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'Walk with me, Malcolm.'
The first time Captain Archer asked that of me, I was certain I'd made some kind of serious mistake. Perhaps I'd been too outspoken in my disagreement with him about matters of security. He'd requested input, but I may have overstepped even his very liberal boundaries. I was expecting a reprimand, delivered out of earshot of my staff.
But I was wrong. He wanted to tell me I'd done an excellent job on the torpedo upgrades... and to invite me to breakfast in the Captain's dining room.
I would have felt less unsettled by a reprimand.
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I thought it would be our last walk together… to the gallows. I didn’t want to die, especially with things unsaid. When he asked them to spare my life, I heard his voice break and knew with certainty what I’d only suspected.
Jonathan clasps my shoulder, as he has done so often. This time I reach up to cover his hand with mine. One of our hands is trembling… I’m more afraid now than I was of the noose. Silently, he draws me against him for our first kiss.
This won’t ever be simple, but it feels so clearly right.
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One walk I took without him – the hardest steps of my life. As I left his ready room under guard, Jonathan’s gaze was fixed somewhere beyond me, his eyes filled with a pain that I had caused.
Afterward, I ask how he could forgive me this. I am torn between wanting to hide my face and needing to see his eyes. They are dark, but not with anger, and the hurt is fading from them. He reaches for my hand and clasps it tightly for a long moment before replying.
“Because I’ve made mistakes, too. And you still loved me.”
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'Walk with me, Malcolm.'
Sunset makes a vivid canvas of sky and water, the glow reflected in Jonathan’s eyes. I’ve never been happier to nod my agreement.
He takes my hand in response, our fingers linking together as they have for many years.
It’s almost time. Madeline is trying valiantly to keep Porthos from running down the path to greet us.
The medley of light airs from the flautist resolves into something timeless, and we take the short walk together. I steal a glance at his face, whispering my surprise. “Mendelssohn? Such a romantic, Jonathan.”
“It’s our wedding. I’m allowed.”