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“Regnare tu dovevi,
Ed io— morir per te…”
(You were destined to rule,
And I— to die for you…)
~ Achille de Lauzières and Angelo Zanardini, Don Carlo
It wasn’t all that unpleasant, as prison cells went.
Clean, decently sized, ventilated by a (barred) window to the outdoors, provided with a soft mattress for the few nights its occupant was likely to have left…
That last part, of course, was really the problem.
The Tandarans had finally recaptured the troublemaker who’d interfered with their “private internal matters” (persecution of innocent Suliban), and, whatever diplomatic veneer might have lain over the surface, Archer knew they had no intention of letting him out alive this time.
The prison was guarded and shielded, and his captors were prepared, this time, for any attempt at invasion. T’Pol had said, when she visited, that she was trying every diplomatic channel (and, doubtless, quietly investigating the less-diplomatic ones), but Archer had seen the hatred in Grat’s eyes when they parted. This was more than just silencing an enemy, more than avenging what could be counted an act of war.
And now, of all times, to sit condemned and helpless, with Earth itself under existential threat…
It had been a week since the meeting with Silik’s employer when the boarding party had shown up, ten days since the horrifying news from home. Archer’s memories of the event were still confused — a lightning strike team, there for one goal and efficient in its execution.
Execution…
No, it likely wouldn’t be that. He remembered the strategy the Tandarans had used in their previous encounters, the deception and polite obtuseness they’d employed to keep him and Travis in their power until his crew had beaten them at their own game at last…
Killed while trying to escape, perhaps. Or some regrettable accident, an interrogator getting slightly carried away (“inexcusable, suitably punished, sadly too late to change what’s done”)…
Archer didn’t like admitting, even to himself, that death frightened him. But he could be afraid for his planet, concerned at the time Enterprise might be wasting in attempted rescue when, if the source was to be trusted, the nebulous “Xindi” were even now preparing a greater atrocity…
Two people were in the corridor outside, approaching at a measured walk, neither yet close enough to be seen through the grille on the cell door.
The footsteps ended, still just out of view, but a soft, muffled conversation revealed the sound of a familiar, reassuringly British voice as one of their originators — moments before the door swung open.
Malcolm walked into the cell with brisk purpose, watching the guard out of the room and the door once again shut upon them.
There was something muted about his smile of greeting, a sense of urgency to his movements; but not the urgency of fear Archer was familiar with, no agitation or nervous energy behind it.
The air of a man who knew exactly what his task was, that his time for accomplishing it was limited, and that, nevertheless, it would be done in that time.
“Captain.”
“It’s good to see you, Malcolm. What’s the news?”
Straight to the point.
“I’ve gotten you released, sir. You should be heading back to Earth within the hour.”
“You”?
That tone — that look in his eyes — Archer had been here before — with a Romulan explosive, and a brave man too ready to die.
But what could it mean, this time? What bargain could Enterprise possibly have struck at such a price?
Archer stood to face Malcolm, searching his expression; but, for once, the soft grey eyes truly gave nothing away.
He moved on to words.
“How? What do you mean?”
Malcolm’s voice slowed as he responded, betraying the faintest tremor at last.
“I’m afraid… this will be the last time we see each other, Captain. There was no other way, not with so little time to act— and you have to get home, to save the whole planet from these Xindi before they strike again…”
He must have caught the shock on Archer’s face, for the rest of his speech abruptly shifted tack.
“It’s been an honour to have served with you, sir. I don’t regret a single moment of my time on Enterprise, and I don’t regret doing this either.”
“Doing what?” Archer grasped his shoulder reflexively. “You stand there, talking like you’re about to — die—, and you still haven’t given me an answer—”
“There’s not much time to explain. What matters is this: You’re not the man who liberated the detention camp anymore. Not to the Tandarans, at least. They’ve uncovered proof that I was the true mastermind behind that operation.”
“You—” That made less sense than anything he could have imagined. “Who’d believe that?”
Malcolm hardly blinked.
“I did quite a good job planting it, if I do say so myself. I have… some background in covert ops, and certain records are easier to alter than people imagine. I was the operative who led the rescue, who was responsible for much of the planning behind it… I don’t know how long it’ll take them to uncover the evidence, but they’ve likely switched their attention to me already.”
Archer listened with growing horror. This couldn’t be allowed to happen, not for anything— not even for their entire world—
“T’Pol would never allow—”
“She doesn’t know, not yet; the others believe I’m updating you on our efforts. The decision was my own. I apologise for acting without orders, but there was little choice—”
“There’s still time.” Archer spoke without really thinking, mustering all his power of command and persuasion. “I’ll explain the truth, we will find another way—”
“No.”
It was Malcolm’s calm that was truly disturbing, his clear acceptance of the desperate path he’d chosen.
“You have to reach Earth safely, and we don’t have the time to waste. You’ll find another armoury officer — Ensign Sadeh’s perfectly capable — but there’s no other captain, no other person, who can do what you can under these circumstances. Enterprise needs its captain, sir. And, right now, Earth desperately needs Enterprise.”
Archer had turned away at those last words, refusing to countenance the idea.
And that was when he heard the shot.
The sound of a plasma weapon, so close he instinctively flinched away.
“What can they be shooting at?”
A prison break in some other wing? T’Pol’s rescue mission, at last?
The questions passed his lips and mind in about two seconds, before he felt Malcolm drop clumsily against his side.
Caught him, guided him to the mattress, saw the exit wound welling up blood in his chest…
The window…
“I wasn’t… expecting them to act so soon.”
Malcolm fell back into his captain’s arms, chest heaving with the effort of speech.
“I left… a message, for the crew. T’Pol will know — everything — by the time you’re free. I—”
An agonised spasm interrupted his words, and he clutched, with a compulsion almost spasmodic in itself, at Archer’s hand.
No— No…
Archer’s voice seemed to be frozen, blocked by impending tears, unable even to find a word of reassurance. He could only hold the dying man closer, caress his hand as some conduit for the emotion bursting through him, pray — yes, literally, he supposed, on the chance that there was someone listening — for any miracle that would undo the last minute…
Malcolm had found the strength to speak again.
“It’s all… all right, sir… Don’t worry about me— I’ve saved you— Enterprise— Earth— that’s what matters. Just… ah— remember— think of me— I don’t want to… die forgotten…”
Forgotten? Never…
How could Archer ever forget this moment, however painful the forming memory would be?
Forget the man he’d built a slow but heartfelt bond with over two years, worked so hard to understand and get close to, protected, or at least comforted, under similar circumstances twice before?
Forget how angelic, how fragile he looked, lying there with the colour draining from his face and his eyes fluttering to stay open?
“Enterprise… needs its captain, and… Earth… needs Enterprise… I don’t— regret—”
He gasped, coughing up blood, his hold on Archer tightening, becoming painful (not that physical pain mattered at all to Archer, right now), trying to pull himself up in a last effort.
“Find the Xindi— Captain— Good luck—”
A cry of pain, the final release of the suffering Malcolm had kept controlled that whole time, and—
That couldn’t be it. It couldn’t just be— over. Every tie that had been forged between them, all for nothing? Two years, countless experiences, every trial, every time they’d each been there when the other needed—
Archer couldn’t think anymore.
He let himself slump over Malcolm’s body, his conscious mind hardly functioning, abandoning himself at last to a requiem of tears.
They came to release him a few minutes later.
His first impulse was to reveal everything, to charge them with having — murdered — the wrong person and vent his anguish until they sent him to die in his officer’s footsteps…
But then it really would have been for nothing. He was silent.
Nobody stopped him as he walked out, Malcolm’s body cradled in his arms (lighter than Archer had expected… had he always seemed so small?), reached the waiting shuttlepod, forced his eyes to clear enough to pilot it to the rendezvous Malcolm had laid in.
T’Pol’s voice on the comm was a blur, to which he responded mechanically.
She would know by now… They all would… He recognised the shaking undertone that meant her emotional repression was finding its work cut out for it.
The shuttlepod docked.
Archer made himself control the grieving man, return, at least in public, to being the captain.
Enterprise… Enterprise needed its captain.