Archive of Our Own

Don't do it. Please, for once, don't do it. Lieutenant Malcolm Reed crossed his arms and stared at Captain Jonathan Archer as if he could implant the suggestion in the man's head through sheer willpower. Of course, it didn't work. It never did.

Archer smiled broadly at the alien on the view screen. "Ship Leader Serris, I'd like to invite you and some of your crew to come aboard Enterprise. We always enjoy meeting people who are as dedicated to exploration as we are." Reed felt his blood pressure skyrocket. How many times now had Archer invited aliens on board without giving the slightest thought to security issues?

"You wish to exchange polite fragrances?" The alien asked. The universal translator seemed to be having a lot of difficulty with the Tinglari language, often coming up with phrasings that didn't seem quite right. Archer glanced at Hoshi Sato questioningly.

"He, er, it wants to know if you would like to meet in person." She clarified.

"Yes, we would." Archer said with another smile.

"This is an honor of enchanting surprise." Ship Leader Serris' pale skin sparkled with an iridescence that seemed to indicate pleasure. "I, myself, as Ship Leader may not leave my vessel, but others of my crew may indulge in such a vivid privilege. When would this meeting of civilized cultures take place?"

"We have a saying on our world: 'no time like the present'." Archer said. Reed bit his tongue to keep from protesting aloud.

"This is most agreeable to the senses." Ship Leader Serris said looking positively opalescent with delight. "We shall prepare a transport with eager immediacy."

"We look forward to the arrival of your people." Archer said. Ship Leader Serris crossed its arms over its chest and gave a shallow bow. The view screen went blank as the transmission ended.

"T'Pol the bridge is yours. Have Trip meet us outside docking bay three. Malcolm, Hoshi, you're with me." Archer said cheerfully. Reed wished he could be as optimistic as Archer about this visit.

"Shall I assemble a security team, sir?" He asked.

"I don't think that will be necessary." Archer said, his smile faltering slightly. Anxiety twisted like a knife in Reed's gut.

"Captain, we know nothing about these people. I strongly recommend that..."

"Relax, Malcolm. This is just a friendly visit." Archer's faintly amused tone infuriated Reed. He had heard it far too often of late. With two simple sentences, Archer managed to make his concerns sound like a child's fear of the dark, foolish and unreasonable. He tried again anyway.

"Nevertheless, I..."

"Enough, Lieutenant!" Archer snapped. Reed knew that further protests were pointless. He stared down at his console to hide his anger. "Now then," Archer said with forced pleasantness "let's go down to meet our guests."

Reed obeyed, but he made a quick detour to the bridge weapons locker first. Travis Mayweather gave him a sharp look of warning from his seat at the helm. Reed ignored it. He knew he was testing Archer's patience, but it was his duty to see to the crew's safety. He armed himself with a phase pistol and then joined Archer and Sato in the lift. He raised his chin and crossed his arms, silently conveying his unwillingness to compromise on this small safeguard. Archer gave the phase pistol a disapproving glare but said nothing.

"It's an amazingly complex tone language." Sato was saying to Trip Tucker as they waited for the docking bay to pressurize. "The slightest variation in relative pitch between syllables can radically alter the meaning of a word."

Reed stood quietly and wished that Archer had put off this visit for at least a little while. They knew nothing about these people, what they were capable of, what their true intentions were. The complex language that excited Sato worried Reed. He trusted Sato's linguistic abilities, but he would have been happier if Archer had given her more time to learn the subtleties of the Tinglari language.

A small green light flashed on the door panel. Reed gave his weapon a quick check as he followed Archer into the now pressurized bay. The Tinglari were disembarking from their transport in a flutter of brightly coloured garments. There were seven of them. Reed wished Archer had been more specific in his invitation. He hated being outnumbered.

Although the Tinglari weren't even remotely reptilian in appearance, something about their movements reminded Reed of snakes. He had the sense that their graceful, almost lazy motions could easily become something faster and infinitely more dangerous. Apprehension shivered down his spine as the aliens approached. The whole situation made him uneasy. He scrutinized the flowing mass of bodies and scarves.

The two Tinglari in the foreground stopped abruptly, causing the rest to mill in confusion. Reed's entire body tensed as the aliens' pale complexions started to take on strange orange overtones. This wasn't right. Reed's hand dropped automatically to his weapon. His eye caught the flash of something metallic amid the aliens' vivid garments.

"Down!" He shouted, but his warning came too late. Sato fell, a fine mist of blood spraying from her chest. He wanted desperately to go to her; to make sure she was still alive, but there was no time to spare for her. The phase pistol was already in his hand and he was firing. A body fell in a swirl of brilliant blue cloth. Reed saw Tucker lunging for the communications panel and tried to lay down cover fire for him. He sacrificed accuracy for speed, but it paid off. An alarm started to blare.

Agonizing pain erupted across Reed's right hand and arm. His breath caught on the shock of it. The phase pistol fell from his traumatized hand, hitting the ground along with a bright spatter of blood. Damn! What kind of ammunition were they using? It didn't matter. He dove for his weapon, bringing it back into play in a left-handed grip. It felt almost natural there, thanks to many hours of practice, but it was still another disadvantage.

He had lost track of the others in the chaos. All he could do was keep firing, trying to buy them time. Pain seared across his right side and hip. A hot rush of blood flowed down his thigh. Ignore it, he told himself. Keep firing. Force them to take cover. The periphery of the room started to fade away. No! Keep firing. His foot slid on something slick, bringing him down heavily on one knee.

Beneath him, he could feel the pounding vibrations of boots on the deck plating. He tried to take aim again, but darkness was roaring around him. As the world slid away, he thought he heard the distinctive sound of a pulse rifle being fired.

Archer practically threw himself onto the bridge as the lift doors opened. "Captain, I have done as you asked. The hull plating is polarized and the weapons are online." T'Pol said calmly as she vacated the command chair and moved to her usual station. "The Tinglari have contacted us. They are demanding an explanation for our actions."

"On screen." Archer said angrily, pacing in front of his chair.

"Captain! You do us great insult and offence by awakening your weapons. Are we to conclude that you are not as peaceful as you present yourselves?" The Ship Leader's complexion had taken on a bilious green cast.

"That's what I'd like to ask you!" Archer snarled back. "Why did your people open fire on mine?"

"An impossibility. We do not engage in such dishonorable contrivance."

"An impossibility?" Archer shouted in disbelief. "An impossibility that resulted in three of my officers being rushed to sickbay! I don't even know if they're still alive!"

"Negassti! Your senses are in disarray. Unwarranted violence is uncivilized. Such a reaction on our part could only be rooted in a most grievous provocation on yours."

"Provocation? Your people just opened fire! There was no provocation!"

"An impossibility." The Ship Leader repeated stubbornly.

"Captain," T'Pol interrupted "they are powering up their weapons." For a second, Archer almost wished that the Tinglari would open fire. He wanted an excuse to obliterate them, to make them pay. With difficulty he brought himself back under control. "Fine. Ensign Baird, please send the Ship Leader our recording of the events in docking bay three. Ship Leader Serris, will you watch it and tell us when this provocation occurred?" Ship Leader Serris made a harsh chuffing sound.

"Very well. This I will do."

"Recording sent, sir." Baird confirmed softly. Time ticked by in silence. The Ship Leader's green tinge drained away as it watched the recording, leaving its skin a sickly white.

"This is truth?" It demanded in a strained voice.

"Yes." Archer said simply.

"This is truth and yet you have stayed your hand from violence against this ship? Why is this Captain? Few we have met would do so."

"Because we don't engage in unnecessary violence. Because I would rather have an explanation than a conflict between our people."

"I fear I have no explanation to give you, Captain. Never before have I witnessed such profane behavior. It is unfit and unforgivable. If you would permit us to transport the bodies of our people back to our ship, we will attempt to track the source of this conduct and seek to enlighten."

"Bodies?" Archer shook his head. "Ship Leader, your people aren't dead, only stunned. They should recover in an hour or so."

Iridescence washed over the Ship Leader's skin as it bowed deeply, palms held outward. "You are as we, peaceful explorers that seek explanation over revenge. Let us arrange for the expedient transport of my people; then you and I, Captain, will enter into blood debt negotiations over this shameful injury to your ship community."

Conscious thought surfaced slowly. He knew something wasn't right. Someone nearby was singing about coalmines and blackbirds in a soft off-key voice. His mind couldn't make sense of it really. More sounds--the clink of metal against metal, a soft rustling, and a sudden piercing screech. That last sound he knew all too well--Phlox's blasted bat. Sickbay. With great effort he pried open his eyes, squinting in the brilliant light. A small inarticulate groan escaped from his throat. The singing stopped.

"Lieutenant Reed?"

"Bright..." Reed mumbled. He started to raise a hand to shield his eyes but stopped when he felt a tangle of IV tubing against his arm.

"How are you feeling?" Reed turned his head and looked at the medic sitting beside him. The man was calmly going over the gory mess of his right arm and hand with a medical scanner.

"The others?" Reed asked hoarsely. "The Captain?"

"Captain Archer's on the bridge. Commander Tucker and Ensign Sato are in surgery with Drs. Phlox and Santos." It took Reed a long moment to process the information. Why were his thoughts so slow and stupid? He tried to remember exactly what had happened.

"The aliens...?" He struggled to raise himself up on his good arm.

"Easy." The medic pressed a hand firmly against Reed's shoulder. "The ship is secure."

"What happened? Why did they attack us?"

"I don't know. I'm sure the Captain is working on it. Lieutenant, you've lost a lot of blood. You need to lie still."

Reed obeyed, knowing from experience that if he didn't cooperate he would be sedated. In any case, he was too tired to argue. He watched the medic work on his mutilated hand and tried desperately to clear the fog from his mind. He couldn't feel his arm at all. It was like watching someone work on a piece of meat. "Why can't I feel that?" He asked.

"I really doubt you'd want to." The medic said. "Gave you a nerve block. Ah, there's another one." He probed the mangled flesh of Reed's hand with forceps. Reed wanted to look away, but couldn't. All he could think about was the spray of blood from Sato's chest. How badly had she been hurt? He swallowed hard.

"How bad?" He forced himself to ask.

"Hmmm," came the distracted reply "almost got it. Ah!" The medic lifted a blood-smeared piece of metal out of the torn flesh. Reed stared at it in fascination. The projectile was small, but its grooved pyramid-shaped surface looked appallingly sharp. It was bright, elegant, and designed to kill.

Reed closed his eyes. That's what they had been shooting. The image of Sato's blood colouring the air flashed through his mind again. And when had Tucker been hit? Reed didn't know and for some reason that made him feel even worse. The medic apparently misinterpreted his expression.

"Don't worry." He said lightly. "You'll be playing the piano again in no time."

"What?" Reed looked up, confused. Piano?

"What I mean is you should have full use of your hand again. I know it looks pretty bad, but the damage isn't irreversible."

"No." Reed struggled to make the man understand "I meant the others. How bad?" The medic shifted uneasily.

"We won't know for a while, but they're in the best of hands. I give you my word on that." The evasive answer was far from reassuring. "Try to rest." The medic said. "I promise to wake you when there's news."

Resting was the last thing Reed felt like doing at the moment. He almost said as much, but taking his frustrations out on the medic would accomplish nothing. "I would appreciate that, Crewman, ah..." He cast about for the man's name, but if he ever knew it he couldn't recall it now.

"Cordell." The man supplied kindly.

Reed nodded and let Cordell finish his work in peace.

Reed looked up from his tea as Sato approached. He stood quickly and pulled out a chair for her. "Hoshi, how are you feeling?" He asked as she took her seat. He could tell by the way she moved that she still hurt.

"Better, but not good enough for active duty yet." She replied with a smile. "Do you want to see?"

"I beg your pardon?" Her smile remained sweet as she unzipped her uniform. A ragged hole gaped red and wet between her breasts. He stared at her in horror.

"It's okay, Malcolm." She said gently "You were almost fast enough." He staggered away from the terrible sight, and stumbled over an outstretched arm. He looked down at the blood-soaked bodies littering the mess hall floor. Dead. They were all dead.

"Not good enough." Said a pitying voice. Reed whirled around, reaching for his phase pistol. It wasn't there. The iridescent alien sighed. "Not good enough." It repeated as it pulled the trigger.

He found himself sitting upright on the biobed, awake, shaking; gasping for breath. He fought to clear the unsettling dream from his mind. How long had he slept? Not too long. The nerve block hadn't worn off yet. His heavily bandaged right arm lay across his bare chest in a sling, dead and unresponsive. He glanced around the dimly lit room. The other beds were empty. No Hoshi. No Trip. Were they still in surgery? Were they dead? His mind shied away violently from that thought.

A restlessness bordering on panic gripped him. He needed to leave. Now. He needed to do something--anything--other than wait here in the dim silence. Carefully he slid off the biobed, testing his strength. His legs held, but the intense stab of pain in his side took him by surprise. He pulled the tangled sheet away from his body, revealing more bandages. He only vaguely remembered receiving that injury and wondered how bad it was. He took several experimental steps. The pain was sharp, but manageable.

Moving gingerly, he made his way over to the storage lockers by the decontamination chamber. Dr. Phlox kept clothing on hand for those unfortunate times when away party uniforms ended up in a biohazard bag. Reed quickly found a pair of gray sweatpants. He pulled them on, the effort leaving him feeling sick and lightheaded. He contemplated a t-shirt for a moment but quickly gave up on the idea. It wasn't worth the trouble. Boots were absolutely out of the question. Besides he didn't know where his were. He found a pair of slippers and, after scowling at them for a few seconds, decided that they would have to do.

Reed didn't have a clear destination in mind when he left sickbay, but he wasn't surprised to eventually find himself standing outside the armory. He hesitated at the door. The armory wouldn't be deserted even at this late hour. If he went in, his well-meaning crew would probably take one look at him and escort him right back to sickbay. He moved past the armory to the firing range. He opened the door and peered inside. It was dark and empty. Perfect. He brought up the lights and let the door close behind him. This was part of his domain, comfortable and familiar. Here the silence was bearable.

He had logged many hours on this range, teaching and practicing. His thoughts strayed to Sato. She had finally started to make some real progress in her marksmanship--for all the good it had done her today. Unwanted images of blood and mangled flesh flitted through his mind. It's okay, Malcolm. You were almost fast enough.

"Almost" he whispered to himself. "Maybe if...?" It suddenly occurred to him that it wouldn't be difficult to program a basic simulation. He pulled up the schematics for the docking bay on the computer and started to enter data: the position of the Tinglari shuttle; the aliens--how close had they gotten before it all went wrong? How fast had they been moving? He focused on his task, relying on estimates and educated guesses when facts and memory failed.

Archer was exhausted. He had finally managed to persuade Ship Leader Serris to suspend negotiations for a few hours. It hadn't been easy. Archer felt as if he was walking through a cultural and linguistic minefield. Ensign Baird was doing the best he could with the multi-layered Tinglari language, but the man simply didn't have Sato's talent. Hoshi. Archer rubbed a weary hand over his face. He was so tired that he had almost forgotten about his wounded officers for a few seconds. Almost. He went to the comm panel. "Archer to sickbay."

"Phlox here." The doctor sounded almost as tired as he felt.

"How are they, Doctor?"

"I'm pleased to report that both Commander Tucker and Ensign Sato are out of surgery. They are doing well, and I predict that they will recover completely with a little time." Archer permitted himself a small relieved smile.

"And Malcolm?"

"Ah, well, it appears that we have lost Lieutenant Reed."

"W-what?" Archer felt his stomach drop. Malcolm was dead? It wasn't possible. He leaned heavily against the bulkhead shaking his head in mute denial.

"Not to worry, Captain. I'm sure we'll find him soon." For a split second the conversation took on a surreal quality, but then his tired mind reasserted itself.

"Wait a minute. When you said you lost him, you meant... what exactly?"

"It seems that he left sickbay while my assistant was engaged in preparing food for my animals." Archer pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger trying to ward off the beginnings of a pounding headache. He really didn't need this. All he wanted to do was strip out of his bloodstained uniform and fall into bed. He suppressed a sigh of frustration.

"I'll be right there, Doctor. Archer out."

Reed's left hand ached as he took up the target pistol again. It was a small discomfort against the monstrous pain that flared along his entire right side. He ignored it. It didn't matter. None of it did. Being good enough was all that mattered now. The targets appeared in the distance. He took quick and careful aim...

Time passed, minutes, hours, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that it still wasn't good enough. In fact it was worse--this time they had all died. With single-minded determination he reloaded the simulation.

He wasn't aware of Archer's presence until a hand grabbed his wrist, forcing the target pistol off its mark. "Lieutenant Reed, just what the hell do you think you're doing?" Archer's voice was icy.

"Sir?" Reed's focus shattered, leaving him disoriented. Only the Captain's anger registered clearly in his mind.

"You didn't think target practice could wait until you were released from sickbay?"

"I-I'm sorry, sir. I couldn't wait there. Not there...not with..." He didn't finish. He wasn't making sense and he was sure that Archer didn't want excuses anyway. Pain was rapidly forcing its way back into conscious thought, making it difficult for him to regain his mental footing. Not sure what else to do, Reed took refuge in routine. He thumbed on the pistol's safety and took it over to the small table by the weapons locker. Automatically, he started to strip the pistol down, inspecting each piece as it came off. He was suddenly grateful to his first-year weapons instructor. That hard-bitten old bastard had made his students do this over and over again in every kind of condition, one-handed, in the dark, behind the back...

"Malcolm, did you hear me?" Archer's voice startled him out of his reverie "They're going to be fine. They both came out of surgery with flying colors."

Reed closed his eyes and gave a ragged sigh. His crewmates--his friends--weren't dead. He had failed them, but they weren't dead. His relief was accompanied by a nearly overwhelming wave of dizziness. He fought it off by focusing his attention back on his weapon.

"Come on," Archer said as he leaned over and shut down the computer "let's get you back to sickbay."

"Yes, sir. I just need to finish this." Reed continued with his task until the pistol lay in pieces on the table. He stared at the components blankly for a moment, and then started to reassemble them with meticulous care.

"Malcolm, can't that wait? It's just a target pistol."

"I'm almost done, sir." Target pistol or not, it was his weapon, his responsibility. "I just need to..."

"It doesn't matter. Leave it."

"But..." he started to protest. He wanted Archer to understand. It did matter. It was part of his job.

"Lieutenant!" Archer's voice struck at him like a physical blow. He wanted to flinch but was determined not to show weakness in the face of anger again. He schooled his face into professional blankness.

"Yes, sir." He said flatly as he placed the half-assembled pistol on the table. Ruthlessly shoving pain aside, he pulled his posture ramrod straight and walked out of the room.

The stricken expression passed over Reed's face so quickly that Archer almost missed it. He immediately regretted his irritated outburst. He should be handling this better. He was so tired that he wasn't thinking clearly anymore.

Archer watched as Reed gently placed the target pistol on the table and turned toward the door. Damn. He had let himself forget that the man was injured. He stared at the bandages, wondering why his mind hadn't registered them before.

Reed's preoccupation with the target pistol troubled him. Archer strongly suspected that Reed hadn't ended up in the firing range by accident; that his armory officer had been in here punishing himself, using target practice as penance. And here he was bellowing and crashing around like the proverbial bull in a china shop, making everything worse. Great.

He hurried after his wounded officer. Reed was moving like a man whose pride was the only thing keeping him on his feet. Maybe it was. If it had been any other member of his crew, Archer would have offered his shoulder for support. With Reed he didn't know what to do, especially after the scene in the firing range.

He shouldn't have let anger and frustration get the better of him. He would talk to Reed. Later. Right now he was too tired. Anything he said now would probably only make things worse. He sighed and kept pace with Reed, ready to give help if necessary but not quite daring to offer it.

Reed almost didn't make it back to sickbay. The corridor walls kept fading away into an unsettling gray mist. Only Archer's unrelentingly angry presence at his side kept him moving. He was glad when they finally walked through the familiar double doors into sickbay, but his relief was short lived.

Tucker and Sato lay pale and motionless on two of the biobeds. Sato was intubated, her face partly obscured by a tangled snarl of medical equipment. Reed could hear the hiss of the respirator as it did the work of breathing for her. They were here because he had failed. He closed his eyes in dismay. "Please don't die." He begged them in a rough whisper.

"Ah, Captain, I see you've found our wayward patient." A hand touched Reed's shoulder. The light contact startled him and he recoiled from it, crashing blindly into a tray of instruments. Pain exploded through his body. He would have fallen, but someone was dragging his uninjured arm across a shoulder. "Oh, no you don't Lieutenant." Phlox's voice said in his ear "You've caused us quite enough trouble for one night. If you're going to pass out do it on the bed, not the floor."

"Sorry. I'm sorry." Everyone was angry with him. He tried his best to comply with Phlox's order, but the mist was eating at his eyesight, disrupting his already precarious sense of balance. For a second, the world spun wildly and then the mist turned black.

He was standing in the mess hall, surrounded by the dead. Blood was everywhere, filling his senses. It was rusting in dark crimson streaks along the walls and furniture. It dripped to the floor with an almost inaudible patter. The air reeked of it so strongly that he could taste its coppery taint in the back of his throat. Even his hands were sticky with it.

"I trusted you." Suddenly Archer stood in front of him, his face and voice cold with fury. Tucker and Sato lay dead at his feet. "I trusted you to protect them!"

"I tried." Reed whispered.

"Well, you didn't try hard enough! Did you?" Reed stared down at his hands, but the blood on them merely reinforced Archer's harsh accusation.

He came awake with a small gasp. Things weren't right. The room was far too hot and someone was looming over him, hands on his shoulders. He nearly struck out at the figure before he recognized her--Ensign Cutler.

"Lieutenant Reed?" she said, briefly touching his forehead with the back of her hand. What was she doing in his quarters? Starfleet had regulations against things like that. "You shouldn't be here." He muttered. She frowned and pointed a scanner at him.

"You were having a nightmare." Oh. Nightmares explained a lot. "And you've developed quite a high fever." She added. Reed didn't answer. He was trying to figure out why she was in his nightmare. She wasn't particularly scary. In fact, she was rather pretty despite her frown. Why was she scowling anyway? Maybe she was mad at him too? Before he could come up with a plausible explanation, a hypospray hissed against his neck and he spiraled back down into oblivion.

The next time he woke he was still feverish but far more rational. Shifts had changed while he slept and Cordell was back on duty.

"How are they?" he asked the medic anxiously.

"They're both doing well. The Commander was awake not long ago. He asked after you. Here." Cordell handed him a cup of broth. Reed drank it quickly, trying not to gag as his stomach heaved in protest. The broth was too salty and reminded him of the taste of blood. He suppressed a shudder and gave the empty cup back to Cordell.

"What happened with the Tinglari? Do you know?" Reed hated the fact that he was stuck here, away from the bridge.

"From what I've heard, the Tinglari captain was really upset by what happened. Everyone's trying to figure out what went wrong."

"They're still here?"

"Yeah. They're still out there." Reed frowned in response. That worried him. What if everything went to hell again? "The Tinglari physician seems to think that there may have been some kind of medical or physiological reason for the attack. That's why Phlox hasn't been here much. He's been helping them with their research."

"He's not over on that ship, is he?" Reed asked in alarm.

"Of course not. He's been spending most of his time in the lab. They've been transporting samples over here. Trust me, Lieutenant, no one wants to go visiting until we know exactly what happened." Cordell picked up a hyposray and adjusted the dosage. Reed eyed it suspiciously. "It's just an analgesic." Cordell said as he pressed it against Reed's neck. "But it might make you drowsy."

"Of course, don't they all." Reed said sourly as he leaned back onto the pillows. "Crewman Cordell?" he added more politely as the medic started to turn away.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry if I caused you trouble by...ah, liberating myself earlier."

"Nah." The medic said with a lopsided grin. "Happens all the time."

"I'm not surprised." Reed said as he stifled a yawn. He really was tired. "If you want to keep people in here you need better security. Way too lax. Need to secure your prisoner, your perimeter and your resources." His eyes closed of their own volition and he could hear his voice starting to slur. "Should lock up the clothing. Harder to escape when you're naked. People tend to notice..."

Cordell laughed. "Go to sleep, Lieutenant."

Reed was tired of sickbay and he was sure that everyone here was just as weary of him. He had managed to browbeat Cutler into giving him some proper clothing but she had retaliated by making him promise to stay within the confines of sickbay. He had given his pledge grudgingly, but he had given it. It was an effective deterrent.

At least now he was free of the biobed, so he sat in a chair between Sato and Tucker watching them sleep. It made him uncomfortable. He should have been able to protect them. "Don't die Hoshi." He said quietly to her still form. The soft whisper of the respirator was the only reply. "You're not to die either, Commander."

"Geez, Mal, have I ever told you that you're a pessimistic son of a bitch?" The beginnings of a small smile tugged at Reed's lips.

"Once or twice, Commander. And don't call me Mal."

"Only if you stop calling me Commander. We're not on duty y'know." Reed's smile evaporated.

"Yes, I know."

"So what's going on?" Tucker asked as he sat up carefully.

"I doubt I know much more than you do." Reed said, but he proceeded to tell Tucker what little he had discovered.

"Medical reason? What kind of medical reason?" Tucker asked.

"I don't know." Reed said bitterly. "Maybe our color scheme drove them insane. Too much gray. We're not exactly in the loop here, Trip. All the information I've got is third hand at best."

Tucker seemed taken aback by Reed's tone. "The Capt'n hasn't been down here yet?" he asked.

"No, I haven't seen him since..." Reed's voice trailed off. A cold leaden feeling settled in his stomach. I trusted you to protect them. Was the captain that angry with him?

"Malcolm?" Tucker was looking at him with concern. Reed shook his head slightly.

"I'm fine." he lied. "Sorry. I just hate being stuck here and not knowing what's going on."

"No. Absolutely not."

"Come now, Lieutenant." Phlox said cheerfully, waving the small container full of writhing slugs in the air.

"They're revolting." Reed protested.

"They're useful." Phlox countered. Reed gave an exasperated sigh.

"Just what are they supposed to do anyway?"

"Tricassian slugs are able to help regenerate damaged nerve tissue. They burrow into the wound and secrete a..."

"Burrow in!" Reed's voice rose in disbelief. He looked entreatingly at Cordell who had just finished taking the bandages off Reed's arm.

"Don't look at me." Cordell said. "I'm just a medic. Besides I think they're kind of cute."

"Cute? You must be joking."

"Okay, so they're not very appealing," Cordell said more seriously "but you sustained some severe injuries." He pointed at several wounds on Reed's fingers where the strange projectiles had cut deep into the bone. "Without proper treatment you could end up with some loss of feeling and mobility in those fingers. This is your dominant hand, isn't it?" Trapped between Phlox's enthusiasm and Cordell's logic, Reed knew he was fighting a loosing battle.

"Fine, then. Go ahead." He tried hard not to sound petulant and failed. He watched in distaste as Phlox placed one of the tiny repulsive slugs on his hand. Immediately, it oozed its way into one of the wounds, leaving behind a thin trail of slime. A faint high-pitched humming sound filled the air and Reed's hand began to tingle rather unpleasantly.

"Why is it doing that?" he asked nervously. Phlox gave him a wide inhuman grin.

"I think it likes you, Lieutenant." Reed rolled his eyes.

"Wonderful. Look, doctor, when can I get out of here?"

"I see no reason why you can't leave in the morning, but only if you promise to come back for daily treatment."

The first thing he did upon returning to his quarters was take a shower. The hot water felt so good that he stayed there until the timer beeped its shut off warning. He toweled himself dry, a task made awkward by his crippled hand and aching side. As he started to shave, he paused to stare at his reflection in the foggy mirror. His face was pale and drawn with dark smudges under the eyes. "You look like hell." He said to his blurry image. "Feel like it too." He added with a small humorless laugh.

Getting dressed was a frustrating ordeal that left him tired and sore. The boots were the worst. It took several long minutes of struggling with the laces to get them correctly tied. He supposed the slippers would have been easier but he found wearing them strangely humiliating. He was a Starfleet officer, not some kind of pathetic invalid.

Feeling slightly guilty, he left his quarters and made his way down to the firing range. Dr. Phlox had admonished him to take it easy and rest, but there would be time for rest later. Right now he needed to assess what had gone wrong and what he could have done to avoid it.

Once again the range was empty. The half-assembled pistol was still on the table, an uncomfortable reminder of Archer's anger. Reed picked it up and finished putting it together, forcing his weak uncoordinated right hand to do some of the work. After he placed the pistol back in the weapons locker, he went to the computer and pulled up his simulation results. They were utter rubbish of course. He'd gone about it all wrong. He erased the results, and then set the computer to run new trials based on his most recent practice scores. While the computer worked he walked slowly around the range checking to see that everything was properly cleaned and stowed. He prided himself on running a well-organized department. He was inspecting the last target pistol when the door opened and two of his ensigns, Elena Covington and Nathan Briggs, walked in. They looked startled to see him there.

"I didn't know you were back on duty, sir." Covington said.

"I'm not."

"Oh." She said obviously at a loss for words. Briggs was a little bolder than his counterpart.

"Uh, shouldn't you be resting sir?" he asked hesitantly.

"I'm fine, Ensign. Thank you for your concern." The coolness in Reed's voice made the ensign fidget a little, but didn't put him off entirely.

"Is there anything we can get for you?"

"No, thank you." Reed responded with a distant politeness that made it clear that he wanted to be left alone. Covington, at least, seemed to recognize the hint and she tugged on Briggs' arm.

"Well, then, we'll just come back later." She said a little too cheerfully as she dragged her partner out the door. "Just let us know if there's anything we can help you with, sir." Reed watched them go with some amusement. He was both irritated and touched by their concern, but he had work to do.

He picked up the target pistol, enjoying the weight and feel of it in his hand. He almost put it away, but then decided to run a few real time simulations while the computer ran its trials. It would give him something to do.

Reed barely managed to pull off his boots before he fell onto his bunk. He hoped his state of exhaustion would give him sleep without dreams. Certainly none of his simulation results had given him peace of mind. They had only increased his sense of failure and inadequacy. Still not good enough. There had to be a way around it. He would find it eventually. He had to.

Fatigue overtook his racing mind and he was just starting to doze off when the comm panel beeped. With a groan he rolled off the bed and padded over to it. "Reed here."

"Lieutenant Reed, I believe we had an appointment scheduled for this afternoon. It's not like you to be late. Is everything all right?" Phlox sounded suspicious.

"Fine." Reed said quickly. "Forgive me, Doctor, I, ah, fell asleep. I'll be right there."

"Very good, Lieutenant." Phlox signed off. Reed stared down at his boots in dismay.

"Couldn't have called before I took the bloody things off, could he?" He muttered.

With a sharp cry, Reed wrenched himself out of yet another blood-filled dream and back into awareness. He sat in the dark and pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes, trying to blot out the gruesome images. "Bloody hell, get a grip." He whispered angrily to himself. "It was just a dream. They're fine." He lay back down and tried to calm his racing heart.

After a while he gave up. He untangled himself from the bed sheets and dressed. He stuck his feet into the hated slippers and exited his quarters with a strange sense of urgency.

"You're being a fool." He told himself as he stood outside Sickbay. "They're fine." But he knew that he had to see for himself, so he went in. Dr. Phlox looked up from his task of feeding one of his creatures.

"Is everything okay, Lieutenant?" He asked quietly.

Reed felt himself blushing in embarrassment. "Fine." He replied "I just..." He gave a weak wave in the direction of his friends. Phlox gave him a sharp look, but said nothing for which Reed was grateful.

Reed made his way over to the chair. Tucker and Sato were both asleep. "Don't die." He told them softly, knowing it was absurd. Tucker gave a loud snore in reply. The sound was oddly reassuring. Tucker was obviously alive.

Reed reached out and gently took hold of Sato's wrist. Her pulse was strong and steady. A few minutes passed before he realized that the ventilator had been removed and she was breathing on her own. He had failed, but they were still alive. For the moment it was enough.

Reed pounded his fist against the console in frustration. It still wasn't good enough. Nothing he had tried so far had made a significant difference in the outcome. Increasing the firepower involved certainly hadn't worked. It wouldn't have mattered what he'd been armed with. He ran his hand through his hair and stared down at the damning results. There wasn't much left to try. He wracked his brain for possible solutions.

Perhaps the problem was in the simulation itself? He had programmed it based on his memory of events so it was bound to have distortions. It might help if he could refine the program; improve its precision. There had to be a security recording of the incident somewhere. He could check the details of the simulation against it.

It took a few minutes to locate the recording. Reed pulled it up and let it run on the small screen. Half way through he shut it off with an unsteady hand. He had seen enough to know that his simulation was wrong, horribly and terrifyingly wrong. It was too easy. He sank down on the floor next to the console and hugged his knees hard to his chest. His partially healed wounds ached in protest and dread coiled like a poisonous snake in his empty stomach. He wanted to erase the recording; pretend he had never seen it. But he had.

Reluctantly, he pulled himself up off the floor and hit the play button. He watched the recording over and over, until the shock of it wore off and he could view it as a tactician. He had been wrong about so many things. Only three of the Tinglari had even been armed. It frightened him that he hadn't noticed it at the time. It was his job to discern and react to threat. He needed to know why he had failed so badly this time.

He took his time in creating the new simulation, checking and double-checking it against the recording. When it was done he set it to run trials with his practice scores. He hadn't expected much, but the results were even more appalling than he had anticipated. He tried again, using only his personal best score, creating results that were only marginally less dreadful. In desperation, he retrieved a target pistol and ran the simulation real time. He knew it was a pointless exercise, but something compelled him to try it again and again until the muscles in his hand seized and cramped in protest. When he left the firing range, it was with the merciless knowledge that none of them should have come out of that docking bay alive.

Reed sat motionlessly on his bunk. He wasn't sure how long he had been there or even how he had made it back to his quarters. Black despair swirled around him like a riptide, threatening to pull him under. The door chime beeped cheerfully. He knew he should get up, open the door, do something, but inertia had him firmly in its grip. It was easier to just sit. The chime rang again. And again. Whoever it was wasn't going away. With difficulty he summoned his voice "Come in."

The door slid open and Tucker limped in leaning heavily on a cane. "Hey, Malcolm. The Doc finally cut me loose from sickbay. Do you want to...?" Tucker broke off suddenly. "Man, you look like hell. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He said. "Just tired. I was sleeping." Tucker looked pointedly at the neatly made bunk.

"Uh huh." He said, clearly skeptical.

"Was there something you wanted, Commander?" Reed asked wearily.

"Me and Travis are going to get together for dinner at 1800 hours. You want to join us?" Before Reed could respond, the comm panel beeped. He turned his head to stare at it. It seemed very far away. It beeped again. "You gonna get that?" Tucker asked.

"I suppose I should." Reed replied getting up with an effort. "Reed here."

"Lieutenant Reed, we were expecting you down in sickbay over twenty minutes ago." Cutler sounded rather annoyed. Reed wondered if there was any excuse he could give to get out of going. Probably not.

"My apologies. I'll be right down." As he signed off he saw Tucker looking at him suspiciously. "Excuse me Commander, I shouldn't keep Ensign Cutler waiting any longer. She sounded quite put out."

"All right, Malcolm, what's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what's going on with you. You're never late for anything."

"It simply slipped my mind."

"Slipped yer mind? Do you expect me to believe that?"

"Yes." Reed said stiffly as he walked out the door. Tucker followed. "Really Commander, I'm perfectly fine. I don't need an escort."

"Well, I just thought I'd go along to make sure that Cutler doesn't hurt you. She sounded madder than a wet hen."

When they arrived in sickbay, they found Sato awake and sitting up in her bed. Reed had time to exchange a quick greeting with her before a glaring Cutler descended on him. But seeing Sato alive, if not exactly well, made him feel a little better.

He sat patiently as Cutler inspected the half-healed scars on his hand, arm, and side. "Everything looks like it's healing cleanly. Have you been doing the exercises Phlox gave you?"

"Yes."

"Show me." He obeyed, stretching his hand out flat, then flexing it into a fist that still couldn't quite close all the way. "You've nearly recovered the full range of motion already." Cutler said, obviously pleased with his progress. She placed a flexible ball-like instrument into his hand "Squeeze." He tightened his grip on it as hard as he could, ignoring the twinge of pain. The instrument gave a beep. "Good." she said and he handed it back to her. Cutler put it aside and picked up a scanner. "When did you last eat Lieutenant?" She asked, pursing her lips in disapproval.

"Ah...breakfast, I guess."

"And what did you eat?"

"Tea...and toast." He had eaten a few bites of the toast so he was pretty sure that it counted.

"You need to eat in order to heal, Lieutenant." She sounded a lot like Phlox. "I want your promise that you'll go to the mess hall and have a proper meal when you're done here."

"I was going to have dinner with Commander Tucker and Ensign Mayweather at 1800."

"Good enough." She said. "You can go on and get dressed."

"No slugs today?" He asked in surprise. "No. No slugs."

"Pity. I was starting to become rather fond of them."

Cutler smiled. "Phlox said that you could finish healing on your own. He wants you back here two days from now for a check up though."

"Fine."

"And Lieutenant?"

"Yes?"

"Try not to be late."

He had arrived in the mess hall with every intention of eating, but now that the food was in front of him his appetite had vanished completely. He played absently with the vegetables, herding them across the plate with his fork, separating the broccoli, carrots and cauliflower into distinct flocks.

"You're supposed to eat it, not torment it." Tucker said disapprovingly.

"Shouldn't we wait for Travis?" Reed tried to stall.

"He'll be here soon. Eat. That's an order." Reed speared a piece of broccoli and reluctantly lifted it to his mouth. He was surprised to find that it tasted rather good. He ate slowly while Tucker rattled on about a letter he had received from his sister.

A few minutes later Mayweather came in and swiftly made his way to their table. "You guys aren't going to believe this." He said excitedly as he took his seat.

"Believe what?" Tucker asked.

"Phlox figured out why the Tinglari attacked us."

"And?" Tucker prompted.

"We smell." Mayweather leaned back in his chair and waited for a reaction from his audience.

"Run that by me again." said Tucker.

"There's something about the way humans smell that triggers a primitive fear-aggression response in the Tinglari brain."

"You're kidding me." Tucker said.

"Nope. I'm not. Phlox and the Tinglari physician are trying to figure out some way to block it."

"Well, I'll be damned!" Tucker said. "I bet T'Pol wasn't surprised. She's always going on about how bad we smell." Reed tuned out their voices. His light meal now sat like lead in his belly. How could you guard against incompatible biology? It was a hidden threat he had never considered before. They couldn't very well go around exchanging detailed biological information with every alien species they met. That kind of data would leave them too vulnerable. A small shudder ran through his body at the thought.

"Malcolm? You okay?" Tucker asked. Reed looked up to find both Tucker and Mayweather watching him.

"Fine." He replied. "Just tired. I should go." He stood quickly and walked out of the mess hall before either man could stop him. He made it back to his quarters just as his stomach rebelled. He bolted for the bathroom and threw up what little he had managed to eat. He brushed his teeth, then stripped and stepped into the shower. He stood there wishing that the water could wash away the knowledge that nothing he could have done would have made a difference. He had failed in his duty to protect the ship and her crew. He was too unobservant, too slow; too imprecise. They were alive, but only because of sheer dumb luck. And next time luck might not hold.

He didn't even try to sleep. It was pointless. The nightmares took more out of him than the fractured sleep returned. He wandered aimlessly through the corridors, knowing that eventually he'd end up in sickbay, but he needed the time to pull himself together. He didn't want to upset Sato with his problems.

He needn't have worried. She was fast asleep when he arrived.

He didn't know why he was here. He sat in front of the console listlessly turning the target pistol over in his hands. He had manipulated every variable he could think of within the parameters of the simulation, and still hadn't been able to beat it. Hadn't even come close. He simply wasn't good enough. He was trying to work up the energy to go back to his quarters when the door opened. Hastily, he composed his face as Briggs and Covington came in. He saw them exchange quick looks with one another. It would have been funny if it weren't so irritating.

"Excuse us, sir." Covington said. "We didn't know you were here."

"It's all right, Ensign. I was just leaving. Good to see that you're keeping up with your practice."

"Elena's been trying to help me improve my accuracy with the new phase pistols." Briggs said.

"Good, good." Reed murmured distractedly. He was glad to see his people assisting each other, especially in an area that sometimes engendered more competition than cooperation. A little help could sometimes... He straightened suddenly and stared at the two ensigns. "Why didn't I think of it before?" Briggs and Covington looked back at him as if faintly alarmed by his outburst.

"Sir, is everything all right?" Briggs asked warily.

"Everything's fine, Ensign. In fact, I was wondering if you two would help me with a project."

"Uh, sure."

"Good. You can get your target practice in at the same time. I'd like to run through this simulation a few times." He explained as he went to the computer and loaded the program. He waited impatiently as the ensigns armed themselves.

"Ready?"

"Yes, sir." The targets appeared down range. Moving with smooth precision, Reed brought up his own weapon. It was over quickly. He engaged the safety on the pistol and waited until both ensigns had done the same before moving to the computer. He stared at the results. His heart was pounding hard in his chest. Was it just a fluke?

"Very good." He said, striving to keep his voice neutral. "Let's run through it a few more times."

In the end, it took two-dozen trials before he let himself believe it. They had beaten it. He felt a surge of elation. He turned to the ensigns with a genuine smile on his face. "That was some fine shooting. Excellent as always, Covington. And Briggs, I can tell you've been practicing. Your accuracy is up significantly from your last qualifiers. Good work both of you." The ensigns looked happily startled by the effusive praise. "You two go on, I'll take care of these." Reed waved at the target pistols. The ensigns left him cheerfully inspecting the weapons. He had been right. There had been a way around it. No such thing as an impossible tactical situation.

He was placing the pistols in the locker when the ramifications of his victory struck him. His euphoria vanished completely and suddenly, leaving behind a sick hollow feeling. He shut the locker and leaned heavily against the bulkhead. He had been working toward beating the simulation for so long that he had missed the deeper implications of his solution. He hadn't beaten it, not on his own. He still wasn't good enough. And that was the problem.

"Lieutenant. I was not aware that you had returned to duty." T'Pol said as Reed came onto the bridge.

"I haven't. I wanted to give this to the captain." He held up the PADD. He could have sent his resignation though the computer, but somehow that didn't seem right. He wanted to do this properly.

"Captain Archer is currently off-duty."

"Could you please give this to him when he returns? It's not urgent, but it is important." He felt oddly calm about what he was doing. This, at least, was a resolution of sorts.

"Certainly." T'Pol said taking the PADD.

"Thank you, Sub-Commander."

Reed returned to his quarters. He curled up on his bunk and immediately fell into a deep sleep that was devoid of dreams.

Archer sat in his command chair and tried to look like he was paying attention as Ship Leader Serris and the three other Tinglari on the view screen droned on in some archaic version of their language. Neither Ensign Baird, nor the UT could make heads or tails of it. Archer decided that he didn't really care what was being said. All he cared about was that this ceremony marked an end to the long days of tedious blood debt negotiations.

Ship Leader Serris had rejected all of Archer's attempts to simply forgive and forget the incident in the docking bay, insisting that restitution must be paid. And apparently restitution could only be negotiated through convoluted, time-consuming, ritual procedures. But here, at last, was the end of it.

The interminable chanting ended and Ship Leader Serris bowed. That was Archer's cue. He jumped up from his chair and bowed back. "The rift between our ship communities is healed." He said carefully. "Animosity is buried in the sands of the past." There was a long pause and he began to worry that he had misspoken and that they would have to start again from the beginning. But Ship Leader Serris was making circular gesture with its hand.

"All is healed. Animosity is buried. It is done." Archer let out a huge sigh of relief as the view screen went blank. He hoped that this was truly the end of the whole Tinglari mess. He needed at least one good night of sleep before he would be up to dealing with another crisis.

"Travis, you have the bridge." Archer said before retreating to his ready room. He sat down behind the desk and ran his fingers over his tired eyes. He stared at the small stack of PADDs that T'Pol had handed him when he had come onto the bridge that morning. He supposed that he should at least glance at them. After all, paperwork was part of the job too.

Reluctantly, he picked a PADD up off the stack and turned it on. The message on the screen was short and to the point. Reed was resigning his position on Enterprise. There was no explanation as to why. "I don't believe this." Archer said, letting the PADD drop back down onto the desk. He rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand as his tension level ratcheted up again.

Archer sighed as guilt tugged at him. This was partly his fault. He should have checked on Reed days ago. He had tried once, but Reed had already been released from sickbay and was nowhere to be found. Not long after that, Archer had been overwhelmed by the exhaustive negotiations with the Tinglari and there had been no time to try again. Well, there was time now. Archer stood and went to the comm panel.

Reed would have slept much longer, but the incessant beep of the comm panel woke him. He staggered over to it and hit the button. "Reed here." He said, his voice hoarse from sleep.

"Lieutenant Reed, I'd like you to join me for lunch at 1300 hours." Archer didn't sound very happy.

"I...ah..." Reed scrambled for some excuse to avoid what would obviously be an unpleasant mealtime interview.

"That's an order, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir."

"Archer out."

Reed scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to wake up. He glanced at the chronometer. It was quite late already. Archer hadn't given him much warning. Maybe it was better this way. At least he didn't have much time to fret over the meeting. He sighed heavily and headed for the shower.

On the way out of his quarters Reed nearly ran over Tucker. "Commander?" He said in surprise as he reached out to steady the other man.

"Hey, Malcolm. I was just dropping by to see if you wanted to join me for lunch."

"I can't. I have a meeting with the Captain."

"Well, then," Tucker persisted "how about dinner?" Reed almost refused the invitation, but he knew that he would have to tell Tucker about his resignation eventually. It wouldn't be fair to let him hear about it through the ship's gossip mill.

"Fine. What time?"

"How about 1800?"

"All right. I'll see you then, Commander."

"Trip. Call me Trip." Reed conjured up a weak smile to hide the sudden wave of guilt that swept through him. Right now, he desperately wanted the distance afforded by formality--it made the thought of leaving easier to bear. He silently damned himself for being such a coward. Tucker deserved better from him.

"Right. I'll see you then, Trip."

An uncomfortable silence reigned at the captain's table. Archer had greeting Reed civilly and asked after his health, but the small talk had been quickly exhausted. The smell of the food made Reed feel queasy. He took a small sip of water, hoping that it would settle his stomach. It didn't help much. He pushed the food around on his plate and waited for the inevitable discussion.

"Is something wrong with the pasta?" Archer finally asked, putting down his own fork. Reed suppressed a sigh.

"It's fine, sir. I'm simply not hungry. Besides, I don't think lunch was the primary reason you asked me here."

"No, it wasn't. I want to know why your resignation is sitting on my desk."

"Sir, I don't think that there's any point in..."

"I think you at least owe me an explanation, Lieutenant." Archer interrupted. He sounded angry and Reed felt his own hostility welling up in answer. Why did Archer want to discuss this?

"Fine, then." He found it difficult to keep his voice level. "I'm resigning because I feel I can no longer carry out my duty to protect this ship and her crew."

"Malcolm, is that what this is about? You can't blame yourself. It was supposed to be a diplomatic contact. No one could have predicted that our physiologies would be antagonistic." Reed's control slipped.

"And that's just my point! We couldn't predict, we couldn't know! We walked in there blind and unarmed and it's a miracle that any of us walked out again!"

"We weren't unarmed." Archer said defensively. Reed struggled to regain his composure.

"No, we weren't unarmed, not entirely, but I wasn't good enough to protect us. I failed."

"You were good enough to get us out of there."

"No, Captain, Commander Tucker got us out of there. We'd all be dead if he hadn't sounded that alarm."

"Malcolm, we all did the best we could under the circumstances. I have great faith in your abilities and would hate to see you leave this ship." Reed couldn't contain a short bitter laugh. He would have given a lot to hear those words a day ago. Now it didn't matter.

"You know, I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out if you put too much faith in my abilities or not enough, but then I realized that it doesn't matter because the end result is the same. And I can't do it anymore."

"I don't understand. Do what exactly?"

"I can't protect this ship alone."

"What?" Archer said, his forehead creasing in confusion. This wasn't what he had expected to hear.

"I can't do it alone." Reed repeated desperately. "I'm not good enough to do it alone."

"I don't expect you to."

"Maybe not, but you ask me to. If I'd had some back-up in that docking bay..."

"So you're trying to tell me that this was all my fault?" Archer broke in, his voice hard.

"No sir, that's not what I'm saying. What I'm trying to say..."

"Well, it sure sounds like it to me!"

"Because you're not listening!" Reed shouted back in frustration, his fragile control shattering beyond recall. He stood up so quickly that his chair overturned.

"You're out of line, Lieutenant!"

Reed's anger was suddenly replaced with mortification. He snapped to attention, fixing his gaze on the wall over Archer's shoulder. "Sir, I..."

"I don't want to hear it, Lieutenant! Your resignation is accepted. Dismissed."

Reed sat in the dark observation lounge, watching the stars stream by. He might as well enjoy the sight while he could because he doubted he would ever get another shipboard post, not after that row with the captain. He would go back to Earth and try to pick up whatever pieces were left of his career. At least he could hold a phase pistol again, thanks to Phlox and his horrid little slugs. Reed splayed his hand over his knee stretching his fingers until the tender scars ached in protest.

Maybe he could get a research and development position somewhere. His work on force field technology had generated a lot of interest back on Earth. He tried to work up some enthusiasm for the idea but all he could think of was how much he would miss the stars.

Tucker frowned and looked at the time. Reed should have been here by now and he was starting to get a little worried. Actually, he was more than a little worried given Reed's strange behavior the day before. Something was going on.

"Damn it, Malcolm." Tucker muttered as he pulled himself stiffly to his feet. He would try the armory first. Reed was probably in there driving his people to distraction.

The armory was empty except for two ensigns who looked up from their work as he came in. It took him a moment to dredge up their names: Briggs and Covington. "Is there something we can help you with, Commander?" Briggs inquired as Tucker peered around the room.

"I'm looking for Lieutenant Reed." Tucker replied. "Have you seen him?"

"No, sir. He hasn't been in here at all today, but you, um, might want to try the firing range." Tucker was puzzled by the hesitation in the ensign's voice, but he just nodded and started back out the door.

"Uh, sir."

"Yes?" Tucker asked, turning again. Briggs glanced back apprehensively at his companion as if asking for her permission. She nodded slightly.

"Um, the Lieutenant's been spending a lot of time in there lately. Frankly sir, it's..." he paused slightly and then rushed on in a low voice "...well, it's got us all a little worried. He just got out of sickbay after all. And then the other day he pulled me and Covington in there for some shooting practice and when we were done he looked really happy, like he was relieved about something. But then when I saw him leave a little later he looked upset."

"Upset?" Tucker repeated. This didn't sound good.

"Really upset." Briggs elaborated evasively. "Look, sir, it's not that we think he's unfit or anything. What I mean is, he's a good officer. He can be a bit of a bear sometimes, but he's fair and he runs a tight department." Tucker nearly smiled as the nervous ensign defended his superior.

"I know he does, Briggs." Tucker broke in gently. "But you're worried about him, right?" Briggs fidgeted and stared down at his boots.

"I know it's not our place to..."

"No." Tucker interrupted quickly. "You were right to tell me. He's lucky to have loyal people watching out for him. I'll look into it."

"Thank you, sir." Briggs mumbled without raising his gaze. Tucker touched the man's shoulder in reassurance before leaving the armory and making his way into the empty firing range. He wandered around for a bit, looking for some clue as to what Reed had been doing in here. Nothing looked out of place. The weapons were all stowed neatly in their lockers. Everything seemed completely normal to him. Tucker brought up the computer and looked at the file listings.

"Let's see what you've been up to, Lieutenant." He said as he punched in his access code.

How had he managed to fuck up everything so thoroughly? Reed wasn't sure. All he knew was that nothing he said or did was right anymore. He scanned the nearly empty mess hall. He wasn't surprised that Tucker had given up on him. He was over an hour late.

He made his way down to Tucker's quarters and spent several minutes ringing the door chime. No answer. He checked the officer's lounge and engineering, but there was no sign of the other man. Finally he gave up and sent an apologetic note through the computer.

"Hey, Lieutenant." Cordell said in greeting as Reed walked into sickbay. "The slugs missed you last night."

"Forget the slugs." Sato said from her bed. "I missed you. Where were you?" Reed smiled at her.

"Sorry. I actually managed to get a full night's sleep last night. Can you forgive me?"

"I might if you come over here and sit with me for a while." Reed struggled to keep his distress off his face and out of his voice while they talked of inconsequential things. It hurt to know that he hadn't been able to protect her; it hurt more to know that soon he wouldn't be here to even try.

He stayed with her until she finally dozed off. "Don't die, Hoshi." He whispered as he stood to leave. She stirred and smiled slightly in her sleep. Reed knew that the stars weren't the only things he would miss.

Archer sat on his bed and restlessly bounced the water polo ball against the bulkhead. He should have been sleeping, catching up on all the lost hours of rest, but his mind was still seething over Reed's accusation. He threw the ball harder, letting it sting against his palms on its return. The door chimed. "Come in." Archer swung his legs over the edge of the bed and dropped the ball onto his lap as Tucker limped into the room.

"Sorry to bother you so late, Capt'n."

"Trip, it's no bother. Here, sit down. I've been meaning to come see you, but things have been kind of hectic lately."

"I know. Travis has been keeping me up to date."

"Can I get you anything to drink?"

"No, thanks." Tucker toyed anxiously with the PADD that he was holding.

"Want to watch the latest game? Texas Tech versus Stanford. It just came in yesterday."

"Not right now. Uh, I think we've got a bit of a problem."

"Oh?"

"It's Malcolm. He..."

"He's not our problem anymore." Archer said bluntly. "He resigned."

"What! You can't be serious?"

"I am. I tried to talk to him about it at lunch today. It didn't go very well. Apparently, he blames me for what happened."

"He said that?" Tucker asked in astonishment.

"Not in so many words, but he implied it. His meaning seemed pretty clear to me."

"What exactly did he say?" Tucker asked carefully.

"I don't know, something about me making him protect the ship on his own. It's ridiculous! He's the one who thinks he should be able to personally protect us from everything."

Tucker sat up straighter. "Ah...Capt'n..." He trailed off into silence.

"What?"

"How many of his people did he want down in that docking bay?"

"Does it matter?" Archer asked in exasperation. "It was supposed to be a diplomatic contact. We didn't know what was going to happen. It was an impossible situation."

"No, it wasn't."

"What do you mean?"

"Here, look at this." Tucker gave the PADD to Archer.

"What's this?" Archer asked, glancing down at the data. "Trip, this is just a simulation." He started to hand it back.

"A really good simulation." Tucker corrected, pushing the PADD back at Archer. "I think he must have used the security recording to set it up. Look at the results." Archer scrolled down the list for a while then looked up with a stunned expression.

"How many times did he run this thing?"

"I didn't count. A lot. Enough that some of his people down in the armory were starting to worry. I should've guessed that something was going on with him."

"I still don't see what this has to do with anything."

"He beat it." Tucker said softly "He proved that it wasn't impossible."

"Then why..."

"It's not that he did it." Tucker pulled the PADD from Archer's hand and scrolled down to the end of the file. "It's how he did it." He handed it back to Archer who looked at the screen with dawning comprehension. "Two more people and we might've all walked out of there." There was a long silence.

"So, you're trying to tell me that he was right? That this was all my fault?"

"No, I'm not saying that. All I'm saying is that maybe he has a point. He ran through that thing thousands of times on his own, trying to find out where he messed up; what he could have done differently."

"And instead he found out where I went wrong." Archer dropped the PADD onto the bed and hugged the ball tightly to his chest. "He tried several times to convince me to bring a security team along. Hell, I was irritated when he brought along that phase pistol. I thought he was just being paranoid."

"Show me a good security officer who isn't." Tucker said with a small smile "But that doesn't mean that he's not right sometimes." Archer sighed and set aside the ball.

"I need to talk to him, don't I?"

"Yeah, that might be a good idea."

Archer found Reed in the observation lounge. The armory officer was sprawled on a couch, his attention seemingly lost in the stars; it was clear that he hadn't heard Archer's approach. Archer studied Reed, not really liking what he saw. The man in front of him looked lost and defeated. Reed's slumped posture, so unlike his usual bearing, screamed of apathy and his face was etched with heavy lines of fatigue. As he watched, Reed sighed and scrubbed his hands over shadowed eyes. The unguarded gesture made Archer feel like a voyeur, so he cleared his throat and spoke. "You're a hard man to track down." Reed's head snapped up and his eyes widened when he realized who had spoken.

"Sir?" He said scrambling rapidly to his feet. An impassive mask fell over his features, leaving no trace of the weary man Archer had seen earlier.

"No." Archer said quickly. "Sit, please." Reed regarded him warily before obeying and he remained tense as Archer took the seat next to him.

"Pretty isn't it?" Archer waved a hand at the window. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of this view."

"Yes. It's quite lovely." Reed said. An uncomfortable silence stretched out between them. Finally, Reed spoke again. "Sir, I'd like to apologize for my behavior earlier. I was..."

"That's not what I'm here for, Malcolm." Archer cut him off. "And I'm not going to put the papers through."

"Sir?"

"Your resignation. I won't put the paperwork through."

"Sir, I don't think..." Reed's voice was pained.

"Do you really want to leave that badly?"

"Captain, the crux of the matter still remains. I can't perform my duties the way you want me to. I'm not good enough to do it and if I try..." He hesitated and then continued in a soft voice "It's better for the ship if I leave."

"So you're going to give up on me that easily?" Archer asked.

"I thought you'd be happy to have my resignation." Reed replied. "After all, we've clashed on issues of security more than once."

"Yes we have." Archer sighed. "And I'm beginning to think that I haven't been entirely fair to you. We have to walk a fine line between security and diplomacy out here. It's not easy, particularly with the Vulcans looking over our shoulders all the time. I can tell you right now that I won't always take your advice on security matters, but in the future I will at least give it proper consideration. Believe it or not, I do learn from my mistakes. Give me a chance to prove that to you." Reed gave Archer a long measured look as if trying to judge his sincerity.

"Very well, sir." He said quietly.

"We'd be delighted to come down and tour your capital city, High Chancellor Vashell." Archer said to the heavy-set alien on the view screen. Reed frowned a little at Archer's quick acceptance of the alien's invitation.

"Excellent!" The High Chancellor said. "We'll expect you and your people in about an hour, Captain. I'll have my aide transmit the landing coordinates to you."

"That went well." Archer commented to no one in particular as the view screen went blank. "Hoshi, Malcolm, you're with me. Travis, prep a shuttlepod." Reed couldn't help the shiver of anxiety that rolled down his spine and he found himself reflexively rubbing his fingers over the thin white scars on his right hand. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Captain," he said, "I recommend that we take a security team along." Archer nodded.

"All right. We'll meet in the shuttle bay in forty-five minutes."

"Armaments?" Reed asked.

"What would you suggest?" Reed started to recommend standard side arms, but he suddenly couldn't resist seeing exactly how far Archer was willing to bend.

"Well, sir, given our scans of their technology I would recommend taking the new phase rifles."

"I see." Archer said slowly. "That would be...acceptable."

"And perhaps we should take a few stun grenades as well, just in case." Behind him, Reed heard a small snort of smothered laughter from Tucker and he discretely elbowed the man in the stomach.

"Stun grenades." Archer said. His voice was still pleasant but he now had a decidedly sour look on his face.

"Yes, sir. They're a bit like handkerchiefs. You don't need them very often, but when you do they're quite useful to have on hand." Mayweather and Sato were both bowed over their stations trying to hide their grins. Archer's hands were tightly clenched on the arms of his chair.

"Very well, Lieutenant. Anything else?" Archer's amiable tone was forced.

"Well, some heavy antipersonnel stun mines might be nice to have if we..." Tucker burst out laughing and comprehension sparked in Archer's eyes.

"Very funny, Lieutenant." Archer said dryly. "Let's leave the antipersonnel mines at home this time, shall we? This is a diplomatic mission after all."

"Point taken, sir." Reed replied. "Perhaps standard side arms would be more in keeping with the spirit of diplomacy?"

"Yes, I believe they would be. Now go pull your team together." Reed gave a curt nod and headed for the lift. "And Lieutenant?"

"Sir?" Reed said uneasily, expecting a harsh reprimand for his inappropriate humor.

"Why don't you bring along a couple of stun grenades. Just in case."

"Thank you, sir." Reed replied with a small smile of satisfaction. "I'll do that. Just in case."

~the end~