Work Text:
Meeting's Over, Mr. Reed
by MJ
mjr91@aol.com
"Really, Captain, if you'd take a look at—"
Lieutenant Malcolm Reed's voice trailed off in Jonathan Archer's ears as the captain of Enterprise looked down at the data padd lying on his ready room desk.
If there was one thing he could count on among the members of his senior staff, it was that Malcolm Reed could come up with more different ways to be an obdurate, stubborn pain in the ass than any other officer.
But Archer had known that when he'd asked Reed to take the Armory and Tactical posting on Enterprise. The man's obstinacy was all through his personnel file—he'd been passed up for promotion to lieutenant commander shortly before the Enterprise assignment because of it. Archer had prided himself on being able to handle anybody, and Reed, who was nobody's fool, had certainly made invaluable contributions to the ship, and to Starfleet, since he'd taken the post. Archer had expected no less.
However, to sit through one of Reed's "let me tell you about everything that's wrong on this ship and how I could fix it" sessions—this was the second one that week, in fact—was a test of the limits of human endurance. Even if he did get to listen to Reed's voice in the process. Which was safer than staring either at Reed's eyes or his ass, both of which were right up there with his voice for bothering Archer for reasons other than Reed's stubborn streak.
Reed's voice droned on as Archer contemplated the problem at hand: how to make Malcolm Reed shut up. Even if Reed was right, and Archer had to concede that Reed had a point on subspace communications relay security here, there was a limit to what Archer could handle without collapsing when Reed was on a tirade.
Archer looked up at Reed's face, up at those damnable eyes of his, feigning interest in the diatribe, trying to come up with a solution to the matter. There had to be some way to get Malcolm Reed to stop talking about secured subspace channels.
"Mmmph!" That was the only sound of complaint as Archer rose from his chair and covered Reed's lips firmly with his own; it must only have been from the surprise, as Reed immediately responded to the kiss with equal determination.
Finally, breaking for air, Reed gazed at Archer, lips bruised, gray-blue eyes glassy. "Really, Sir—not that I object in the slightest, you understand, except you are my commanding officer -"
Archer glared back at Reed, his hands settling on Reed's slim hips. "Fuck protocol, Mr. Reed. That's an order."
Reed smiled back at Archer. "Aye, Sir."
"Now, where were we?"
If he'd only known how easy it really was to make Malcolm Reed stop talking, he'd have tried it a long time before.
end