Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Someone always dies. Always.”

- The Organians, Observer Effect

O Death, O Death, won’t you spare me over ‘til another year?

- line from a traditional American folk song, hauntingly sung by Jen Titus

Archer looks out the shuttlepod window as Travis takes them down.

“You said if we weren’t back by day then my officer would be - “ he forces out the word - “gutted.” He gestures to the sun. “Well it sure looks like daytime to me.”

Jamin and Nadette watch him warily.

“Well?” he snaps.

But they continue to take refuge in dumb, maddening silence.

Frustrated, he contacts Enterprise. “Are you still picking up Malcolm’s biosign?”

“We are,” T’Pol says, and some of that awful tension in his stomach eases.

“Keep monitoring him. And keep an eye on the others too. Let me know if there’s any change. Archer out.”

Travis is listening to the conversation, his posture tense. Archer wants to tell him to pick up the pace, but he bites his tongue. Travis is doing the best he can, and he knows what’s at stake too.

Still, he can’t help but feel that they’re running out of time.

He tells Jamin and Nadet about the proposal to relocate the Novans, and Jamin’s resistance distracts him somewhat until the shuttlepod lands. He readies himself to spring into action, to race down the tunnels to Malcolm.

But then they fall, and they keep falling until they come to rest on the floor of an abandoned tunnel.

“You’re down about eight metres,” Trip tells them over the comm system, “but you should be okay.”

He nods. “You're going to have to build a rig to get this pod back on the surface.”

The tunnels, Jamin leading them down, down. Then the injured Novan - Akary - and Archer is working so hard to free him that he doesn’t hear the sound of his communicator at first.

“What is it?” he says, panting with exertion.

“Captain,” T’Pol says urgently, “our scans indicate a change in activity of the Novans guarding Lieutenant Reed. There are six biosigns with him now, and more are congregating.”

“Acknowledged,” he says, holding Jamin’s gaze. He flips the communicator away. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

Jamin looks at Nadet and then nods stiffly. “They are preparing.”

He points to the tunnels. “You need to get to my officer right now, tell them to stop.”

“And him?” Jamin jerks his head at Akary.

“I’ll carry him. Nadet can show us the way.”

Jamin hesitates, suspicious.

“Please!” he says, desperate. 

“You must go,” Nadet adds, urging Jamin, her eyes wide.

Reluctantly Jamin disappears down the farthest tunnel.

With grunts and strains he heaves the injured man along, Nadet guiding them, but they’ve only made it about ten metres before his communicator trills again.

“T’Pol?” he says, breathing hard.

“I’m unable to detect Lieutenant Reed’s biosign.”

Nadet is backing away from him, frightened.

“It is gone.”

O Death, O Death, won’t you spare me over ‘til another year?

Chapter Text

As they head down to meet the shuttlepod, there is this fear, like fire ants skittering over his skin. According to T’Pol, only one of them has survived.

When they arrive in the launch bay, an engineering crew is already working on the shuttlepod door, levering it open to allow Phlox to enter with his medkit. Archer follows behind.

Trip and Malcolm are sitting huddled together on the floor of the shuttle, shrouded in blankets, covered in ice. They are surrounded by items that speak of time shared; an empty bottle, a candle, and incongruously, a phase pistol.

They are leaning into each other, a frozen tableaux, and he thinks that T’Pol must have got it wrong: surely there are two dead men here, not one, until Phlox, kneeling, says, “Commander Tucker is still alive.”

A burst of activity; the medical team rushing in, Phlox issuing instructions, Trip lifted onto the stretcher and away, away, his blanket falling to the ground

and now it is only Malcolm who remains.

“Lieutenant Reed suffered a cardiac arrest,” Phlox says quietly as he gets to his feet. “Most likely due to the hypothermia, though I’ll have to perform an autopsy to be sure.”

“Can’t you do anything?” His own voice sounds far away.

Phlox shakes his head. “I’m afraid not. He’s been dead for hours.” He glances at T’Pol. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see to Commander Tucker.” He pauses at the hatch. “I’ll arrange for a team to retrieve the Lieutenant’s body.”

“Captain,” T’Pol says from somewhere behind him.

He crouches down in front of Malcolm. Malcolm’s very posture makes him ache. His faithful armoury officer is hunched over, eyes screwed shut, jaw clenched, like he died mid-shiver. Frost on his eyelashes.

He picks up Trip’s blanket and drapes it over Malcolm’s shoulders before standing.

T’Pol is watching him. “He wasn’t alone.”

He nods, and walks stiffly out of the shuttle.

O Death, O Death, won’t you spare me over ‘til another year?

Chapter Text

As soon as the shooting starts, one of the guards has the unfortunate presence of mind to open the trapdoor and both Archer and Malcolm drop into the air.

“T’Pol, cover us!” Trip shouts and he dives out of the cell ship towards them. He goes for the Captain first, a decision that will always come back to haunt him. He wraps arms around flailing legs and heaves him up to relieve the terrible pressure on his neck. Travis races to the top of the platform to cut him down. In the periphery of his vision he can see Malcolm twitching, spasming.

Then all at once they crash to the ground in a cloud of dust. A second after, Malcolm falls hard beside them.

“Get him in the ship,” Trip shouts over the phaser fire as he hauls the Captain up. Archer is conscious and trying valiantly to run with his hands tied behind his back, and as Trip drags him into the cell ship he sees Travis following behind them, Malcolm slung unceremoniously over his shoulder, unmoving.

“Our equipment,” Archer whispers hoarsely, straining to speak.

“Forget it,” he says as he dumps him unceremoniously on the floor and then lays down covering fire for T’Pol.

“I don’t think he’s breathing,” Travis says in alarm as he sets Malcolm down.

“I’ll see to him,” he shouts back, firing still, “get us out of here.” T’Pol leaps for the hatch and he pulls her onboard.

As the ship launches, he kneels over Malcolm. His friend is lying upon the deck, eyes open, unseeing.

He interlocks his fingers and with the heels of his palms he starts compressions, beating down on Malcolm’s chest, and Malcolm just lies there, uncaring, staring upwards, his body rolling slightly with each compression.

“Come on. Come on.”

He feels a bone break. T’Pol looks up sharply from where she is easing Archer into a sitting position, and he stares at her in desperation.

When he tilts Malcolm’s head back he finds his hands are shaking, and when he leans close to give the rescue breaths he tastes blood on Malcolm’s lips. “Come on,” he says again, resuming compressions, and he is still hoping for a miracle right up until the point T’Pol places her hands over his and bids him stop.

O Death, O Death, won’t you spare me over ‘til another year? 

Chapter Text

“Don’t send Malcolm. Send Hayes.”

“Excuse me?”

As dreams go, this one’s extraordinarily clear. Archer and Trip are sitting in his quarters watching water polo, something they haven’t done in a long time.

“Don’t let Malcolm lead the rescue party,” Trip says again. “On the Reptilian ship. Send Hayes instead.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been...changing things. Saving him. I’m not supposed to.” Trip starts to weep. “I tried to save Lizzie. Elizabeth too, but I couldn’t.”

A chill of fear. “You’re not making any sense. Who’s Elizabeth?”

But Trip just shakes his head. “Maybe I can slip this last death past them. A life for a life... It’s not right, I know, but I can’t...”

Afraid now, he grasps his friend’s shoulder. “Trip, what’s going on?”

Trip laughs and sobs at the same time. “I just miss you all, so damn much.”

Then the room explodes and he wakes, screaming.

But he sends Hayes.

And Malcolm lives.

O Death, O Death, won’t you spare me over ‘til another year?