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“Good evening, commander.”
Reed nodded at Cutler but waited until she had finished the work on her pad before speaking.
“What’s the verdict, Liz?” he asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the curtained-off area and to where Cutler was patiently waiting for him to prepare himself for her answer.
It had been two weeks of Reed virtually living in sickbay - his usual overenthusiastic workload cut in half as he focused mainly on the departmental needs that could be taken care of remotely - two weeks of Reed trying desperately to match his breath with Archer’s as he sat, eyes closed, and pretended that everything was fine.
It had been two weeks too long and Reed was nowhere close ready to hear that it might be longer.
“The captain’s injuries are progressing along rather nicely,” Cutler said, indicating to the chart she picked up before passing it over to Reed - he gave the pad a cursory look before dismissing it as a bunch of medical jargon, half of which was in shorthand. “I won’t know about any lingering neurological trauma until we wake him up - from our preliminary scans, however, his diagnosis seems pretty clear.”
“You want to take him out of the coma,” Reed surmised, and he knew that he most likely sounded a little faint if the way Cutler made an aborted motion to hold onto his arm was any indication.
“It’s your decision, of course,” Cutler said. “Do you want to take a seat, Malcolm?”
“I’ll sit next to Jon,” Reed finally said, “and you can do what needs to be done to wake him up.”
Cutler nodded.
Reed felt Cutler’s eyes on his back as he jerked open the curtains and took the seat next to Archer’s bed. He was pale and had lost weight from being fed only through the IVs - not for the first time Reed thought that he should have given him a shave so he wouldn’t wake up with a half-grown beard. There was nothing for it now, however, and Reed would gladly listen to Archer complain for hours about how scraggly it looked - at least then it meant that he would be awake and able to speak.
“It might take a few hours for the captain to wake up,” Cutler warned; Reed nodded idly as he fussed with the thin medical blanket that was already perfectly smooth against Archer’s body. Archer was usually a restless sleeper - Reed had the bruises to prove it - and the stillness of his medically induced coma kept Reed in a perpetual state of anxiety.
“I’ll be here,” he said after too long of a silence. “In the interim, however, I’ll comm Trip and T’Pol.” He paused and looked up at Cutler. “Unless you’ve already done that.”
Cutler shook her head. “You’re the first to know, Malcolm.”
The faint beeping of Archer’s bio monitors had become almost steadying during the hours he had been holed up in sickbay, unable to keep himself away from his husband even though Reed knew, logically, that he would not wake up without him knowing full well about it beforehand.
When they had first gotten together, Reed had been worried about something like this happening - him, unable to do anything but be practically useless because apparently his stolid professionalism was thrown in complete disarray when forced to watch his husband lying on a bed, preternaturally still, and feeling as though he couldn’t look away for fear of something going wrong - but as their relationship progressed straight through a month, through a year, and through the next six, there was no doubt in his mind that his own professionalism could be absolutely damned where Archer was concerned.
He wondered, then, what his life might look like to his younger self, but realized that he would mostly just be surprised about the fact that he was happy. And though Reed might have done the hard bits, the leg work, himself, Archer had been the impetus and sometimes - Archer asleep on the bed as Reed came in from a double shift, watching water polo with half a mind as he pretended to be more interested in the game than in the way Archer’s eyes lit up, sharing a look of tired resignation over a diplomat’s head - the driving force, itself.
“I’m going to start now,” Cutler said, interrupting Reed from his rumination. “There’ll be a change in the captain’s biometric readings, but it’s to be expected.”
Reed realized, belatedly and only as Cutler was already inserting the chemical cocktail into Archer’s IV, that her warning had been for Reed’s benefit - Archer’s bio signs spiked sharply, a cacophony of blaring alarms ringing in Reed’s ears. He locked himself into a perch on the edge of the chair, trying to ignore every sense that told him to jump over the bed and stop Cutler from killing his husband.
“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” Reed’s fingers dug into his biceps, breath caught in his throat until Archer’s breathing evened out - and with it, the rest of his readings.
Despite Cutler’s earlier words, Reed still half-expected Archer’s eyes to open in the minutes after his bio signs slowly changed from the deep ones of a coma and into the more moderate ones of unconsciousness.
“He is going to be asleep for at least another two hours,” Cutler said, taking notes on her pad as she busied herself with Archer’s bio signs. “Now’s the best time to speak with both Commanders T’Pol and Tucker, I think.”
Reed nodded but couldn’t make himself move from his position on the chair. Cutler moved behind him; the touch shouldn’t have bothered him - he had been a spy, for God’s sake - but he found himself holding back a flinch as Cutler’s hand landed, heavy and sympathetic, on his shoulder.
“He’ll wake up soon enough, Malcolm,” Cutler said. She smiled a little, then, and the expression nowhere near close enough to reach its full potential. Reed tried not to think about if that meant anything. “Talk to who you need to, eat something, take a shower, and then come back.”
“Okay.”
But when he looked over his shoulder as he reached the doors of the sickbay, Reed couldn’t help the twist in his gut that told him he was not yet treading water - that there was a lot more ocean to go.
Archer was, to Reed’s relief, still sleeping by the time he got back to sickbay - freshly showered and feeling more invigorated than he had for quite some time - and he nodded to T’Pol on her way out of the room.
“Hey, Trip,” he said as he settled into the chair by Archer’s bedside once more. “You and T’Pol ready for Jon’s backseat piloting?”
“Always,” Tucker replied, grinning down at Reed from where he was standing on the other side of Archer’s bed. “But it’ll be better when I don’t have to worry about anything other than my engines, you know what I mean?”
“That’ll be soon enough,” Reed said, trying to insert some optimism into his tone - by the vaguely exasperated look Tucker gave him, he didn’t quite succeed.
All Tucker actually said, however, was, “It helps that he has you to take care of him.”
“Though he’ll undoubtedly whinge about it the entire time I try to do so.”
Tucker grinned. “Remember when you got shot two years ago?”
"Which time?" Reed asked wryly.
"With the..." Tucker trailed off as he seemed to rack his brain for the name of the species that had shot Reed. "It was one of the numbered planets. XJ-57G?"
"57B."
Tucker snapped his fingers in agreement. "So you remember it."
“Vaguely,” Reed lied - Archer’s incessant mother-henning was still fresh in his mind, and while he mostly looked back upon his recovery in fond memory, that cloying sensation was still present every time he ended up in sickbay.
“I have no doubt that you’ll be worse, my friend.”
“May God help us all,” Reed replied.
In the easy camaraderie between he and Tucker, Reed half-forgot what they were waiting for - Tucker’s easy words loosened something in his shoulders, and he knew that if Archer were awake he would be laughing about the fact that all it took was a bit of friendly bickering for Reed to let loose some of his tension.
The two of them laid vigil at Archer’s side for the better part of an hour before there was a movement from the bed. One became two became Archer groaning as his arms twitched from their place at his sides.
“I’ll get Liz,” Tucker said, backing up a couple of steps before he turned around to go and find Cutler.
Reed hardly heard him, Tucker’s words blending into the roar in his ears as he watched Archer continue to struggle with consciousness.
“Jon.” It was strangled, a rock lodging itself into his throat as he fought for breath. And he found himself half-standing over Archer’s bed, hovering his hands over Archer’s face but unable to find it within himself to actually touch him. “Jon, you have to wake up now - you’re an absolute idiot and I want to kill you myself, but you need to wake up for me to do that, yeah?”
Archer’s eyelids fluttered once, twice, three times, before they opened a crack, unfocused for a little while before he blinked and finally stared up at Reed - he felt a few tears slip down his cheeks but didn’t bother to wipe them away as he said, “You owe me a drink the next shore leave, you tosser.”
Cutler bustled in, then, followed hot on her heels by Tucker - he grinned brightly at Reed when their eyes met, and Reed couldn’t help his tremulous smile in return. Reed let himself be shunted off to the side by Cutler, then, and shifted from foot to foot as he watched her check Archer’s physical responses.
“Good to see you awake, Jon,” Tucker said during a lull of Cutler’s explanations, shooting Archer a smile before he nodded at Reed. “I’m gonna go and tell T’Pol - she’ll be ecstatic.”
Reed almost asked Tucker how he could tell ecstasy from irritation in T’Pol, but held himself back by the simple fact of not wanting to know the answer - by Archer’s narrowed stare, he was most likely thinking along the same lines. He grinned at Archer, conspiratorial, as he shuffled closer to the side of his bed - Archer smiled back, but it was tinged with a confusion that made Reed hesitate in reaching across the distance to touch him.
“Jon, are you alright?”
Archer’s confusion turned almost instantly into surprise and Reed felt the backs of his knees start to sweat.
“‘Jon’?” Archer echoed, voice rough from disuse - he nodded at Cutler as she handed him a cup of water, but kept looking at her as though he expected to see someone else. He looked back at Reed once more, and while there was a fondness in his eyes, it was more than a little distant - Reed suddenly couldn’t breathe.
“Lieutenant Reed, are you alright?”
An arm was there to steady him as he swayed a little on his feet and Reed whipped his head around to look at Tucker, who was focused on Archer with an intensity he normally reserved for his engines.
“This ain’t funny, Jon,” he warned. Reed didn’t know how to tell Tucker that this wasn’t a joke at all. This was absolutely real.
“What could I possibly be joking about?” Archer asked crossly, eyeing Cutler as she moved in close to him. “And no offence, crewman, but where's Phlox?”
“Phlox is on Denobula,” Reed heard himself say, voice distant to his own ears as he stared down at Archer. Archer, who kept looking back at him with an increasingly worried expression but didn’t do anything about it. Because he probably wasn’t thinking about Reed in anything more than vague concern. Because he didn’t remember that Phlox had left Enterprise years ago and that Reed was now a commander. And if didn’t remember that - if he seemed startled by Reed calling him ‘Jon’, well...
“You might be confused for a couple of days, Captain Archer,” Cutler said. “I’m the CMO now, and you’re on board Enterprise.” She looked at Reed, then - briefly sympathetic - before she turned back to Archer, the epitome of professionalism once more, and contined. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“Almost being eaten alive by a Varlac’c,” Archer said, clearing his throat before taking a few more sips of water. He looked on edge, glancing between Cutler, Reed, and Tucker in an increasingly agitated manner. “Why?”
“What year is it?”
And he knew what the answer would be before Archer could even open his mouth - Reed had been on that away-mission with him, and after the incident with the Varlac’c the two of them had shared a conversation that had led Reed down the path of accepting his crush on Archer as something deeper. That had been -
“2152.”
- just over seven years ago.
He barely felt it as Tucker tightened his grip on his waist and forcibly moved the both of them away from Archer’s bed and into the decontamination room - a series of highly efficient steps that Reed would have never been able to manage on his own.
“You heard the doc,” was the first thing Tucker said, loud and demanding all of Reed’s attention. “Confusion can last a couple of days.”
“Yes, but losing seven years?” Reed asked - and even to his own ears he sounded plaintive, beseeching for Tucker to assuage him.
But all Tucker said was, “We’ll see what Liz says.” He paused. “Do you want to - ”
“What would the reason be for me going in there?” Reed asked, a wave of exhaustion sweeping into him all at once. “My presence will undoubtedly agitate him more. No - I’ll wait for Liz to give me the go ahead.”
A horrible thought occurred to him in a rush. “What do I do about our quarters once he gets out of sickbay?”
Tucker’s glare was almost acidic as he forced Reed to look at him. “We’ll worry about that if it comes down to it.
“Stop freaking out, Malcolm - I’ll get Liz and we can all talk, okay?”
Reed nodded and let Tucker lead him over to the bench, sitting down heavily and only slumping down further as Tucker finally let go of him.
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle this,” he said.
“You will,” Tucker replied. “You’re Malcolm fucking Reed and you’re married to Jonathan goddamn Archer - it’s like an immovable object and an unstoppable force.” He continued to glare at Reed until he nodded again. “Now tell me that you’ll be able to handle this.”
“Of course I will,” Reed said, taking one breath, two, three, before straightening himself out. “It would be absurd of me not to.”
“Good.”
“Good,” Reed echoed.
“I’ll be back soon.”
‘Soon’ ended up being roughly forty-five minutes later, Cutler following Tucker into the decontamination room - Reed had barely moved, mind almost blissfully empty as he sat and methodically sorted through the equations of the long range EM-disruptor he had been tinkering about with.
“We’ll have to give it a couple of days,” was the first thing Cutler said to Reed, sitting down next to him on the bench with a small sigh. “This sort of amnesia, while not common, isn’t entirely off the scale of possible outcomes from a medically induced coma.”
“I saw the statistics,” Reed said, running a hand through his hair before he brought it back down, useless, to his side. “What do we do now?”
Reed could be proactive, he could scrape up optimism until there was nothing left of him because he couldn’t imagine giving up on the two of them, on the life they had built together, due to Archer’s ill-timed amnesia.
“We wait,” Cutler said. “Tell him things in pieces he can handle and, if a few days pass - well, we’ll go from there.” She paused. “I don’t have a specialty in neurology.”
“I’ll advise T’Pol to keep our current bearings to Earth,” Tucker said in reply.
“Other than not remembering the last seven years, is there anything wrong with Jon?” Reed asked.
“No, he’s pretty much in perfect physical health. He’ll have to stay in sickbay for the couple days, regain his strength, but he should be up and ready to leave soon enough.”
“Do I tell him about…” Reed paused and furrowed his brow as he wondered how, exactly, to concisely fit everything he and Archer had become to one another into his question.
“Yes,” Cutler answered, not seeming to need the rest of Reed’s words to understand his meaning. “It would be a shock otherwise, once he starts remembering things.”
Reed held in the ‘if he starts remembering things’ that was on the tip of his tongue, nodding at Cutler in acquiescence instead. “Shall I go now, then?”
“I can’t imagine there being a good time for this,” Cutler answered, which was an assurance enough for Reed. His spine cracked a little as he stood up - between that and the bone-deep exhaustion settling deep into his chest, Reed had never felt older than he did right then.
The walk back to the main area of sickbay was shorter than Reed would have preferred; Tucker left him there with a ‘stop by Engineering once you’re done here’ and a half-hug that Reed pretended he didn’t desperately need right then. He ignored Archer's close - sharp and assessing - stare.
“So, I’m assuming that in the last seven years we’ve become good enough friends that the first name thing isn’t weird,” Archer said once Tucker had left and Cutler had started to take stock of her supplies - Reed knew, however, that she was listening in on their conversation, waiting for a signal that Archer wouldn’t be able to handle the amount of information that would soon be thrown at him.
“We’re…” Reed trailed off as he sat in the chair beside Archer’s bed, a familiar occurrence ruined by the fact that Archer was on a completely different page than the rest of the universe. He took a breath and looked down at his lap - Archer was looking at Reed askance, as though he had never seen him quite like this before. Which, to be entirely fair, wasn’t exactly far from the truth from Archer's perspective.
And how could Reed distill their years together into a few words? Distill them into something that would make sense to a man who had never seen Reed as anything other than a subordinate who hid behind militaristic professionalism and British reserve.
“Jon - we’re married. We’ve been married for three years.”
The wedding band on his finger seemed to mock him as he stared down at his hand, Archer keeping silent far too long for him to be thinking anything good about what Reed had just said. But he was, as Tucker had put it, ‘Malcolm fucking Reed’ and instead of cowardice, he forced himself to meet Archer’s eyes once more.
Archer’s expression was unreadable and Reed didn’t know what to expect when he finally spoke.
“You and Tucker know that playing pranks on your amnesiac captain can be considered insubordination, right?”
Reed had let himself be beaten, tortured, drowned, burnt - a myriad of physical and mental tests that he had been forced to endure- simply because it was a necessary part of his job, and because of those experiences, Reed had always prided himself on having a high pain tolerance. The punch to his gut at Archer’s words, however, was physically staggering, and he knew that nothing could compare to this.
“I’m not - ” he began, tearing his gaze away from Archer’s unamused stare and to Cutler, who wasn’t even pretending to not be listening anymore. “I’m not joking Jon.”
Reed knew that his voice was cracking, that he was barely keeping hold of himself, that this house of cards he had built up in the last hour was already starting to sway from the force of Archer’s denial. Because Reed understood that, in the beginning, they were nowhere close to a sure thing - and he couldn’t actually blame Archer for believing their life together to be nothing more than a lark he and Tucker might come up with when faced with their captain who couldn’t remember past the year 2152.
“We’ve been together for six and a half years - you asked me to have a drink with you and I took it for the invitation that it wasn’t but it turned out alright because you said you had been thinking about kissing me for the last three months anyway.” And now that Reed had started talking, it was as though he couldn’t stop - hoping to see some spark of recognition of their time together in Archer’s eyes, something to show Reed that his husband was still there somewhere in the man that only knew his relationship with Reed as captain and lieutenant. “We spent a truly terrible shore leave together camping about six months after we got together - we had been bickering about who was the better Eagle Scout - and ended up lost for two and a half days because we had followed the wrong river. We were filthy and hungry and when I looked at you I knew that I had fallen in love.”
“I - ” Archer started, but didn’t say anything more as he shook his head.
“You told me that you loved me three days after that - that’s when we filed the official paperwork with Starfleet in regard to our relationship. Trip made fun of us for weeks but honestly it would have been worth it a hundred times over.”
Archer shook his head again and from his peripheral Reed saw Cutler start to walk over.
“I proposed completely spur of the moment, didn’t even have a ring,” Reed continued, words stumbling over themselves in their haste to get out of his mouth - Archer’s expression was careful, he was looking at Reed as though he were something unexpectedly and unwantedly fragile and Reed felt his anxiety ratchet up a notch at every word that didn’t produce the change he desperately sought. “I proposed and you were incredibly annoyed because you had been planning something for three weeks beforehand and I went and buggered it all up by something I had planned for all of thirty seconds. You said yes, though - you said yes and gave me the ring you had been hiding in your pocket for a week and a half.”
“Lieutenant, I - ”
Reed carried on, Archer’s interruption more background noise to the absolute breakdown he was headed towards. “Some of the admirals didn’t want us serving on the same ship once it was clear we’d be getting married - that our relationship was permanent and so was our desire to stay together. There were days of meetings between the retrofits of Enterprise, they went low enough to bribe me with my own command.” Despite the circumstances, Reed couldn’t help the small smile at remembering how that particular attempt to keep them apart had finally been dealt with. “You, of course, made a stirring speech in the last hour and convinced them to let us continue to serve together.”
“Commander,” Reed heard Cutler warn and Archer was looking at Reed as though he were some foreign thing - a language so alien that even their prototype translators couldn’t pick up the meaning of the words. He opened his mouth, closed it, and Reed could see the frustration building in Archer’s eyes and he knew that he should quit before he made things worse, but he couldn’t stop himself from the running commentary of their life together.
“We got married in San Francisco, but not at Starfleet, and I had Hoshi as my witness because you won Trip in a poker game. She was better though, in the end - kept me calm, away from thinking that you’d soon find being married to me a terrible mistake.”
“Reed, I don’t - ”
“It was June the 23rd, a Thursday, and because it’s the city it began to rain halfway through the ceremony and everyone’s clothes got absolutely ruined, but you looked so gorgeous that I kissed you before we even got to our vows and the - ”
“Stop!”
Reed stopped.
His blood pounded in his ears, but even he could hear Archer’s gasped breaths as he glared at Reed.
“Just - stop.”
“I’m sorry,” Reed said, small, posture shot to hell and gripping his own arms so tight he wouldn’t be surprised if he found bruises the next day.
“I don’t…” Archer paused and shook his head, still looking at Reed as though he didn’t quite know what to make of him. “I don’t remember. And when you told me all that, I didn’t feel - anything, really.”
Reed’s breath hitched and he felt his cheeks flush in the tell-tale sign that he needed to get out of there if he wanted to keep a shred of his dignity intact - but he was devoted, and he wouldn’t leave until Archer forced him.
“Captain Archer, Commander Reed,” Cutler began “Maybe this isn’t the best time for this conversation.”
“Were we happy?” Archer asked, blowing past Cutler’s concerns with his usual lack of tact.
“Yes,” Reed said slowly, clearing his throat to keep his next words from sticking. “We were happy.”
“Are you sure that I was?” Archer asked the question carefully, but when Reed locked eyes with him, he could see the cold calculation. “I mean, I could have forgotten anything and everything and all I did forget were the years we were together. What if there was a reason I forgot the times that I did?”
“Captain, that’s not at all how - ”
“I should probably leave.” Reed interrupted Cutler quietly, light-headed as he jerked himself to his feet. There was a haze in his mind, in his vision, and he knew that his hands would be shaking if he held them out. He couldn’t breathe and it was worse than drowning, worse, almost, than anything he thought he could live through. Because Reed would have never dreamt there to be a reason for Archer’s memory loss, had been so assured in their relationship that the thought had never even crossed his mind.
But what if it had crossed Archer’s?
“You probably should,” Archer agreed and there was a sort of vindictive triumph in his eyes that left Reed gutted as he walked out of sickbay.
Reed somehow managed to trace his way back to his quarters without incident, body on autopilot as he moved through the corridors blankly.
It was only when the door closed and Porthos lumbered slowly over to him - letting out a small ‘whuf’ of excitement to see one of his favourite humans - that Reed’s small bubble of shock finally popped.
“Oh, Porthos.” Reed’s voice was a wreck and he fell to his knees to hold tight onto the dog that had become his own. “Porthos, you’re the best dog ever and I - ”
His gaze caught on the photograph that Archer had placed on the corner of his desk a few years ago. It had become a part of the scenery, had not moved except for cleaning, and even though he caught a glimpse of it practically every day, Reed had quite forgotten about its existence until he was staring at the candid shot that Tucker had taken of the two of them on an away-mission.
He let Porthos go - the beagle whinged as though cognizant of Reed’s turbulent emotions - and shuffled on his knees to the desk, to the photographic evidence of their happiness. Because they were - they had been - happy. They had been so damn happy that it sometimes had made Reed breathless.
Tracing the edge of the frame, Reed drank in the captured memory.
They had been at a festival - ostensibly a cultural learning experience but mostly a chance to get pleasantly tipsy and enjoy a mission where nothing went wrong - and Archer had given him half of a token that had been explained to him to be woven through with a priestess’ blessing of eternal love. It had been at that moment that Reed knew he would be absolutely incapable of loving anyone else for the rest of his life - that he was absolutely ruined for Archer. Tucker had taken the picture as Reed had leaned up to kiss Archer in lieu of saying that very thing - when Reed looked close enough at the photo, he could see the glint from the half tokens in their hands.
The two of them had been in love, they had been happy - Reed couldn’t let himself be dissuaded otherwise, not if he wanted to keep himself sane until Archer remembered for himself.
“Liz told me what happened.”
“At least I won’t have to repeat it,” Reed said, not bothering to look up to where Tucker was looming in the doorway.
“You know how Jon gets when he’s frustrated and feeling helpless,” Tucker said, picking his way through the room to sit on the bench next to where Porthos was laying, half-asleep on his dog bed.
“And that’s why I’m not taking what he said to heart.”
“Oh, you aren’t?” Tucker asked, raising an eyebrow towards where Reed had started to half-heartedly separate his belongings from Archer’s.
“So much of this belongs to the both of us,” Reed said, staring down at the book in his hands. “There’s seven years here and I can’t be expected to remember who bought what book, can I? I can’t be expected to know how to divvy up the pads and the knick-knacks and the stash of good liquor we keep in the back of the closet. I can’t be expected to tear my entire fucking life in half, Trip - how the bloody hell am I going to do that without dying?”
“You fatalistic asshole,” Tucker replied, dropping to his knees after he made his way to Reed and pulling him in tightly against his chest. “Now listen to my heartbeat and breathe.”
“I’m not having a panic attack,” Reed denied, closing his eyes as he tried to match his breathing with Trip’s own.
They sat there until Porthos got curious enough to meander over to them, snuffling his way between the two of them as he sought their attention.
“Thank you,” Reed said as he pulled away, urging Porthos onto his lap with a quiet whistle that the dog had taken to with ease.
“You’re my best friend, Malcolm - this isn’t a hardship for me.” He paused. “Well, it is, but - ”
“I know what you mean,” Reed interrupted. “However - if I’m your best friend, what does that make Jon?”
“My weird older brother that I’m forced to spend more time with because he’s married to you.” The reply was prompt, an age-old punchline to an age-old joke between the two of them.
And it was a little like pulling teeth, but eventually Reed could take a deep breath without feeling like he still wasn’t getting enough air in his lungs.
“You just need to give it a little bit of time, okay? Stop all of - ” Tucker gestured towards the detritus from Reed’s flurry of work, “ - this, get some sleep, and we’ll talk to Cutler tomorrow. I’ll meet you here for breakfast at 0800.”
“You don’t trust me to get to the mess by myself?”
“Not at all,” Tucker said - Reed was pitifully grateful for him, trying to insert some of his usual humor into their conversation when everything else around them was horribly wrong. And despite the small voice in the back of Reed’s mind hissing ‘petty petty petty’ to him, he also couldn’t help but be jealous of Tucker - he at least had a prior relationship to fall back on with Archer, and all he had lost were seven years of bad jokes and even worse missions.
“Now get some rest, else I’ll sic T’Pol on you.”
“And have my dreams interspersed with her droning on?” Reed asked facetiously. “I’m quite alright without all that, thank you.”
Tucker left, then - a whirlwind of motion that Reed had gotten used to but still found marginally fascinating - and Reed looked down at Porthos as the dog shifted himself further into his lap.
“Jon will be back soon enough,” Reed promised, scratching Porthos behind his ears, “and then you can get some proper attention from the both of us, 'uh?”
There had been no significant change to Archer’s condition during the night - Reed, while not particularly surprised by this fact, still felt his heart skip a couple of beats when Cutler shook her head to his unasked question.
“He wouldn’t necessarily mind speaking with you again.” Cutler’s statement was as kind as it could be considering the circumstances, but all Reed could think about was the fact that Archer never used to mind speaking with him ever.
“Provided," Reed started - a solid attempt, he felt, at nonchalance, "I don’t go off into a strop again, yes?”
Cutler nodded and said, “I’ll be monitoring you two, of course.”
“Of course.”
They were silent for a few moments before Reed snorted, knowing very well that there was an ugly sneer on his face when he turned towards Cutler. “This entire situation is absurd. I’m going to apologize to Jon for talking too much about our life together.” He clenched his hands into fists and tried to breathe evenly - getting angry wouldn’t benefit anyone, but the swirling in his gut didn’t seem to care much at all about that. “You know that any other time he would have loved hearing me talk myself hoarse about how much I adore him - might’ve made him blush, not like it’s all that difficult to do. But no - you know what I get? My husband telling me that what we have isn’t fucking real to my face.
“And when he remembers - how am I supposed to just forget?”
“You don’t.”
His anger left him in a sweeping motion that caught him reeling, and Reed looked sideways at Cutler. “That’s nowhere near proper advice, Liz.”
“I’m a physician,” Cutler said, “not a therapist.
“But while we’re on that note,” she continued, “I would suggest bringing something tangible with you on your visit. A physical reminder of your relationship - maybe a wedding photo?”
“God no,” Reed disagreed, laughing a little at the absolutely horrid photos they kept tucked away and only brought out when absolutely plastered. “He’d only wonder how we stayed together at all.”
Cutler hummed a little for Reed to continue - he was certain that she was not particularly interested in the story she had already heard, but he appreciated the willing ear nonetheless. “Trip took the photos, and while his candid skill is undeniable, his professional skill - as you know - leaves much to be desired.
“Didn’t much help that we were all dripping wet and thoroughly soused…”
He couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “Maybe I will bring them.”
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Cutler agreed.
Reed hesitated in the doorway - the curtains that had been previously pulled around Archer’s bed were open and the man himself was sitting up, concentrated on whatever he was reading on the pad Cutler had most likely given him.
And if Reed didn’t move he could pretend that nothing was wrong apart from Archer’s physical injuries. If he didn’t move he could pretend that when Archer looked up, there would be that familiar spark in his eyes that told Reed everything that words could not. If he didn’t move he could -
“I have a wedding ring.”
“I should bloody well hope so,” Reed said unthinkingly, before wincing. “Fuck - sorry, Jon.” He paused and bit his bottom lip - a nervous tic that had only worsened as he got more comfortable in his life. “Captain, I mean - sorry.”
“I took it off to see if there was a tan line.”
“There is,” Reed said, gaze steady on the wall behind Archer’s right shoulder and pointedly not acknowledging the fact that his husband had kept the ring off of his finger.
“I think I can handle you calling me Jon.”
It was easy acquiescence compared to his mood the night before and Reed had no chance against the rush of hope that maybe, just maybe, some affection towards him still lingered in the recesses of Archer’s mind.
“Cutler said that you were going to bring some photos? Might help me get some of my memories back?”
Reed nodded and tried not to take Archer’s scepticism to heart.
“Might as well sit down, then, lieu - ” Archer paused. “You’re a commander now, right?”
“That’s what they tell me,” Reed replied, sliding in the seat next to Archer’s bed - the chair was surprisingly comfortable and Reed huffed a little as he said, “I think the seat’s finally contoured itself to my arse. Took bloody well long enough, I suppose.”
“You’ve been in here a lot?” The question was mild but as Reed’s gaze sharpened on Archer, he saw him squirm a little.
“I was here more often than not,” he finally said, not really wanting to get into the details with a man who, in his current state, might not appreciate knowing just exactly how often Reed had sat at his bedside.
“This is your favourite picture.” His change of conversation was nowhere near smooth but Archer took it with grace and grabbed the framed photograph from where Reed was holding it out for him. “It’s usually on your desk in our quarters.”
He couldn't stop himself from watching with a careful eye as Archer brought the picture closer to himself to get a good look at it; Reed didn’t know if he was waiting for a reaction from Archer or if he was just afraid he might be careless with something Reed now found exceedingly precious to him.
“Newlyweds?” Archer asked, and Reed could tell that the word felt strange on his tongue - he tried not to let himself be too bitter to the fact.
“Not even engaged,” Reed replied, trying - and mostly failing - to keep his tight grin at bay at the incredulous look Archer shot at him. "We were together about six months here."
Archer blinked at Reed - the obvious assessment in his eyes felt so much like the months before they had gotten together that Reed almost felt himself fall back into the blushing and idiotic prat he had become around Archer once he realized he had terribly inconvenient feelings for him.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry?” Reed asked reflexively.
“Yeah,” Archer agreed. “For what I said yesterday.” He waved the framed photo around a little - Reed twitched and barely stopped himself from grabbing the thing and holding it against his chest to keep it safe. “I knew it wasn’t true when I said it.”
“Yes, I quite realized that you were deflecting.” And while the statement was true enough, if Archer still had his memories he would full well know that Reed knowing something did not necessarily equate to him actually believing it. But if Archer still had his memories, they wouldn’t have been put into this position in the first place - which only led to circling thoughts that Reed felt better well left enough alone.
Archer seemed surprised at his concise assessment, however, and Reed was hard-pressed not to roll his eyes. “For God’s sake, Jon, we’re married - I know virtually everything about you.”
He realized too late that that was not likely the best thing to say in consideration to their circumstances. An apology on the tip of his tongue, Reed was surprised to see Archer looking more wistful than anything else.
“What’s the matter, then?” he asked instead. And while Reed knew what he was about to do might only make matters worse, he still reached over to take Archer’s hand into his own.
“Honestly?” Archer asked - most other times he would respond with a flippant, ‘no, please do lie to me, darling,’ but he felt as though that weren’t particularly apropos for this iteration of his husband. “I just - wish I could remember. Something. Anything, really. Or feel something, even. I want something that comes from me, not from second-hand information.”
“Bone-deep,” Reed surmised. “Yes, I understand why you might find that a mite more reassuring than anything from me.” He shrugged and squeezed Archer’s hand briefly before letting go. “Biases and all that rot.”
Archer’s fingers tightened around thin air for a second or two after Reed had given him his hand back, and he tried not to put too much thought into the muscle reflex - hope as its wont, however, continued to spring eternal and Reed filed away Archer’s small motion and accompanying confused frown as the potential beginnings of something bigger.
“You have more photos?” Archer asked into the silence. Reed nodded, taking back the frame that Archer handed him, before pulling their wedding photos out of the envelope they usually resided in.
“Now,” he began, fixing Archer with a stern look, “before I show you these, let me preface with this: Trip took them, and he should never quit his day job to become a professional photographer.”
“They’re terrible, aren’t they?” Archer asked, motioning towards the photos with what Reed could only deem ‘grabby-hands’. “Let me see them.”
He looked absolutely pleased as punch as he snickered his way through the small collection of pictures - which, Reed shouldn’t have been surprised, really. Archer might have been missing seven years, but he was still the same man he had always been.
It was a pleasant thought and one that buoyed Reed through the rest of his conversation with his waylaid husband and into the beginning of his work day - the wide shot one of his techs made dampened feeling that right quick, but Reed figured that was neither here nor there and the matter entirely out of his hands, regardless.
“How is the captain’s well-being?”
Reed glanced up from the report he was skimming and moved his lunch tray a little so T’Pol could join him at the small table.
“You could visit him and ask for yourself,” he said.
T’Pol raised an eyebrow but didn't answer further.
“His emotions are all over the place - you’d like it, I think.”
“You’re beginning to sound like Trip,” T’Pol said - Reed replied with a pert ‘thank you’ instead of taking her words as the pot-shot they were obviously intended as.
“After one experiences neurological trauma, mood swings are to be expected.”
“Been reading up on brain injuries, have you?” Reed asked.
“Jonathan is an important person to me,” T’Pol replied, stolid as always.
She then began to eat her salad, and Reed figured that they were done with conversation.
Reed was halfway through changing out of his uniform when the smell hit him. He looked down at the vest he had put on - a little long, a little baggy, definitely not his - and felt his knees buckle.
“Oh, fuck,” he whispered into the floor, forehead pressed onto his knees as he tried to both get away from Archer’s scent and cocoon himself within it. “Oh, fuck me.”
He woke up the next morning with cotton in his mouth, the worst headache he had since Tucker’s fortieth birthday soiree, and a half empty bottle of Glengoolie next to him.
“Oh, fuck me,” he groaned out, wincing at the volume of his own words. Porthos lumbered over to Reed as though he had been called and Reed glowered down at the old dog. “Couldn’t have stopped me, ‘uh boy?”
Porthos looked solemnly up at him with his watery eyes, prompting Reed to roll his own - only to regret the action as it immediately shot a spike of pain through his head.
Drinking his sorrows had seemed like such an amazing idea the night previous, crying into his snifter pathetically until he had decided to forego the glassware and drink straight from the bottle - the melodrama stayed much the same, however, despite his best efforts.
He managed, but with quite a bit more effort than he would have liked, to get to his knees and then to his feet, a flurry of expletives marking his way up. Cutler would most likely give him something for the hangover, but Reed didn’t really have the desire to see Archer at the moment - or, more honestly, have Archer see him at the moment. And so Reed stumbled his way to the loo, Porthos trailing behind him. He wondered, idly, just exactly how obvious it would be to the rest of the crew as to how Reed spent his night - he looked a fright, he was quite sure, but it wasn’t as though he could do anything about the matter with the resources he had. Groaning again, he looked up at his reflection, intent on giving himself a thorough dressing-down for his behaviour.
The mirror was spiderwebbed, warped and cracked, his reflection interspersed with narrow lines that didn't belong on his face quite yet. Reed blinked at it once, twice, three times - because, yes, there was a definite fist-sized impact that spread out over the rest of the surface, marring whatever was being reflected. He looked down at his hand, saw the swelling, and immediately began to feel the pain emanating from what he could only assume to be a number of broken bones.
There was nothing for it, then, except to go to sickbay and have it taken care of - Reed might have been foolish, but he wasn’t a complete tosser. The night previous excluded, of course.
“Fuck me.” He tried to move his hand a little, wincing at the motion.
“Porthos, go back to bed,” he commanded the dog, snapping with his left hand to keep him away from investigating the loo any longer. There didn’t seem to be any actual shattered glass, but he didn’t want to chance Porthos accidentally getting something in his paw, prompting Reed to tote him along to sickbay, while all the while knowing that Porthos’ injury was his own bloody fault.
He looked down at himself - Archer’s vest and his own trakkies - and decided he was presentable enough for the interrogation from Cutler he knew he was going to be on the receiving end of.
“Reed to Tucker,” he said into the comm, waiting for Tucker’s ‘what’s up, Malcolm?’ before saying anything else.
“We’re going to have to postpone that meeting, Trip - I have to go to sickbay.”
A pause. “Is Jon - ”
“I broke a mirror last night,” Reed interrupted, “and most likely a few bones.”
“It’s safety glass.” Tucker’s incredulity was evident even through the comm.
“It’s not as though I actually remember doing it.” His defense was unnecessary and most likely just made Tucker more concerned than he might have been had Reed simply agreed with him, but it was now out in the open and that was that; Reed heard Tucker sigh.
“Do you want me to…?”
“Thank you,” Reed replied, “but I’m quite sure I can manage well enough.” He probably wouldn’t, but Tucker didn’t need to know that. And by Tucker’s unconvinced hum in response, Reed knew didn’t manage the nonchalance he had been attempting to convey. “I’ll bring Porthos along - he can visit Jon whilst I get my hand taken care of.”
“Okay,” Tucker finally said, “but come down to Engineering when you’re done and we can meet then - Lord knows there hasn’t been anything to keep everyone down here busy and out of my hair.”
“Echo that,” Reed said before disconnecting the line.
He glanced in the mirror once more - he looked pathetic, but there was nothing to be done for that, he supposed - and half-heartedly scrubbed his uninjured hand through his hair; Reed was as good as he was going to get.
“Come along, Porthos,” he called out as he re-entered the main part of his and Archer’s quarters. “Do you want to go for a walk?” Porthos’ ears perked up at the word ‘walk’ and Reed waited until the dog had made his slow way over before opening the door.
“Let’s go and visit Jon, shall we?” he asked Porthos rhetorically, thankful for the dog’s slow gait as the lights of the corridor discombobulated him for a few moments.
Porthos let out a small ‘whuf’ and Reed nodded down at him. “Quite right.”
“Good morning, Malcolm,” Cutler said as Reed and Porthos entered the sickbay.
After a quick perusal, however, she added, “Or a not-so-good morning, it seems. What's wrong with you?”
Reed held his hand up in reply before nudging Porthos in the direction of where Archer had begun to watch them with interest.
“Go on, then,” he encouraged, rolling his eyes as Porthos only looked up at him in supplication.
“Yes, yes, fine.” He scooped Porthos into his good arm and deposited him on Archer’s bed. “Keep Jon company and I’ll feed you after I get this taken care of, hmm?”
Porthos whuffed again and Reed made his way back to Cutler before Archer could say whatever was currently running through his mind - his poker face had always been atrocious and Reed knew his husband was holding onto a question that Reed had absolutely no desire to answer.
“What happened?” Cutler asked quietly, scanning his hand with a small frown. “Two broken fingers, and your thumb’s metacarpal is fractured.” She paused. “What did you punch, a hull casing?”
“My bathroom mirror.”
“That’s… High-grade safety glass.”
“Yes. Well.” Reed shrugged. “I was drunk and irascible. Not a particularly winning combination, it seems.”
“Would you like something for the hangover?” Cutler asked, rummaging through a drawer before holding out an osteogenic stimulator - it was a prototype, but Reed figured that he was happy enough to be a guinea pig if it meant not having to deal with a substantial recovery time.
“Well, as I’m already here,” Reed said, keeping his hand still at her command.
“Is this something you need to talk about?”
Reed tried to smile at her, but it came out as more of a grimace. “I thought you weren’t a therapist.”
“I don’t need to be a therapist to see the problem.”
“If needs must,” Reed said, “then I will.”
“I think you might be there, Malcolm.”
“Oh no,” Reed disagreed easily, throwing a look over his shoulder to where Archer was petting Porthos, his narrowed stare on Reed’s back growing to such intensity that Reed couldn’t help but meet his gaze. He smiled a little, trying to ease Archer’s worry - Archer smiled back, hesitant, but seemed to take Reed’s small comfort for what it was - before turning to Cutler once more. “I still have hope, Liz, flighty tart as she may be.”
“That is a surprisingly diplomatic way of thinking through the matter,” Cutler said after a little while. “Just for that I’m going to actually give you something for your hangover and not just the placebo I was going to.”
“I’m grateful that my astounding maturity has swayed you.”
“As you should be,” Cutler replied. “Now, the stimulation process is going to take about half an hour, so you’re going to stay here until the process is finished.” She paused, as though considering her words, and her next statement was loud enough for any prying ears to hear. “You’re welcome to move around, of course, but I don’t want you leaving the sickbay - there’s been some complications during the end processes and while they’re nothing to really worry about, you might need some pain medication to take the edge off.”
“Liz, please don’t tell me I’ll be able to feel my bones stitching themselves back together.”
“If I didn’t tell you that, I’d be lying.”
Reed sighed. “Bugger.”
Cutler smiled, unrepentant in the face of his misery - Reed couldn’t disagree that he didn’t deserve it, however, and so he kept his mouth shut from any further commentary as to her bedside manner. She turned, then, to direct her next statement towards Archer.
“Make sure Commander Reed doesn’t leave, alright?”
“He is a flight risk,” Archer agreed easily.
For a moment it was so perfectly normal that Reed was hard-pressed not to simply walk over to Archer’s bed and kiss him senseless.
“But I don’t think there’s much anyone could do if he decides to head out.”
And the moment was gone.
“Too true, captain,” Cutler replied, “but I know for a fact that you do better than most.”
Archer blinked, confused, before a wry understanding seemed to overtake him. “Yeah, that would be the case, wouldn’t it?”
No one said anything and the silence grew to an uncomfortable point before Cutler finally nodded and made her way into the store room.
“You wanna sit with me?” Archer asked after the door had closed behind Cutler. The question was light enough but there was an undercurrent of tension in the words that Reed couldn’t quite parse through.
“If you’d like,” he said, trying not to sway as he stood up and moved to the other side of the sickbay.
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring in Porthos sooner,” he said once he sat down. “I’ve forgotten how terribly boring it can be here without proper distraction.”
“It’s fine,” Archer replied, lips sucked into his mouth as he looked Reed up and down. “I’m surprised he’s still alive.”
Reed snorted. “That dog will outlive us all, mark my words.”
Neither of them spoke, then, for a little while and Reed desperately kept himself from interrogating Archer for anything he might have remembered in the last two days.
“What happened to your hand?”
“I was drunk and angry.”
Archer looked down and scratched Porthos behind his ears. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Jon,” Reed said, but he was sure his tight smile and exhausted tone didn’t help Archer’s guilt. “All you need to focus on is healing - I can deal with everything else.”
“I feel as though you shouldn’t have to.”
And Reed didn’t say anything to that for a moment, because he couldn’t find it within himself to completely disagree.
“Well,” he said finally, shrugging - Archer had hunched over himself a little and Reed couldn’t have that. “When needs must and all that.” He paused and smiled at Archer, thankful that this time it was a little more real. “Besides, this isn’t the first time you’ve needed me to handle things.”
“What do you mean?” Archer asked and Reed huffed out a laugh.
“Oh, darling - it’s a boring story, I’m sure.”
Archer raised his eyebrows. “Try me.”
“Well...” Reed drew the word out, ignoring Archer’s beseeching stare for a few seconds. “Yes, fine, but it doesn’t put you in the best of lights, so don’t say I didn’t warn you, ‘uh?”
“You remember when the four of us were stuck on - ” Tucker twisted himself to face T’Pol, the drink in his hand sloshing only the slightest bit.
“Ibjaras,” T’Pol supplied, taking a small sip of her water before raising an eyebrow. Obligingly, Tucker drank some water as well before turning to Reed and rolling his eyes.
“Remember Ibjaras?”
“Unfortunately,” Reed said, downing the rest of his drink in a quick swallow. “And what I wouldn’t do to forget it.”
He stopped, then, and grimaced. “What I wouldn’t do for Jon to remember it.”
“Malcolm - ” T’Pol started, the corner of her mouth twitching down as she set her glass on the desk.
“I apologize.” Reed waved her off. “I’m getting maudlin, I suppose.”
“Understandable,” T’Pol said before Tucker could even open his mouth - undoubtedly something irreverent that, in Reed’s current state, he would most likely not take in the best of humour.
“nother drink?” Tucker asked instead, holding out the bottle to Reed.
He shook his head and indicated to his hand. “I don’t want to risk another incident, but thank you all the same.”
Tucker nodded but his lips twisted in a frown as he began playing idly with the rim of his glass. “Do you know what’s going to happen if - ”
“Is this the appropriate time, Trip?” T’Pol asked mildly; Tucker gave her a bewildered look. Reed found himself marginally surprised by her tact as well - logic dictated, after all, that contingency plans were always best when made early. He supposed, however, that T’Pol was not the prime example of a logical Vulcan.
“Is there an appropriate time?” Tucker retorted, gesturing towards Reed with his chin to indicate him in the question as well.
“Not particularly,” he said in reply, leaning back in his chair. He massaged his temples in a futile attempt to stave off his encroaching headache.
“You okay?”
“I’m going to head off, I think,” Reed said, nodding at Tucker and T’Pol. “Thank you both for…” He trailed off and shrugged. “Everything, I suppose.”
“Anytime,” Tucker replied earnestly. “Just comm me, okay?”
“Ta.”
“Doctor Cutler is letting me out of here tomorrow.”
“Yes, I heard,” Reed said, petting Porthos for a few moments before taking the chair at Archer’s bedside. “All healed up now, and all for the better I should imagine.”
“Well, mostly.” Archer tapped his temples lightly.
And though there was really no humour to be found in the situation, Reed started to laugh.
“I’m sorry,” he managed to gasp out, gripping his arms as he tried to keep his shaky hands hidden. “I’m not laughing at you, I swear, I just - ”
“I get it,” Archer interrupted. In a surprising move, then, he reached over and gripped Reed’s arm. “It’s fine, Malcolm.”
And while Reed knew that saying his name - in comparison to everything else the last three days had thrown at his husband - was absolutely the smallest concession Archer could make, it was, to Reed, one of the first moments in the last three days he felt as though he could breathe.
“Tell me something else.”
“What sort of ‘something else’?” Reed asked, leaning his elbows against the edge of Archer’s bed when it became apparent that he would not be letting go of Reed’s arm.
“Something stupid.”
“Well, I don’t know if I have any…”
He paused, struck by a memory, and nodded decisively to himself.
“Two and a half years ago, the both of us - Trip and T’Pol included, of course - ”
“Of course.”
“ - were on a scouting mission on a planet called Ibjaras. Now, don’t get me started on the security issues of having all of your senior staff on the same away team - ”
“Because everything’s usually fine,” Archer protested, his expression mulish even in the face of Reed’s obvious exasperation. “Which is probably what I always say, but let me ask you this: has anything ever gone so wrong that you’ve instituted a security policy that I couldn’t get around if I wanted to?”
Reed narrowed his eyes. How in the universe Archer was able to suss out their perpetual cold war, Reed couldn't possibly fathom, but he couldn’t help the small thrill of hope that shot through him when he caught sight of Archer’s triumphant expression.
“Yes. Well. Ibjaras tested just that.”
“But you didn’t do anything about it.”
“Well, we all did survive,” Reed admitted begrudgingly.
“I knew it.” Archer’s words were a little crowing and Reed didn't even try to hold in his scoff at his antics.
“You’re the absolute worst, I’ll have you know that,” Reed said - it was either that or ‘God, I adore you’.
“Yeah?” Archer asked, smirking a little. “Is that why you married me?”
“I married you because I’ve apparently found myself out to be a masochist.”
“I could have told you that the day I met you,” Archer said flippantly.
And in the aftermath of what would constitute as one of his worst fears brought to life, Reed would argue that it was the familiarity of the statement, more than anything else, that made him do what he did.
“You’re absolutely ridiculous, Jon, I'll have you know that,” he said, before leaning in the foot or so of space between them and kissing him.
For a few glorious seconds it felt like home - and then Archer stiffened, lips pulling tight against Reed’s own.
Reed’s brain kicked back in, then, and he pulled away from Archer with a gasp. “I’m so sor- ”
Archer held up a hand and Reed shut his mouth with an audible snap.
“I think you should go.”
“Yes, of course,” Reed said. The chair tipped over as Reed pulled himself up and away from Archer - the hand Archer had on his arm hovered in the air for a moment before it was tucked away at his side. “Of course, I’ll just - ”
He didn’t bother to finish his statement as he turned around, only to stumble a little as he collided with the fallen chair. Porthos woke up at the ruckus and managed to jump onto the ground with a quickness that didn’t befit his age, trotting over to Reed’s side as Reed regained his bearings.
“Stay with Jon,” he managed to bite out, voice catching and ending on a crack. “Stay, Porthos.”
He was nowhere near ashamed to admit that he fled sickbay.
If someone had asked Reed to quantify his life, he would never have dreamt the answer to be four storage containers and two garment bags.
“Is that everything?” Tucker asked quietly, obviously uncomfortable.
“Yes, I believe so,” Reed said, taking in Archer’s quarters with a steady eye and a racing pulse. “I went through it all - everything’s gone apart from what’s solely Jon’s.”
The quarters looked half-empty - it was obvious to even an untrained eye that someone had moved out in a bit of a hurry - but Reed figured that he would let Archer deal with the redecorating as he wished to; Reed wasn’t quite up for the task of making the last vestiges of their life together disappear entirely.
“There’s always a chance - when we get back to Earth, I mean - for Jon to...”
Reed smiled at Tucker and patted his shoulder. “You’re a good mate.”
“So you’ll pay the next time we go out on shore leave?”
“I’ll cover you for the next two,” Reed said and held up three fingers in a lazy Scout’s Honor.
“It’s high time, then,” he continued after a little while, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “I’ll be in my office the rest of the evening, I believe.”
“Will you leave?” Tucker asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” Reed admitted honestly. “Most likely not for awhile.”
He looked at Tucker, then, but didn’t say anything until he held Reed’s gaze. “I know I don’t have to ask this of you, Trip, but I will regardless - do what you can for Jon, alright? When we get back to Earth, I mean - when there’s nothing left to be done for him.”
“I’ll do whatever I can, you know that,” Tucker said. “But like I said, there’s still a chance.”
Reed nodded. “It’s best to be prepared, however, and that chance is getting slimmer by the day.” He paused. “And we won’t be at space dock for another fortnight.”
Tucker sighed. “This is fucked up.”
“Yeah,” Reed said, “it really is.”
He and Tucker left Archer’s quarters, then. Tucker turned away as Reed placed his hand on the door for a moment, letting out a shaky breath as he pulled away from his previous life.
“I’ll walk you to your office,” Tucker said, but patiently waited out the next forty-five seconds as Reed gathered himself.
“It’s been four days now and the captain is as physically healed as he can be,” Cutler began, looking uncomfortable as she stood at attention in Reed’s office. “I can’t do anything more for his neurological state than I currently am." A pause. "We should seriously start looking into options for once we get back to Earth - the window of opportunity for natural memory restoration is... lessening.”
“Jon can make his own medical decisions,” Reed said tiredly. He had, in the fruition of his earlier prediction, slept in his office the night previous - unwilling to face the dusty, sterile environment that made up the quarters he had resided in before he had slowly migrated his way into Archer’s.
Not wanting to think too hard upon what Cutler had just said, however, he instead focused on the fact that he needed to stop thinking about Archer’s medical decisions as an extension of his own.
“You’re still his husband and he doesn’t know what’s best for him right now. He’s suffering from amnesia and I don’t have the medical knowledge to know if he can be trusted to make a competent medical decision.” She sighed and rested her hand on Reed’s shoulder. “I’ll send you the information - you look at it and give me your opinion, okay?”
Reed nodded absently, but both he and Cutler knew that if Archer didn’t get his memories back, Reed's opinion wouldn’t matter.
The rest of the day sped by Reed in a blur - he had pulled what amounted to be almost triple duty before Lieutenant Valdes had finally gotten sick of him and kicked him out of security halfway through gamma shift. Despite his annoyance at being kicked out of his own domain, however, Reed knew that he was quickly approaching the last dregs of his energy and understood his banishment to be the best for all involved.
He sighed and tried to focus on the pad in front of him - the medical jargon that he had never fully grasped and the fact that he could barely keep his eyes open did him no favours. But it might be the last thing he could do for Archer and he couldn’t find it within himself to give up the ghost until he fully passed out.
Reed awoke to an annoying persistent shaking of his shoulder.
“Go away, Trip, ‘m fine,” he said, blearily trying to shove Tucker’s hand off of him with little success.
“No, you’re not.” A pause and Reed blinked his eyes open, confused - because that wasn’t Tucker's voice. “And that’s my fault. I should've - Jesus, Malcolm, I'm sorry.”
“Captain,” Reed mumbled, rubbing his hand down his face before he forced himself to meet Archer’s stare. “You don’t have to be sorry, sir, there’s nothing for- ”
“I remember now.”
Reed’s heart stopped. “What?”
“I love you,” Archer said. Reed watched in mute shock as Archer crashed to his knees and buried his face in Reed’s stomach, wrapping his arms around Reed tightly. “God, Malcolm, I love you so much.”
“Jon?” Reed asked, placing a shaking hand hesitantly on the top of Archer’s head.
“I was looking through my desk and I found the other half of that damn token I gave you on Kintazasese.”
He pulled Reed down to the ground with him, then - Reed’s stupefaction made him more pliable than he usually was, he was sure - and placed a solid kiss against Reed’s slack mouth. Not seeming to mind the lack of response, Archer pulled away and pressed their foreheads together instead.
“I remember, Malcolm. I do, I promise. I love you - I'm sorry - I love you.” His words were accompanied by the flurry of his fingertips pressing against every piece of skin that Reed's uniform left open.
“Oh.” The sound was punched out of him and he gasped in a breath to compensate, his own hands fluttering uselessly for a moment before they settled - one on Archer's jaw, the other on his shoulder, and both gripping onto his husband tighter than was most likely comfortable for him. “God, Jon, really?”
“I remember everything,” Archer reiterated, desperation laced in every kiss he traced down the side of Reed’s face. “So come home, okay? It’s empty without you.”
Reed nodded dumbly before he took Archer's hand away from where it was stroking down the shell of his ear and brought it up to his face, pressing his mouth to the ring that Archer had put back on. He didn’t move for awhile, sure that if he did, Archer’s presence would disappear entirely and Reed would find himself waking up alone in his office once more.
“Malcolm?” Archer tangled his fingers in Reed’s hair as Reed buried his face in his shoulder, unable to stop the minute shaking that had seemed to overtake his body. “It’s fine now - I’m okay. I'll make us okay.
“I was stupid. I was so stupid and I might've ruined us and I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, you utter prat,” Reed mumbled, voice catching as he gripped Archer tightly, scrubbing his tears on Archer’s shoulder and trying not to smile as he felt Archer do the same into his hair. “You didn't remember - I shouldn't have expected you to... reciprocate seven years' worth of a relationship. I kept hoping, but - ”
“I know.” Archer pulled his face away, then, and stared at Reed for a long time. Reed was, of course, powerless to do anything but the same.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Darling, you don’t have to ask,” Reed said and immediately proceeded to get choked up by Archer’s grin of a delighted response.
It was the kiss that Reed didn’t know he had been waiting for since Archer had first woken up. It was an entire lifetime’s worth of emotion and promise and hope, all rolled into the press of Archer’s lips against his own. It was all-encompassing and everything Reed had needed and absolutely, devastatingly perfect.
“I love you, Jon,” Reed said, a little dizzy from the adrenaline pumping through him. “I love you - I missed you. I wish we weren’t married so we could do it all over again.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Archer laughed and Reed didn’t hesitate in kissing him again.
“Let me take you back,” Archer said once they had managed to barely pull themselves off of each other. His eyes were intense, mapping over Reed’s face as though he were trying to memorize it - make it an indelible mark in his mind. “Malcolm, let me take you home. We can get married again if you want - we can do anything you want, I swear it, just - ”
“Yes,” Reed interrupted, kissing Archer’s temple, his cheek, his jaw. “Yes. I never wanted to leave.”
“I know. I’m sorry - I love you.”
“I love you and nothing else even fucking matters.”
And that was the absolute truth.
Reed woke up, half expecting to be slumped over his desk after the second night spent in his office. The heartbeat against his ear quickly disabused him of that notion.
“It’s morning,” Archer said quietly, tracing light fingers over Reed’s shoulder blades. “I still remember.”
“We should go to sickbay, have Liz look over you,” Reed replied. He didn’t move, however, except to trail his own fingers up and down Archer’s arm. Archer, to Reed's staunch relief, didn’t seem all that inclined to move either, and instead pressed a lingering kiss to the top of Reed’s head.
“Yeah,” Archer finally said, sliding down the bed a little so he and Reed were nose to nose. “But how about later?”
“It’s not as though it makes a difference now,” Reed agreed before kissing Archer - a heady press of their lips as Reed enjoyed his morning for the first time in quite awhile.
"Since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.
The End.”
- The Princess Bride