Reed's Armory -- A Malcolm Reed Fanfiction Archive ..

Title: Amsterdam

Author: Taryn Eve

Author's e-mail: [email protected]

Fandom: Enterprise

Pairing: Archer/Reed, Reed/Other

Rating: R

Category: Slash

Summary: Reed's last day in Amsterdam leads to his current posting on Enterprise.

Comments: Thanks to nostalgia for the challenge, and for the story working sessions. "Ask me, I won't say no, how could I?" Thanks to downinnewyork for beta reading. Thanks to Kim for telling me to try Archer/Reed.

Beta reader(s): downinnewyork

Archived to Reed's Armory on 04/22/2002.

Part One: The Message

Jon poured an amber-colored wine for his dinner companion, his hands steady despite his nerves.

"I wouldn't suspect grapes could grow on a desert world," Malcolm said, his quiet voice slicing the silence between the two men.

Grinning, Jon picked up his own glass. "Vulcan is full of surprises."

Malcolm laughed for the first time that evening. Resuming his seat, Jon studied his lover's face, caught in the absence of tension. The years seemed to drop away from the younger man, as Malcolm finally relaxed.

"I have always wondered what would have happened if we humans had been the first ones to contact the Vulcans, instead of the other way around," Malcolm said, staring into his glass.

Wincing, Jon shook his head. "Do you ever want to remake the past? Just chuck it all, start all over?"

Before Malcolm could answer, the doorbell chimed. At Jon's order, the door slid open. Both men looked at the hesitant figure of Hoshi Sato, clenching a padd as if she were afraid it would fall.

"Come in, Hoshi," Jon said, wary of the news she was bringing. The communications officer had been downloading messages from Earth for hours. His Starfleet dispatches had been pretty routine, but the look on the young woman's face suggested bad news in its most primal form.

Crossing the room in swift strides, the ensign paused before Malcolm. Jon's stomach tightened. Malcolm had confided that his sister hadn't been in the best of health for a number of years...Madeline. Her name was Madeline, he thought.

"You might want to read this in private," Hoshi said diplomatically, casting a worried look at Jon.

Malcolm looked away from her, to the padd, which he took with some reluctance. "Thank you, Hoshi."

"If you need to talk, Malcolm, you know where to find me," Hoshi said, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Malcolm squeezed her hand. "Thank you, love."

Patting his back, she nodded at Jon, then left the room.

Jon stared at the padd, knowing that someone had vanished from Malcolm's life, and afraid of the pain his lover might confront. Mr. Reed might be the ship's Armory Officer, but he had fragile defenses in certain areas of his heart. He looked up into Malcolm's still face. "I'll leave, if you like."

Malcolm started. "No, Jon. I'd best get on with it, then."

Hands shaking, he turned on the padd and read for a brief moment. Sighing one short breath, he turned it off. Staring at Jon, his eyes darkened with a flash of grief. Folding his arms, he looked away. Jon couldn't read his expression.

After a long moment, Malcolm picked up his wineglass and swiftly drained it. He set the glass down with careful precision, staring at the padd.

"Bad news?" Jon asked in a quiet voice.

Instead of answering, Malcolm stood up and clutched the back of the chair. "Yes," he said, dropping his napkin on the table. "I'm sorry, but I won't be able to give you an answer tonight. I know it's important for me to come to a decision...but I can't. Not right now."

Jon stood as well, and walked with him to the door. "I know," he said, careful not to touch the other man. "But I'm here if you need me."

Malcolm smiled for the second time that night. "I'll always need you, Jon Archer."

The depth of Malcolm's eyes struck Jon. A strong measure of love swam underneath his grief.

"Good night."

Malcolm stepped out of the room, leaving Jon alone despite his plans for the evening. Last night, they had finally taken the time to talk about their future together. Malcolm had a chance to leave Enterprise to be the first officer on the new ship Evolution. Despite their new relationship, Jon had urged him to take the posting. The other man had promised him an answer tonight.

They hadn't been lovers for very long. The regulations had only recently been relaxed to allow Jon and other Starfleet captains the necessity of maintaining human relations with their fellow shipmates. A few rounds of drinks, some shared misadventures, and Malcolm's sly sense of humor had thrown the two men together.

Jon didn't want to lose Malcolm. In a lot of ways, he brought out the best in him, and he quietly accepted the times when Jon was sick and tired of the good fight. Plus, the physical relationship had finally started to heat up, despite Malcolm's initial...well, coyness. Once he had melted down, Malcolm proved to be an adept lover. But when they started together, Jon had thought he wouldn't be able to break through Malcolm's reserve. He supposed it had something to do with the other man's English background.

Refilling his glass, Jon's eyes fell on the padd. Malcolm had abandoned and forgotten it on the table, next to the small red bowl of strawberries. Thinking of what to do with the padd, he drank the heavy wine through a lump in his throat. Hoshi already knew what the message contained, since she had downloaded it. Perhaps he should call her in, and return the padd to her. He and Malcolm had created rigidly defined boundaries in their lives as captain and armory officer, lovers and crewmates. The last thing Jon wanted to do was upset the perimeters with the other man. Using Hoshi as an intermediary would be the safe thing to do.

Setting the glass aside, he picked up the padd, then snorted. Malcolm might suspect him of being afraid of seeing his raw emotions. What if he needed him? What if he didn't?

Jon sighed and walked to the door, holding the offending padd as if it were a snake he had no desire to charm.

He'd take the bad news back to Malcolm. There was no one else in this sector of the galaxy whose shoulder he'd cry on.

He was damned if he'd let Malcolm stay alone. Not logical, perhaps, but Jon didn't need logic to love someone who needed him.

Part 2: Malcolm Hero

//Amsterdam: 17 Years Ago//

They never made love in a bed, he realized, as he reclined in the bath.

Malcolm kicked aside the toy boat, and splashed water on his belly. The boat irritated him, yet another of Steven's stale jokes at his expense.

Closing his eyes, he could see the yellow curtains he had abandoned in York. He'd left his Aunt Serena's house before Uni started, to follow the older man to his next gig.

Serena had been in North Carolina for a piano competition. With any luck, she had believed his note about a friend injured in a traffic accident in Scotland, and his parents wouldn't discover that he'd thrown everything over.

He hated to think of what Madeline would say, though. His sister had wanted to visit him, the rebel of the family. He had already said no to the naval career, the Scouts were gone forever. He had committed himself to the study of the literature of Dante and Chaucer when he met Steven during his first visit to a local pub.

The course of true sex never ran clearer, Malcolm thought wryly. Within hours, the dark-haired, blue-eyed Steven had turned him inside out.

The singer had laughingly invited Malcolm to join him on his tour. "You look like a tough man," he had said, with his Mancunian lilt. "I need you to keep me safe."

Malcolm had packed his bag, commended Serena's cat to the elements, and had taken the next transport out of York with his new friend.

Steven had been surprised. Apparently, no one else had followed the twenty-five year old out of town before. They had settled into a small hotel in Amsterdam later that night.

Six weeks later, they were still there.

Well, I'm still here, Malcolm thought, picking up the toy boat. God knows if Steven is still in the next room.

The gigs hadn't been as steady as Steven had implied on the transport. Sometimes he sang, most of the time he haunted the cafes and bars, looking for his next hit, or the next guy who sufficiently reminded Steven of himself.

Malcolm rose from the bath and stared at his blond hair, hating it. For some reason, Steven had insisted that he dye it weeks ago. Now Malcolm realized it was to distance him from Steven. He wouldn't be looking into a mirror anymore if it were a blond man staring at him disapprovingly.

Realizing that Steven was gone before he entered the bedroom, he searched for the cigar box. Three weeks ago, they had run out of money. Since no one would hire Steven anymore, thanks to his habits of feeling up the customers and staying high, Malcolm had become the working one of the family.

Snorting, he ran his fingers through his wet hair. He so rarely felt clean anymore. As an Englishman, he had felt the cold exclusion of the crowd Steven had offended, so he had put on an American accent with the shirt. In choosing to submerge his identity, he kept up with the rent due on the hotel room, and was able to give Steven the odd bits of cash now and then.

Strawberries, he thought. Those would be nice tonight. He had no idea if they were in season, but he had hopes. Perhaps Steven would come back, and they could find some strawberries, somewhere, on this sunny day.

He drew a deep breath, then opened the little blue cigar box. Empty.

"Fuck," he said out loud. "Fucking hell, Steven."

The rent was due in two days. It had taken Malcolm five days to raise that much cash.

Sweeping the cigar box off the dresser, he walked over to the side of the sofa, where he had abandoned his boots earlier.

He should have known better than to expect the best from the day, or Steven.

Returning to the dresser, he pulled out a fresh pair of socks, and dropped the boots to pull them on. Slamming his hand on the hard wood of the dresser, he cursed again, hurting himself as his temper flared.

The door opened. Steven threw him a lopsided smile.

Malcolm glared at the taller man. His lover smiled like a mistrusted angel, and offered him a bag.

"I brought you some fish and chips, friend Malcolm."

Malcolm sighed, unable to remain angry with him when he smiled in that way. He knew better than to believe that the smile was only for him. "Most people get flowers and candy from the fellows who fancy them."

Steven dropped the bag into his outstretched hands. "Someday you'll believe that you and I are never going to be 'most people'."

Smelling the fried food, so familiar to him from home, made Malcolm's eyes blink. "What did you do with the money, Steven? We owe most of it to Mrs. Dirksen."

Wiping his hands on his trousers, Steven shrugged.

Malcolm clutched the bag. "For God's sake, Steven, tell me all that money didn't go straight into your arm."

Leaning forward, Malcolm stared into the other man's dilated eyes. Large and dark as the night sky, he thought.

"Damn," Malcolm said, suddenly weary. "Go sleep it off, then."

Steven bit his lip, reminding Malcolm of the little boy he used to be, taking a scolding from his father. "You know I'm sorry, lad."

Lad, Malcolm thought bitterly. He had never been Steven's peer, let alone his lover.

He'd spent the last six weeks of his life as someone to keep the roof over Steven's head, to warm his body, and to give him the cash he needed to obtain the chemical confections he needed to make himself feel alive.

"Have I told you that I loved you today?" he asked, a hard edge to his voice that he'd never heard before.

Steven walked past him, to the small bed Malcolm wasn't allowed to share. "No," he said, not looking back as he sank down onto the mattress.

Malcolm scowled. "I love you."

"And you hate me," Steven said wearily. "Turn the light off, my man."

His anger flaring again, Malcolm squeezed the top of the smelly bag and yanked the door open. "Good night."

Steven didn't answer as he quietly shut the door.

Walking out of the building, he wondered how he could manage to raise that much money in so short a time. There was no question of asking for an extension. The stern woman who ran the hotel barely tolerated Steven already. Only Malcolm's profuse apologies and help with moving furniture had prevented their eviction earlier.

The bright sunshine, atypical of this cloudy region, burst over him. He drank it in, startled by the brilliance of the day. Most of the days, he spent sleeping in, after long nights of working, and occasionally comforting lovemaking with Steven.

Idly noting that he hadn't made it around to the museum yet, he decided to walk over there. He needed the fresh air, and the fish and chips would last him for the journey.

More than a few meals had passed him by during the last six weeks. He hadn't been hungry, during the early days with Steven, then they hadn't had much money. Steven had done all right for himself during gigs. The cafe owners had usually fed the singer after his sets were done for the night.

He hadn't done a damn thing for Malcolm, though.

Oh, come on, then, Malcolm thought sardonically. The fish and chips. Let's be fair.

A shout caught his attention. Malcolm ducked into the shadowed alley and stared at the two boys around his age holding a disheveled older woman between them. The woman aimed a kick at the knee of the shorter boy, while Malcolm launched himself at the taller, bulky one.

Malcolm's assault surprised everyone. The shorter boy hopped away from the boy and plucked at his companion's jacket, trying to drag him from Malcolm's pummeling fists.

They left, shouting Greek obscenities at the woman.

Malcolm blinked, surprised that he had retained so much of his combat skills. He had pretty much decided to bury them in advent of going to Uni. There were no assaults planned in the union, to his knowledge.

"Are you all right?" the woman asked, in a soft American accented voice.

Malcolm unclenched his fists, and put on his Texan persona. "Yes, ma'am. Are you?"

The woman's mouth twitched, and she smiled nervously. "My husband told me to be careful, but I just had to go find the museum on my own."

Looking her over, Malcolm decided she should probably head back to her hotel. Her face was very pale, and her brunette hair was slipping out of its ponytail.

She lifted her chin. "Do you know where the um-damn, I can't speak Dutch to save my life. It's a big museum."

Shrugging, Malcolm waved her along. "I was headed there myself."

He looked down for his bag of fish and chips. Somehow, they had been mashed in the fight.

His stomach growled loudly.

The woman smiled. "Listen, the least I can do for my hero is to buy you lunch. Is there a good place to eat around here? My name is Gina, by the way."

They shook hands. Gina had a firm grip.

"There's a cafe nearby," he said, his accent wobbling.

His adrenaline still bubbled. He wanted to go throttle someone else...

The woman grinned. "Good. I need a stiff something."

Malcolm waggled his eyebrows. "I can get you one of those, but it will cost you something extra."

Gina laughed. Malcolm smiled. Her slightly crooked teeth reminded him of his mother.

They made their way to the cafe, carefully searching for signs of their foes.

"You liked my fish?" the skinny owner asked Malcolm, while handing Gina a menu.

"Very much," Malcolm said, failing to find the man's name in his memory. He knew he'd shagged Steven a few times, though.

The owner shoved a pack of cigarettes at Malcolm, who stared. He didn't smoke, but recognized a peace offering.

Gina stared at the menu with a bemused look on her face. "I think I'll have the fish, too."

The owner nodded, collected his menus, and left for the kitchen. Malcolm palmed the pack of cigarettes and hid them in the pocket of his trousers. He could trade them for something else, later.

"Do you live here?" Gina asked, studying his features. "What's your name, by the way?"

"I don't live here," Malcolm said, leaning back. "Steven and I are saving up money to leave, really. My name is Malcolm."

They solemnly shook hands again.

"Damn, my husband is going to kill me," Gina said, opening her purse. "My first day in a foreign country and I almost lose all of our money."

"Usually it takes a few weeks here to lose everything," Malcolm said, stretching his aching hands. He'd punched the other guy harder than he'd thought possible.

Laughing, Gina shut her purse. "Sweetie, I don't mean to be rude, but can you drop the accent? You're about as American as you are blond."

Wincing, Malcolm sheepishly grinned. "Sorry," he said, falling into his normal speaking voice. "I find that my fellow Europeans treat me much better if they don't think I'm English."

The woman wrinkled her nose at him. "It's hard being a stranger in a foreign country. I work for the Vulcan Embassy, you know? In San Francisco. Some days I need to get thousands of kilometers away from them. I feel homesick on their behalf."

Homesick. Malcolm studied the word in his mind, and wondered if he wanted to return to England, if he dared to ask his sister for help.

"You aren't seriously a prostitute, are you?" Gina asked, staring at him. "I mean, you look like a normal college kid, or one of those Starfleet cadets who run around."

Turning his palms facedown on the table, Malcolm smiled. "I suppose I was a normal college kid, six weeks ago."

The cafe owner slipped plates heaped with food between them. Malcolm looked up into his eyes, and read a testimony of guilt there. Ah, Steven, did you betray me yet again today?

"There is more when you are ready," the owner said, contrition lining his voice.

Appetite turned to ashes, Malcolm pulled his plate closer and forced himself to eat.

"What were you going to study?" Gina asked, picking up a soggy chip.

Shrugging, Malcolm sprinkled salt on his fish. "Literature."

"You seemed more like an action hero back there," the woman said, frowning at the food. "Ever consider Starfleet?"

For the first time that day, Malcolm let his bitter laughter escape him. "Me? What the hell would I do among the stars?"

Gina took a small bite, then looked around the cafe. "What are you doing here?"

The moment went absolutely still. Malcolm turned the question around in his mind. What was he doing here? He was the glue to Steven's cracked psyche. The addict's accomplice. The boy whore. He was helping Steven creep toward his death, and his own would follow soon after, because one could not love Steven and stand still. He led, and Malcolm followed.

"I'm lost," he said softly.

Gina's gray eyes softened. "I've got a nephew in Starfleet. I can talk to him about you. After all, you're my hero."

Closing his eyes, Malcolm could see himself, ten or twenty years in the future, protecting a ship's crew, its captain, from the thugs and assailants who populated the stars.

He couldn't see Steven in that future at all. He wasn't sure he could bear the death of love, but he knew Steven had never needed him.

Opening his eyes, he offered Gina a small smile. "I'd like to hear more about this Starfleet."

She smiled. "Good. You've got two things my nephew likes in a guy: a nice right hook and a future."

Malcolm laughed. "Does he have any strawberries?"

Part Three: Two Good Men and One Dog

Jon paused before the door. Porthos nudged against his shin. It was a cowardly dodge, bringing the dog, but Jon figured that even if Malcolm didn't want to see him, he'd tell his troubles to his four- legged friend. Numerous log entries had proven that Porthos was an excellent listener.

The dog barked impatiently.

A moment later, the door slid open, revealing Malcolm, dressed in his sweat pants and a faded Lone Star T-shirt. He knelt down to Porthos and scratched his head.

"Hello, boy," Malcolm said softly.

Studying his red eyes and puffy face, Jon decided to leave, knowing that Malcolm hated to be emotionally vulnerable.

"I thought maybe you two could spend some time together," he said lamely.

A grin split Malcolm's face. "I've had flowers delivered to me, and a box of chocolates dropped on my doorstep, but no one's ever brought me a dog."

"That's true love for you," Jon said, laughing.

The other man's back stiffened. "Don't say things you don't mean, Jon."

Jon stuck out his hand, and helped Malcolm to his feet. They stared into each other's eyes. Jon's heart started to pound as he hung onto Malcolm's hand.

"I love you, Jonathan Archer," Malcolm said, with force. "God help you if you ever let me down."

Jon brought Malcolm closer and embraced him in a huge hug. "I know," he said, resting his head on Malcolm's shoulder. "I came to ask if you were okay."

Malcolm's heart sounded loud against his ear. "I'm not okay, frankly. Someday, I might be able to tell you about my first love, Jon. But tonight is for you."

Porthos barked and darted into the room. He scrambled on top of the bed, then jumped down again at a look from Jon. Pawing under a chair, he brought out a picture and dropped it at Malcolm's feet.

"Hey, that's Amsterdam," Jon said, peering at the museum in the background. Then he did a double take. "Blond?" he asked in disbelief.

"That fellow," Malcolm said, picking up the picture. "He left his heart in Spacedock."

Laughing, Jon pulled him closer. "Come here, Malcolm. God, I don't know what I'm going to do without you."

Malcolm closed his eyes. "Jon, I hate to disappoint you, but I don't want to go to the other ship. All my life, I've searched for my place in the world, and I'd like to think it's here, with you."

Pushing his joy aside, Jon took a step back. "Listen, it might be years before you have another opportunity like this. Evolution is the posting that could put you on the fast track to being a captain sooner than you expected."

Leading him to the bed, Malcolm sat down and pulled Porthos into his lap. "I know where I want to be. It's here, with you. Do you remember asking me at dinner if I ever wanted to remake the past, to chuck it all and start anew?"

"Yes," Jon said, touching his chin tenderly.

Malcolm leaned into him, cradling the dog. "This is my answer. I wouldn't change a damn thing. I had to live the past in order to reach you. So be it."

Malcolm laughed as Porthos stood up and licked his face.

Jon hugged him. Amsterdam to Enterprise--they would always have each other, no matter what convolutions time and memory brought them.

~the end~