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Jonathan Archer was far too cheery and naïve, Malcolm had once mused. He was gregarious, eager to socialize, casual with those under his command. Some might wonder how such a man had earned the title of Captain on Earth’s first warp five starship, and maybe they even wondered if he deserved it. Malcolm certainly had.
He didn’t wonder anymore. He’d seen Captain Archer in action, knew he was more than a decent Commanding Officer and a surprisingly smooth diplomat. The rest of it, though, Malcolm hadn’t changed his mind on. Especially now.
A hidden minefield and a malfunctioning bomb attached to the hull. Unknown aliens with a language they couldn’t identify and a ship that could turn invisible. When the ground beneath him jostled, Malcolm opened up his comm. channel to the bridge, intending to ask what was going on and if they could keep the bloody ship steady, but before he could get a word in a spike emerged from the bomb and drove itself through his leg. He couldn’t suppress a cry of pain as he went down.
Archer’s voice immediately filled his ears. “Malcolm! What’s going on? What happened?”
Malcolm groaned. “It’s nothing.”
“That didn’t sound like nothing to me!”
“Another one of those spikes I told you about,” he managed through gritted teeth. “It just magnetized itself to the hull – going through my leg in the process.”
There was a beat of silence. Then, “I’m on my way, Lieutenant,” and the communication was cut before Malcolm could even object.
Letting his head fall forward slightly, Malcolm huffed in annoyance. The pain lessened after a couple of minutes, even without the assistance of the painkiller Archer administered. There was still the issue of him being pinned to the hull like an insect on display, but even that could have been easily fixed, had the stubborn, cheery, far-too-caring Captain not insisted he come out to try and assist.
He cracked a joke and Malcolm countered, keeping up pretenses even though all he really wanted to do was grind his teeth and scream at this blatant display of stupidity. Trip had wanted to be the one to come out, something which Malcolm would have greatly preferred. At least Trip wouldn’t touch his arm, pump him with a hypospray he really didn’t need, make infuriating small talk, check in every five minutes –
Red flickered in his vision. Malcolm forced himself to take a deep breath.
“How about hobbies?” Archer was asking. “Any hobbies?”
“No. Not really, sir.”
“Could’ve sworn I’ve seen you reading a book or two in the mess hall.”
“Sir-” Malcolm sighed minutely, “-do you really think that this is the appropriate time for a chat?”
Archer didn’t look up. “It helps me focus. Calms my nerves.”
“Well, it isn’t calming mine.” Not that there were any nerves to calm in the first place. Malcolm wasn’t worried, he’d been in far worse scrapes than this, but Archer’s constant blabbering was grating on his ears. He thought he’d escaped it during that disaster of a breakfast. Apparently not.
Archer apologized, but apparently he didn’t mean it because he kept on talking, and took all of Malcolm’s willpower to keep from throttling the man.
Finally when they reached the sub-detonator, Malcolm had had enough. He wasn’t even in any danger! It was the captain who was putting himself, and the rest of the crew by extension, in harms way. Why couldn’t they just detach the hull plating? He could escape then, make up some excuse that no one except Trip and Phlox would see through. He tried to pull out his oxygen tube, but Archer caught him before he could fully stop his heart and began rambling about timing and yields and Malcolm wondered if he should just influence him to go back inside and then contact Trip to detach the plating. Trip would understand, surely.
Or maybe Trip would beg him not to and say that there was another way, just like Archer was saying now –
“A shuttlepod hatch, sir?” Malcolm asked, incredulous.
“I can confirm with Trip, but I know they’re reinforced with some alloy that makes them highly resistant to explosions.” Archer looked thoughtful. “We could probably use them as shields.”
Malcolm snorted. “Well, that’s all well and good, sir, but I think you forget that I’m still attached to the bloody ship.”
That was easily fixed apparently, cutting above and below the spike and as it was jostled Malcolm felt a slight spasm of pain, fortunately far less as worse than if he were mortal. They shielded themselves with the shuttlepod hatches, the explosion knocking them backwards and at the same time fritzing the comm. system. They made it back to the ship; Malcolm would be lying if he said he knew exactly how, but he did feel a pang of relief that he hadn’t been blown to pieces. He didn’t fancy going back to Hell so soon.
Trip, T’Pol, and Phlox were waiting outside as the launch bay doors open. Trip had an expression of concern while Phlox was as jovial as ever. T’Pol regarded them impassively.
“You’re fairly lucky, all things considered,” Phlox said as he examined his scans of Malcolm’s leg. “Didn’t hit the bone or any important blood vessels, but I’m afraid you’ve torn some muscles. You have at least a week of physical therapy ahead.” As Malcolm was about to protest, Phlox’s bright blue eyes flickered over to the captain and Malcolm shut his mouth. Right. Once again, he’d have to play up the injury. How wonderful.
Phlox stood up and smiled at Archer. “Captain, my scans also show you received a number of minor bumps and bruises. If you’d like, I can have a medic treat you in sickbay.”
“No need,” Archer said, waving his hand. He stood up stiffly and couldn’t hide a grimace. “Although maybe something for the sore muscles would be good.”
“I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, Lieutenant, are you able to walk?”
He wasn’t, but lord help him if he was clambering onto that blasted stretcher, so he leaned on Trip’s shoulder as he limped down the hall. Archer hovered close behind like an overbearing parent. Perhaps sensing Malcolm’s increasing annoyance, Trip turned around and somehow managed to word the phrase “go away” into something significantly more polite. Once he was gone, the commander turned to Malcolm. “You okay?”
“I’ll be fine in a day. I don’t know why Phlox insists on physical therapy.” He rolled his eyes.
“Well, no one knows about you being a demon, remember.” He untangled himself from Malcolm and helped the smaller man up onto a bio-bed. The read-outs clicked on overhead. “They think you just got a spike driven through yer leg. Which you did. Seriously, are you okay? ‘cause when the comm.-”
“You don’t need to worry about me,” Malcolm snapped. Damn, he’d forgotten the entire bridge had heard his humiliating shout.
Trip nodded silently, then a grin spread across his lips. “So, Archer was pretty insistent on not lettin’ you go. I take it you didn’t like that very much.”
“Oh, lord, that was the worst part of this entire ordeal, I think.” They stopped talking as a medic drew near the run a scanner up Malcolm’s leg one more time; she raised her eyebrows, then walked back to Phlox. In a softer tone Malcolm continued: “Human empathy is rather difficult for me to understand, I’ll admit, but surely as the captain he knows that the entire crew is more important than one man.”
“Not to Jonny.” Trip shook his head. “Everyone’s equally important in his eyes.”
Malcolm frowned. “I didn’t say-”
“No, I know what you meant,” Trip said. “Yeah, he’s impulsive at times, and the Vulcans hate him for how illogical he is – how illogical we humans are in general, actually. But he didn’t get this command simply for being Henry Archer’s son like some think.” Trip looked suddenly thoughtful. “He’s the kind of person who hates puttin’ people in situations he wouldn’t go in himself.”
“But he’s the captain,” Malcolm pointed out. “It’s not his job to go everywhere.”
“He knows that. He just doesn’t care.”
Their conversation was cut short once again by Phlox bustling over with an inquisitive expression on his face. “It seems, Lieutenant, that your body has naturally begun a rapid healing process that has flummoxed Crewman Laghari. If you’d like to continue to keep your secret, I’d suggest putting a stop to that for now, hm?”
Trip began to chuckle, and Malcolm shot him a glare that had no heat behind it.
He got away with one week in sickbay, faking a slight limp whenever anyone was watching. And by ‘anyone’ Malcolm meant Archer – the man just would not leave him alone, always staring, that stupid smile on his face that was somewhere between friendly and sympathetic. Malcolm hated sympathy. He did his best to avoid the captain whenever possible, but could not say no when Archer invited him down to a pre-warp planet they’d discovered a couple of months later.
It wasn’t that bad. Malcolm fed off the brewing chaos around them on the planet, disguising his pleasure in an interest for the tactical situation. It was only when they returned to the ship and Malcolm felt about his suspiciously empty pockets that things went wrong.
The shuttlepod ride down to the planet was silent save for Archer giving their ETA and Malcolm commenting whenever something popped up on the radar. He was berating himself; how hadn’t he noticed the communicator slip out of his pocket? He must have been pickpocketed or something, because Malcolm wasn’t careless or oblivious, and he refused to believe the device had simply fallen out without him realising.
Together, he and Archer reached the tavern and sat down at the table they’d occupied earlier. The bartender came over and as he was leaving, Malcolm swore he saw him make eye contact with a group of what looked like soldiers sitting at another table. He narrowed his eyes.
“Malcolm.” Archer was staring at him expectantly. He mimed activating the scanner.
His communicator was in a room he’d never stepped foot in. Well, so much for not contaminating a culture. Absently, Malcolm wondered exactly who had encountered the technology and how many minds he could influence in a subtle manner, nearly missing the way all the soldiers from before stood up as he and Archer re-entered the main tavern. With a quick nod to each other, both men spurred into action.
It could have been just a regular bar fight were the deeper implications not there. Malcolm lunged, punched one soldier in the throat and jammed his foot into his knee, revelling in the cry of pain as the man fell to the ground. The second soldier landed a well-aimed blow to Malcolm’s temple but he regained his composure quickly, feigning a left before coming up behind and wrapping one arm around the man’s neck. His hands itched to uncurl his claws. He quashed the urge.
Out of his peripheral vision he caught blur of beige behind Archer just before the captain was hit in the back of the neck by the butt of a gun, flooring him. He called out, but something cold pressing into his back stopped him. Reluctantly, he released the squirming soldier he had in his grip and raised his hands up at shoulder height. There were too many witnesses around for him to get out of this easily. A low growl rose up from his throat.
Archer was hauled none too kindly off from the floor and together they were ushered into the very room where Malcolm had detected the communicator. Malcolm stole a glance at the captain.
They were questioned and frisked when the questions the aliens asked yielded no answers. The captain remained stubbornly silent and Malcolm a stoic presence next to him, outwardly calm but fuming on the inside. Fuck, but this had not gone well at all.
Malcolm sat on the bed across from Archer, hunched over, contemplating the bars to their cell and the guard standing outside. At least the accommodations are decent, he thought wryly, his inner voice momentarily taking on Trip’s Southern inflection. Indeed, I’d give this about a three out of five. Catching Archer’s eye, the smirk that he hadn’t realised was on his lips vanished, and he sobered. “I don’t suppose there’s anything we can say to convince these people that we’re not spies, is there?” Malcolm uttered into the silence.
Archer shook his head minutely. “Short of telling them the truth, I doubt it. They seem pretty paranoid.”
“Would telling them the truth be so bad? We don’t know what they might do to y- us now that they think we’re the enemy.” If Archer caught his slip, he didn’t give any indication.
“I’m not sure anyone would believe us. And even if they did, visitors from another world? There’s no way to know how they’d react.” The sound of a door unlocking caught both men’s attention. Keys rattled in the lock of their cell. In a lower voice Archer added, “the less we say, the better.”
“Understood.”
They were taken to a room that had all the feel of one of those interrogation rooms on human crime dramas. A new alien was questioning them now, likely the General Gosis the soldiers had referred to previously. They were asked about their devices, hit around a few times when they didn’t answer, nothing too serious.
Until their disguises were blown.
When the butt of the gun hit his face, Malcolm nearly forgot to let himself bleed. He caught himself just in time – except it seemed the decision had been a mistake. A hand reached out and grabbed his jaw roughly, and Malcolm ground his teeth together. “His blood,” one of the aliens was saying, disbelief in his voice, “it’s red.”
Gosis’s mouth was slack. “Take them to Temec,” he stuttered. “Have him preform a full examination.” Then they were unceremoniously hauled out of the room.
If he were mortal, Malcolm may have described his current feelings as nervousness. Anxiety, or maybe even fear if one wanted something on the extreme side. But he wasn’t mortal so he refused to think of these emotions in such terms.
The alien planet’s technology equal to Earth’s in the late twentieth century, the scans they were subjected to were invasive. Stripped to their underclothes, forced into primitive x-ray machines at gunpoint. Malcolm fought briefly and received a hit to the head for it, which wouldn’t have bothered him had Archer not blown it completely out of proportion and nearly gotten himself knocked out.
The medic stuck needles in their arms and withdrew blood. Caught up in his irritation at their current predicament Malcolm nearly forgot to bleed again, and the alien squinted at the vial he’d drawn from the Lieutenant. Red with black flecks. Shit. Malcolm snuck a glance at Archer, but the captain wasn’t looking at him. He supposed he would be too far away to see anyway. It was one crisis averted, but a small one compared to everything else. How would he explain away the scans? Not only would they show the difference between the alien species and humans, they would expose Malcolm’s own unique differences as well. He couldn’t even manipulate or influence anyone, there were too many of them. In frustration, he bit into his forearm.
The tests seemed to go on for hours – for Malcolm, at least. At some point the medics began ignoring Archer fully in order to put their full attention on the lieutenant, and eventually a guard came by to bring Archer back to the cell. And of course Archer objected.
“What are you planning to do with him?” he demanded, gesturing towards Malcolm.
The alien was impassive. His grip on Archer’s arm tightened. “Back to your cell. I don’t want to drag you there unconscious.”
“Well, it looks like you might have to! What the hell do you think you’re-?”
“Sir!” Malcolm snapped, drawing attention to himself. “I think it would be wise not to make a scene, sir.” Never in his stay aboard Enterprise had it crossed his mind to influence Archer, but at this rate the man was going to betray something or get himself injured, and Trip’s words in sickbay those many months ago floated back to him unbidden. He thought of Archer risking his life while Malcolm lay pinned to the hull. He thought of the determination and resilience the captain displayed regularly.
Damn, he’d grown attached to yet another mortal, hadn’t he?
Archer stopped struggling, and if anyone were looking closely, they would have seen a flicker of red in his irises. He gritted his teeth, shook his head slightly. With one last look back at Malcolm, he allowed himself to be led through the door.
“The scans Doctor Temec yielded are… interesting, to say the least,” General Gosis told them. They were in yet another part of the complex – all the rooms were the similar layout, the colours all the same shades of beiges and greys. It was beginning to drive Malcolm mad.
“He tells me the deformities you display are not the work of a surgeon,” the general continued, sounding mildly exasperated. “He found no obvious incisions or scar tissue. You’re even more abnormal on the inside.” He picked up one of the x-rays. “A redundant renal organ, and you’re missing four thoracic vertebrae. As for your red blood, the doctor tells me your hemoglobin is based on iron, a toxic element. And that’s not even the strangest part.” The scan was dropped in favour of a new one, and the general stepped around the desk so that he was directly in front of Malcolm, shoving the translucent image in his face. “Care to explain?”
Malcolm didn’t look up. He knew what was currently being waved around, as if Archer’s shocked expression out of the corner of his eye wasn’t enough.
Suddenly there was a hand on his collar and he was forced upright. He twisted instinctively.
“I assumed you were of the same species,” the general hissed, “but it seems I was wrong. Just what kind of person has ash in their blood? What kind of person can survive without a heart?”
The room was silent for a beat. “Perhaps your machines are faulty,” Malcolm said dryly.
General Gosis regarded him for a moment, then shoved him forcibly back down into the chair. “I don’t care whether or not you’re the same species,” he continued. “What I want to know is – just who are you? Doctor Temec seems to be under the impression you may be aliens from another planet, which I had a hard time believing until I saw this.”
An image of their shuttlecraft, ramblings about alien species, which was when Archer seemed to shake himself out of his shock and pull a story directly out of his ass.
“Our intelligence reports underestimated you, general. Alien creatures!” He glanced back at Malcolm, and for that brief second Malcolm saw a flurry of overlapping emotions, none he could identify, before the captain turned back to Gosis. “You’re even more delusional than we thought! This isn’t a spaceship.” He waved the photo around. “It’s sub-orbital. A highly experimental aircraft. We’ve been observing your territory for months.”
General Gosis narrowed his eyes. “How did you evade our surveillance towers?”
“It’s made from a… composite alloy.” Archer lowered himself back down, an apparently painful process. “Invisible to your tracking systems.”
“And your biological anomalies?” Doctor Temec stepped forward.
That, it seemed, stopped Archer in his tracks. He opened his mouth but no words came out, green eyes flickering over to Malcolm who decided it was his turn to spout bullshit. “We’ve been genetically enhanced,” the lieutenant said quickly.
“Both of you?” Gosis looked between the two men.
Malcolm nodded. “I’m a bit more advanced than he is,” he said. “We’re both prototypes; I came a bit after.”
“Your lack of a heart is a genetic enhancement?” The doctor was clearly skeptical, and Archer was back to looking at Malcolm with an expression best described as horror, but Malcolm ignored both and tilted his chin up. He’d deal with the captain later.
“Indeed. Though it can prove a problem at times, which is why I’m a prototype.”
“How many of you are there?”
Archer tore his gaze from Malcolm and looked Gosis directly in the eye. “We’re the only ones.”
The captain wasn’t talking to him. Malcolm wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
Probably bad.
A few minutes after being returned to their cell, Gosis’s right hand man had appeared and informed them that they were scheduled to be hanged in a few hours. Both men had absorbed that information silently; Archer with a blank look of shock and Malcolm with a roll of his eyes. Good luck with that.
Now Malcolm was sitting on the bench in the far corner obscured by shadows, as Archer paced around the small room. No words came from either of them, until Archer stopped his movement abruptly and leaned back against one of the bunks. “I don’t think I have to tell you what I’m thinking, Lieutenant.” He stared at a point somewhere far off, not at Malcolm. His voice was flat.
Malcolm was silent for a moment. “I have nothing to say, sir.”
“I don’t accept that!” Archer straightened and stormed over to him. “I know what I saw on those scans, Malcolm-”
“Their equipment must be faulty, sir.”
“-and I know what I saw on your face when they showed it to us.” Archer narrowed his eyes. “That wasn’t the result of faulty equipment. Tell me what the hell’s going on with you.” A few beats passed with no response. “I could make that an order, Lieutenant.”
Malcolm looked up. “Respectfully, sir, even if you did, I’d still refuse.”
It would be so easy, he thought, to reach into the man’s mind and take that memory, twist it, manipulate it like putty in his hands. They were going to be hanged soon anyway, so it wasn’t like he’d have to worry about the others getting in the way.
Hanged. The meaning of the word slammed into him in a rush. Strangled. Choked. Dying. Dead. Sure, he wouldn’t be affected, but Archer was a mortal. A human, one of many he’d come to care for, and it would affect him. Let’s not mince words – it’ll kill him. He’ll be dead. Malcolm screwed his eyes shut and rested his forehead against a fisted hand.
“Malcolm?” The captain’s voice had gone from anger to slight concern now. Archer reached out as if to put a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder but stopped himself, looking unsure.
“Sir.” Malcolm lifted his head and stared directly into the captain’s eyes. “Believe me when I say I wish I could tell you the truth. Unfortunately, I don’t think that time has come yet.”
“What the hell are you-?” He was cut off by a reverberating clang and echoing footsteps signalling the arrival of their end.
Not if Malcolm could help it.
The soldiers came and tied their hands behind their backs, then none-so-gently shoved them out of the cell, marched them down the hall, and Malcolm could feel the fear emanating from the captain even though he was obviously trying not to show it. They were shoved into a sort of courtyard. The nooses hung on a raised platform, an omen of death.
As they passed the group of awaiting guards, Malcolm abruptly stopped and turned around, and suddenly there were three different guns trained on him – not that they’d do any damage. He looked General Gosis dead in the eye and began to formulate his thoughts. “This seems like such a waste,” he said in a low tone, “doing away with us before finding out the extent of the information we hold.”
Gosis’s lips creased into a frown.
“He’s my captain.” Malcolm jerked his head in Archer’s direction, not breaking eye contact. Images began to swirl in his mind, fuzzy, greyscale, jerking in and out of focus like an old camera. “He can tell you all about the Alliance’s plans, what technology they’re hiding.” He pushed the images forward, fully into Gosis’s mind. “You don’t need to kill him.”
“Malcolm…” Archer’s voice caught and he fell silent. A wave of emotion radiated off of him, slammed into Malcolm, making the Demon lose focus and he growled in frustration. He hadn’t reached as far enough into Gosis’s mind as he’d have liked but judging by the general’s pondering and slightly dazed expression, he’d done enough.
The air was tense for a long moment, then Gosis looked over Malcolm’s shoulder and nodded and a soldier came and grabbed Archer’s arm, yanking him backwards as a shout of “No!” escaped the captain’s mouth. Malcolm was shoved roughly forward, towards the platform, up the stairs. A grin tugged at the corners of his lips. He hadn’t lost his touch, that was for sure.
He could see the captain below still struggling against the hold two guards had on him, fruitlessly jerking his elbows backwards, trying to knock the aliens off balance, kicking out blindly, his green eyes wide and glued to his tactical officer. There was worry there, and betrayal, and horror so thick Malcolm felt suffocated by it. His name came out a strangled cry from Archer’s throat as the noose was slid around the lieutenant’s neck, then tightened. The soldiers, maybe tired of Archer’s resistance or somehow even sympathetic to what he was about to witness, began to drag him from the courtyard, only to stop and look around in confusion as a faint whirring noise filled the air.
Out of the corner of his eye Malcolm thought he saw dust begin to kick up, and he turned his head just as the floor fell out from beneath him.
Malcolm’s imprisonment in sickbay only lasted a few hours. The trade-off, however, was that he was now confined to his quarters, condemned to waste away in boredom for the foreseeable future.
Malcolm sighed and let his head flop back against the bulkhead, banged it once, twice. He sat on his bunk with one knee up against his chest, the other stretched out in front of him. The room was dark. He’d tried to sleep, managed to get maybe an hour’s worth before awaking with a pathetic little gasp, a pair of worried green eyes still haunting him from his nightmares.
It was fortunate, he supposed, that only Archer and Trip had witnessed the incident. Trip had managed to use a phase pistol to cut through the rope before Travis or T’Pol could get suspicious. Still, both men seemed rather shaken up: Trip stayed by his side throughout the entire time Malcolm was in sickbay, perhaps thinking of yet another time he’d seen Malcolm in a situation that would have been life threatening had he been mortal.
Archer, on the other hand, seemed infuriated. Was infuriated, Malcolm amended, because he knew that for a fact, and there was a whole myriad of other pesky human emotions the captain was feeling that had threatened to drown Malcolm when the man had loomed over him in sickbay.
“Is Malcolm all right, doctor?” Archer had asked without taking his eyes off the lieutenant.
Phlox, either not noticing the tension or deliberately ignoring it, had nodded. “Indeed. He was very fortunate, captain. He’ll just need a day’s rest, hm?”
“Good. You can rest in your quarters, Malcolm. You’re off duty for now.” Then he’d turned and strolled off.
So, he hadn’t technically been confined to quarters, but Malcolm could read between the lines well enough. And he knew why he was confined. He just wished the captain would bloody well get it over with!
As if on cue, his door chimed. Malcolm lifted his head. “Yes?”
“Malcolm, it’s the captain. I’m coming in.” No question, no argument. The door slid open and Malcolm barely had time to right himself and stand at attention. At the least minute he remembered to turn the lights on. He wasn’t in uniform and neither was Archer, but the unspoken formality of the visit hung over them just the same.
Malcolm stared at Archer. Archer stared at Malcolm. Finally, with a smirk tugging at his lips that he dared not release, Malcolm gestured towards the desk chair. “Might I suggest you sit down, sir? I suspect this talk may take a while.”
The captain sat down without a word, looking suddenly weary. Malcolm seated himself on the edge of the bed. For some reason, he found it difficult to look Archer in the eyes, and instead stared somewhere off beside his head.
“I’ve been talking with Trip,” was Archer’s opening line.
Malcolm raised on eyebrow, pursed his lips. “I see.”
“He refused to say anything, but that in itself told me enough.” The weariness vanished instantly. Replacing it was a hardened look Malcolm had never seen on his usually easy-going captain’s face before. “I want to know what the hell is going on, Malcolm. All of it. This is an order, and if you refuse to follow it I will toss you in the brig and send you home on the first Vulcan transport we can contact, got it?”
“Understood, sir.” Malcolm drew in a breath, straightened, and schooled his features into an impassive mask. At the very least he could ease the discomfort he was feeling with a bit of classic Mallos humour. “I’m a Demon, sir.”
Whatever answer Archer was expecting, that certainly hadn’t been it. He stared at Malcolm, blinked, not comprehending. “Say that again.”
“I’m a Demon.” Now he couldn’t resist smirking. “What you might call a mythological or folklore embodiment of evil-”
“I know what a demon is, lieutenant,” Archer interrupted. “What I’m not following is your meaning. Is this some kind of joke? Are you feeling alright? Do I need to comm. Phlox?” His eyebrows knit together and Malcolm nearly threw his head back in laughter as the realisation hit him – Archer was concerned. Did he think he’d been possessed or something down on the planet? Cracked? Gone insane?
Malcolm shook his head. “No joke, I promise, sir. You’ve seen my scans. If you need confirmation, you can check with Doctor Phlox.”
“Phlox knows?”
“Trip as well.” Malcolm snorted. “Of course, I made him promise not to tell anyone. Could cause a lot of unnecessary issues, you see, were people to find out they were working with a Demon.”
“You’re right about that,” Archer bit out. He sighed, leaned forward, and rested elbows on his knee and rubbed a palm across his forehead. He looked up at Malcolm. “There’s a lot of things running through my head right now, Malcolm. I can’t say I believe your… demon story.”
Malcolm shrugged. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Not right away. Even Trip took a few days to warm up to the idea.”
Archer mouthed the words warm up to himself and gave a slight shudder that Malcolm nearly missed. “Well, regardless, I think it’s safe to say that you won’t be returning to duty yet.”
In an instant Malcolm was on his feet, fists clenched. “Captain-”
“You just told me that you are a demon, Malcolm.” Archer’s green eyes pierced directly into his blackened soul. “People don’t just say things like that. While I admit your scans, and everything that happened down on the planet, were… strange, to say the least, and more than a little concerning, what I’m more concerned with is the safety of my crew. And yours.”
Was he hearing this right? Archer was concerned for his safety? Malcolm scoffed.
“It’s true.” Now Archer was standing, towering over him and even though Malcolm knew he was ten times stronger than this man, he suddenly felt much smaller than before. “Because there are two possibilities here, Malcolm. One: that something’s happened to you to make you believe you’re a demon, in which case I need Phlox to examine you. Two: what you’re saying is true, and if that’s the case, you pose a potential danger to everyone on board this ship.”
“How could you even question what if I’m saying is true or not? I don’t have a bloody heart!”
“In which case that would mean you’re a possible threat to this crew.” Archer’s eyes flared for a moment, the heat of his anger nearly as hot as Hell’s flames, then they softened abruptly. Archer blew out a sigh and relaxed his shoulders. “Just let Phlox examine you, Malcolm, and let him talk to me. Then we can sort out our next steps.”
Malcolm ground his teeth together. “Does that mean I’m still confined to my quarters, sir?”
“Unfortunately, yes, lieutenant.”
Oh, how bloody wonderful! More time spent wasting away with nothing to do except read, sleep, and think. “Very well. Sir?” He looked up. “If you would keep this to yourself…”
He could have used his influence. It was the perfect opportunity; all he’d have to do was reach into Archer’s mind, mould his reaction, and he would have the certainty of safety. Yet, when he looked into the captain’s eyes, when he saw the faint smile that crossed those lips, he found he couldn’t do it.
“You have my word, Malcolm.” Archer gave a nod of acknowledgement and slipped out into the corridor, the door sliding shut behind him.
He was summoned to sickbay the next morning sometime after Trip dropped off his breakfast. The commander hadn’t stayed long, he was needed in engineering, but he’d talked a bit before rushing out with an apologetic smile. Nothing about Malcolm’s current predicament though Malcolm could tell he wanted to.
Malcolm sat on the bio-bed, uncharacteristically submissive as Phlox preformed test after test on Archer’s orders. He was slipped into the imaging chamber, the enclosed space reminding Malcolm far too much of one of his personal Hells. He had blood drawn, and he watched the needle plunge into his skin, watched the vial fill with black ash as Archer’s eyes grew wide. He smirked as the captain gaped over the scans. Lack of a heart, useless veins filled with ash, claws retracted beneath his otherwise human-looking nails; it was all there. All the evidence right in front of him.
After a minute, Archer shook himself out of his shock and asked to speak with Phlox alone. His ears sharper than humans’, Malcolm picked up their conversation easily.
“So he’s telling the truth?”
“No reason to believe he’s not, considering what the evidence says. I picked up his anomalies when he first came aboard.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Doctor-patient confidentiality, captain. We had a deal: as long as he did not harm anyone on board, I saw no reason to share his secret.”
“And has he? Kept up his end of the deal, I mean.”
Phlox was silent for a beat that seemed to last an eternity. “He has.” There was a note of finality in the doctor’s tone. “Aside from a few sharp words barked at subordinates, no different from any superior, he has not harmed anyone in any way.”
“I’m glad.” Archer sighed. “You know when I think about it, this explains a lot. Last year, with the aliens, and Trip getting injured, and the quartermaster said the amount of blood on Malcolm’s uniform was remarkably excessive. And all the times he’s bounced back so quickly…”
“Lieutenant Reed possesses the ability to heal himself remarkably fast. Likely due to the supernatural nature of his existence. I’ve been wanting to study it for some time, but unfortunately he has never let me.”
At this, Archer chuckled. “Good luck with that.” Another moment of silence. Malcolm fisted his hands around the sheets on bio-bed. Dammit, could they just get this over with? Was he being sent back to Earth or not? Oh, the look that would be on his father’s face…
“In your professional opinion, doctor,” Archer finally spoke again, “what… what do you make of Lieutenant Reed?”
Phlox hummed. “Let’s see. I believe, despite him being a different species than you, and despite what he may claim on the contrary, he shows a clear affinity for humans.” Oh, fuck, Malcolm thought with a barely concealed groan. Was he more transparent than he thought? “He’s diligent. He’s intelligent. He’s willing to put himself in danger to protect those he cares about. All laudable traits for a security officer, wouldn’t you agree?”
Was… was Phlox praising him? Malcolm could have sworn the doctor hated him – or at the very least was wary of him. And what was with that note of protectiveness behind his tone? Malcolm screwed his eyes shut as if trying to block out the confusion he was feeling.
“Yes.” Archer exhaled slowly. “Yes, I agree.”
The doctor and captain emerged once more and Malcolm straightened, pretended like he hadn’t been eavesdropping, but maybe Phlox was a mind reader because the damned Denobulan looked smug.
“Malcolm.” Archer’s eyes flitted away, then back. “I’m putting you back on duty.”
“Yes, sir. Uh, thank you.”
“I won’t pretend to understand who, or what, you are, and I won’t pretend like I’m not a bit nervous about the whole thing,” Archer continued. “But I’ve talked with Phlox, and I’ve spoken with Trip, and they’ve both vouched for you. So I hope things can continue as normal, Malcolm.”
Malcolm tilted his head. “Not quite, sir.”
“What?” Archer frowned.
“Now that you know what I am-” Malcolm grinned, momentarily revealing his sharp teeth “-perhaps you might reconsider your penchant for going on away missions without security, sir. You’ll find I make quite an excellent shield.”
Horror flashed across Archer’s face, mixing with a sort of resigned acceptance. “I’ll give it some thought,” the captain promised hesitantly. “But it might be difficult to keep your… secret from everyone else if you keep dying all the time.”
Malcolm gave a dismissive wave. “Respectfully, I’ve been doing this for over eight hundred years. I know my way around it.” Barely letting Archer digest that piece of information, Malcolm hopped off the bio-bed and straightened his uniform. “Permission to return to the armoury, sir? Ensign Tanner is supposed to help Meng and I deal with the torpedo’s alignment issue.”
Recovering quickly from Malcolm’s bombshell of information, Archer nodded.
“So.” Trip shovelled a forkful of barbecue pork into his mouth, grimaced when he bit down on a piece of fat. “The Cap’n knows.”
“He does.” Malcolm picked at his dinner: a plate of ravioli. He was starting to get more and more used to human food these days.
Trip grinned. “Is it as weird as you expected?”
Oh, it was weird all right. And uncomfortable, and annoying, and a whole lot of other things Malcolm couldn’t put names to. Sure, Archer had taken his advice and begun implementing stronger security protocols – that incident with the black hole that had caused everyone to become dangerous obsessive over various things had a silver lining after all – but Malcolm was beginning to grow tired of the constant looks, the way Archer tip-toed around him, like Malcolm was going to bite his head off.
The imagery simultaneously amused and concerned him.
Across the table, Trip frowned and put down his knife and fork. “Hey, you okay?” he asked in a low tone.
“Fine,” Malcolm answered quickly. He dropped his own cutlery with a clatter, causing a couple crewmen to turn their heads. “It’s just strange. I’m not used to humans knowing who I am. And when they did find out, usually they tried to kill me.” He shook his head. “Never did they continue to try to socialize with me. Or be my friend.”
Trip reached under the table and discreetly took Malcolm’s hand in his. “Aw, hell. That sounds pretty lonely.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Malcolm amended quickly, realising how he’d come across. “I was never sad or disappointed or anything. You forget, Trip, that I was the bringer of evil, and then the bringer of chaos. I lived off of creating trouble for mortals. I never felt bad for it. What I mean is…” He tilted his head and pressed his lips together, tried to find the right words. “I don’t know. It’s just odd.”
“I see.” Trip nodded. He didn’t pull his hand away. “He’ll probably take some time to get used to it, but things’ll go back to normal in no time. You’ll see.”
At the time Malcolm thought it was just Trip’s usual optimism speaking, but as the days went by he realised that the commander was right. Gradually, Archer’s tension eased around Malcolm. He no longer gave orders in that hesitant tone; he started clapping Malcolm on the shoulder again, touching his arm, returning to his previous tactile nature that Malcolm used to think was infuriating but now found he didn’t mind it.
Three weeks after the communicator incident, Malcolm stepped onto the bridge, meeting Archer’s eyes entirely by accident and was surprised when the captain gave him a smile. He was even more surprised to feel himself smiling back as he slid into his seat at the tactical station.