. Time and again, Andrew had protected his captain, his ship, and everyone onboard, at the risk of his own life. He was fully prepared to die at any time to fulfill his duty and protect his people, just as Reed would do here on his own Enterprise. But he was nothing to Reed, and no matter what Mariah said, he would keep it that way. Reed wanted nothing from him, and nothing was what he would get.
But now, he thought bitterly as he backhanded the bag then spun and drove his elbow viciously into it from behind, now he was just another lieutenant assigned to the armory. Captain Lorian knew he hated working under Reed's authority, and Andrew suspected Lorian knew the reasons why–all of them. But his captain had come to him when Andrew, his wife, and their boys were settling in, and asked him to cooperate–at least for the time it would take them to arrive at earth. It was evidence of Andrew's deep loyalty and devotion to his own captain that he had agreed.
Andrew launched into a series of left then right kicks as fast as he could, and didn't hear the door to the gym open. "Not bad," a voice behind him caused Andrew to spin in midair towards the voice, and come face to face with his reason for punishing the bag so harshly. Lieutenant Reed, in a tank tee and sweatpants, had stopped a dozen feet from Andrew, his face a mask of calm. Andrew scooped up his towel and silently made to step around his commanding officer.