000 Disclaimer, I don't own a thing 000 Well, it appears I'm continuing with my Reed family kick. All my recent stories about the Reed family are all set within my own personal Reed canon but can all be read as standalones. Thanks to The Libran Iniquity for checking this over. Hope everyone enjoys! 000

Sometimes, after long periods without communication with her son, Mary finds herself feeling that same crushing panic she felt when she lost her son the first time. She's never felt that with Madeleine. Madeleine was careful as a child where Malcolm was reckless; she was happier staying at home playing in the garden whereas Malcolm was more a restless wanderer constantly seeking solitude and sneaking off to the woods behind the house. Mary's worry with Madeleine was someone would entice her trusting daughter away; she found herself taking photos of Madeleine in the garden constantly, as if the pictures would keep her daughter safe forever. Mary's nightmare with Malcolm was that she'd wake up one day and find him gone.

She still has those worries, even though both her children are adults now. Madeleine, bless her heart, calls weekly, and visits every few months or so (although Mary prefers to visit her, having never completely settled in Malaysia). But Malcolm... his strained relationship with Stuart has meant that any communication has been few and far between.

She still has nightmares of empty beds and dusty possessions even though neither of her children lives at home anymore. Stuart never questions her nightmares, he just holds her while she cries and can't vocalise the reason why.

Sometimes she wakes in the middle of the night knowing deep in her soul that something is wrong. Rationally she wants to dismiss this instinct – her mother's intuition, but it's been right before. Occasionally she wonders if Stuart has the same inbuilt parental intuition, he's always awake when she wakes up. She asked him once and he told her "I'm a light sleeper, Mary, you know that."

Malcolm sent a message to tell them he was serving aboard the Enterprise – garbled and almost indecipherable, not that Stuart would admit their communication equipment was malfunctioning again. But for a while afterwards Mary slept strangely peacefully, taking comfort from knowing her stubborn boy had achieved his dream. Stuart didn't though. He stormed round the house like a bear with a sore head for several days, sleeping fitfully and telling everyone within earshot how dangerous Starfleet was.

Then the call had come through from Malcolm's captain, Captain Archer. The first thought that crossed her mind was 'my boy is dead' and she could see it written across Stuart's face, if only for the briefest of moments. Mary remained polite for the entire conversation, half of her eager for news of her eldest child and the other half wanting to scream at the man on the screen. Did he have no idea of how it would look, the Captain calling them and not their son? Did the man not think of the conclusions they would draw from it?

Did they know it was Malcolm's birthday, Mary had almost snorted, no, she had forgotten the day she'd given birth to her eldest child – it just slipped her memory like those momentous occasions do. The man was an idiot, an idiot she could see judging her even if he never commented on his thoughts. All because she didn't know what his favourite food was. How would she know when Malcolm never said, never asked for any specific foods. She knew all the important things, like the way he stood when he was hurting and trying not to show it, the foods he didn't like, the list of his allergies, the deep fear of the water. She knew how to read behind the lines of what he said in order to gain the actual meaning.

The Captain had judged her silently even though he knew nothing of their home life. Mary realised the man had not intended her to know of his judgement, but after a lifetime of learning to hear what wasn't said she had seen through to the judgement in his eyes.

"So that's Malcolm's Captain," Stuart had said once the conversation ended. Mary had heard what he wasn't saying as well. 'My God, my son is under the command of an imbecile.'

Madeleine called a few hours after. She had received a call too, although from the communications officer rather than the Captain. "I thought it was a bit strange at first." Madeleine said. 'I thought they were telling me my brother had died.'

They had talked for two hours that night, both telling their fears without ever saying anything outright.

Mary slept badly the week following that day. Her strange sense of peace had been shattered.

It was a couple of months after that when Malcolm first wrote home. Mary had spent the previous week with a deep feeling of unease she couldn't shake and his letter confirm what her instincts had been telling her. Her son had been in trouble.

His letter had been tentative and oddly polite. Though he commented on how he had sent them letters (Mary had yelled at Stuart for over an hour about their failing home communications system) and alluded to a recent, traumatic, experience.

Stuart tried six times to respond to Malcolm's letter. Mary never saw him writing but she found his efforts stuffed into a drawer in the oak dresser in the hallway. She wrote the reply herself, it wasn't her place to explain father and son to each other.

Malcolm was still terrible at responding, but Mary looked forward to his letters like she looked forward to Madeleine's weekly calls. In between she spent time organising her thousands of photos, she tried to take more but all that came back were photos of empty rooms, and one of Stuart covertly reading Malcolm's letters.

Then a couple of years later the attack on Earth happened. Over seven million people died and the world was in uproar. Mary remembered Stuart gripping tight hold of her hand as they watched the news and feeling selfishly glad her daughter was nestled safe in England, nowhere near the affected area.

"There'll be war," Stuart said, his voice monotone.

He was right.

No one in the family heard from Malcolm after his ship left to confront the enemy. Stuart went grey and silent whilst Madeleine tried to fill the oppressive silence with mindless news in between reassuring her parents "Mal'll be fine." But it didn't help alleviate the feeling of terror and panic that settled in Mary's stomach, the feeling she had first experienced when she lost Malcolm in a clothes shop when he was just a toddler.

She spent her days organising her photos into boxes, holding onto those captured moments while the world reeled in shock around her and her son was God-knew-where fighting a careful war(that to the public wasn't really being called a war at all – but Mary was good at reading between the lines).

But the memory of those months was outshined by the sheer force of relief when the Enterprise and her crew returned safely to Earth. Stuart and Mary watched the ceremony on the television. Stuart pulled her close and held her when they saw their son, stood near his Captain – healthy in body – and looking so smart in his Starfleet uniform.

"We should get a photo of him in that, for the mantle," Stuart commented, his voice hoarse.

Malcolm came to visit a week after that. He stood on the doorstep and smiled awkwardly at her.

"Hi mum." "I needed to come home – is that alright?"

Mary inhaled sharply and hugged him close. "Hello Malcolm." "Of course, I'm so glad you're safe."

She reluctantly released him as Stuart approached.

"Are you going to move and let the boy in then?" "I need to see he's alright."

Malcolm managed a smile for his father as they shook hands.

Mary touched Malcolm's shoulder again before retreating into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. 'Because a cup of tea solves everything.'

000 Please let me know what you think 000