SETTING: Minor spoilers: "Stigma"; "First Flight" and "The Expanse". Set after the events of "Savior".
FEEDBACK: Always! [email protected] DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the characters. I’m just borrowing them, and promise to return them safe and sound. The only thing I gain from this is some writing practice. SUMMARY: Everything has a price.
Chapter 12
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Archer put his padd down, rolled onto his side and regarded his lover. Trip was sleeping, but restlessly; his hands twitched uneasily, and his head moved from side to side. The captain wondered if he should wake him. Trip really needed the rest, but the psychic toll his nightmares took was considerable. He moaned, and that decided Archer. Gently, he placed a hand on Trip’s shoulder, suppressing a sigh as he did. Trip felt so fragile under his touch; it was as if he was no longer flesh and blood but spun glass. He squeezed, very lightly. “Trip,” he said quietly. “You’re having a bad dream. Wake up.” Trip muttered something, and his eyes moved rapidly under their closed lids. His lips parted, and he cried out. “Trip,” Archer repeated. “It’s all right, brat.” Trip’s eyes flew open, and he looked around, dazed and afraid. His hand stole up to his throat, as it always did when the dream had been particularly bad. Archer was not surprised. The marks from the slave collar that Trip had worn on Tasumi had long disappeared, but Archer knew that some things left wounds that ran deeper than those that merely scarred the flesh. He remembered when Phlox had first removed the band and handed it to him. It had been heavy – surprisingly so, as a matter of fact – and cold. Very cold. Archer thought it had been deliberately designed that way. A constant reminder, lying hard and frigid against the skin, that the neck it sat on now belonged to someone else. Archer leaned over, and slowly, deliberately, began to plant light kisses around Trip’s throat where it had been encircled by the collar. Trip sighed, closed his eyes. Archer continued, kissing Trip’s throat, then worked his way up the younger man’s neck and his face. He finished by kissing the hot, dry forehead and then smoothed Trip’s hair back. Trip sighed again. His face was still white, and there were dark circles under his eyes from the afternoon’s harrowing ordeal. Archer couldn’t even begin to fathom what Trip had been through. The courage and patience the younger man had shown was astonishing; no one would have thought any the less of him if he had cried aloud, or cursed, or lost his temper. Instead, he had lain quietly, with only the occasional faint moan. “Tough as nails Tucker”, indeed, Archer thought. Aloud, he asked, “Another bad dream?” Trip did not answer; instead, he let out a long, shuddering sigh. Archer stroked his face. “My poor brat,” he said gently. “I’m so sorry.” Trip sighed again. “Thanks,” he whispered. “But it’s not your fault.” Archer shook his head. “You’re in this mess because – ” “ – because I couldn’t get out of my own way,” Trip finished for him. “Don’t go making a big deal out of it.” “I don’t want to start an argument,” Archer replied, “but I beg to differ. I think saving my life is a big deal.” Trip looked at him. “Did you just expect me to stand by and watch? I couldn’t stand it if something happened to you. Don’t you know that?” “I know. But it’s still hard for me to see you hurting like this, and know I’m responsible.” Trip raised a weak hand. “It’s all right. I’d go through ten times this to keep you safe.” But I wasn’t able to keep you safe. Before he could say anything else, Trip continued. “Besides, you saved me, too. You know that.” “I don’t think it’s quite the same thing,” Archer said, keeping his voice light. Trip gave him an unreadable look. “Says you.” He coughed, and Archer reached, got him his ginger ale and held his head while he drank. “Better?” At Trip’s nod, he asked, “What did you mean?” “Phlox told me that all that junk they were pumping into me on Tasumi would have killed me before much longer.” “I know. He told me that too.” “The thing of it is,” Trip continued, “that if you hadn’t have come along, and the drugs had done that, I wouldn’t have minded. Living that way – if you can call it living,” he shook his head, “I couldn’t take it. I would have happily ‘turned my face to the wall’ and let it take me.” Archer stroked Trip’s forehead. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I wish… ” He fell silent, brooding. “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,” Trip quoted. “I’m learning to live with it. But the point is, I’m still alive to do so. If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t be.” “Okay,” Archer agreed. “But can I still say ‘thank you’? For saving my life?” “Sure. You’re welcome, too.” “But next time – try yelling first, okay?” “I did. And you still stood there like a big dumb block of wood.” “Brat.” “Bastard.” Trip shifted, and scowled. “Damn!” “What’s wrong?” “It itches. The hair’s growing back.” “Don’t scratch.” “Easy for you to say.” He said something in Vulcan, and Archer looked at him. “A Vulcan curse,” Trip explained. “Hoshi taught me a whole slew of them this afternoon.” “Oh, yeah? What did you just say?” “It’s hard to translate, but I basically wished that the guy who shaved me would be caught naked in sandstorm.” “Ouch.” “Well, he’d know how I feel,” Trip said irritably. “Damn!” And he shifted again. Archer sat up. “Hang on just a minute.” He got out of bed, came back with a small jar of salve. “From Phlox’s cupboard. Topical anaesthetic. Should help the itch, okay?” Trip nodded. “Okay.” He reached for the jar, but Archer held it out of reach. “Let me.” He pulled the blankets back, began rubbing the salve onto Trip’s chest, then worked his way down. “You don’t have to do that,” Trip said. “I can.” “I know you can, but I don’t mind. Besides,” and Archer grinned at his lover, “look where I’ve got my hand.” Trip’s response was predictable. “Christ. You must be desperate.” “Now, is that nice? Behave yourself, or I’ll leave you to scratch.” Trip did not reply. Instead, he closed his eyes and sighed. “That’s a little better.” Archer put the salve on his bedside table. “Good.” He pulled the blankets up over the younger man. “I don’t suppose you feel like eating, do you?” Trip shook his head. “Chef made peach smoothies,” Archer coaxed. “Just for you.” When Trip was still silent, he sighed. “Okay. I guess they'll keep for a while.” Trip opened one eye at this. “You’re not going to press on my feet, make me hungry?” “Nope.” Both eyes opened. “Why not?” “Because it’s breaking the rule, that’s why.” Trip was honestly bewildered. “The rule? What rule is that?” “The one that says I don’t touch you without your say-so.” “That’s a rule?” “You bet. And an unbreakable one, too.” “Oh.” Trip considered this. “So ‘no’ really means ‘no’, then.” “It does. You of all people deserve that much. At least.” Trip managed a faint smile. “Thanks. But I don’t mind when you … you know.” Archer kissed his forehead. “I know. And I’m glad you trust me that much. But just so you’re clear on this – I mean what I said. It’s going to be up to you, brat. Always.” “Okay.” Trip sighed again, closed his eyes. “Headache?” “A bit, yeah. And my neck and shoulders are sore. Guess I’m a little tense.” “I wonder why?” Archer asked dryly. “No kidding.” “You want a massage?” “Why not use the Vulcan noogies?” “Well, I can use Vulcan Neuro Pressure, but you like getting massages. And I like giving them. So why stop a good thing?” “Okay.” Trip started to roll onto his side, but Archer stopped him. “Let me do the work.” He flipped Trip over onto his stomach. “You okay?” “No problems.” Archer began to gently work on his lover’s tense neck and shoulders. “Vulcan noogies,” he snorted. “Well, it’s accurate, isn’t it? Or Vulcan nudgies? That works, too.” Archer snickered. “Vulcan nooky?” “Vulcan naughty nooky,” Trip corrected, and he snickered as well. “How old are you again?” “Twelve. And so are you. Don’t deny it.” He looked over a shoulder. “Think T’Pol would find that amusing?” “I think she’d have the equivalent of a Vulcan hissyfit.” “So it’ll be our little secret – ah!” He sighed, as Archer dug his thumbs into a spot below one shoulder blade. “Oh, yeah, Jon – that really hits the spot.” “You just wait till I hit some of your other spots,” Archer promised him. “Oh, yeah? What about that rule of yours?” “Ours,” Archer corrected. “Ours, then.” Archer bent, kissed the nape of his neck. Trip shivered slightly in response. “Somehow, I don’t think you’re going to be thinking about rules so much when the time comes.”
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