Payment in Full - Chapter 13

Payment in Full - Chapter 13 TITLE:                      PAYMENT IN FULL- CHAPTER 13
AUTHOR:                 PIPPIN
RATING:                   NC-17 (to be on the safe side)
PAIRING:                  Archer/Trip

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 13

He was jolted into a frightened wakefulness as Enterprise shuddered around him. Trip tried to pull himself into a sitting position, but the effort made his head spin so badly that he collapsed back onto the bed, trembling, heart racing. The ship was still vibrating with the force of the impact; vibrations that ran bone-deep, setting his teeth on edge.

Enterpriseleaped again, as if struck by a quirt, and he was easily able to identify the cause: weapons fire. What the hell was going on? T’Pol had said that they were mapping a star system. You would think that would be safe enough, but if he had learned anything during his time out here, it was that very little was actually what it seemed.

Another hit. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Well, as deep as he could; he felt as if he was wearing a corset around his middle, courtesy of his broken ribs and the gadgets implanted by the Vulcans. He found himself nervously pleating his blanket in his hands. He desperately wanted to call the Bridge. Or Engineering. Or Sickbay. Or anybody. Find out what the hell was going on. He refrained, but damn, it was hard. He knew that the crew didn’t need to be distracted by the likes of him right now. Not while they were working. If only he could do something – anything – to help! But instead, he had to lie here, feeling both frustrated and useless.

He heard a faint whimper, and looked down at the end of the bed, saw two frightened doggy eyes looking back at him. “It’s all right,” he told Porthos. “Come here.” And he patted the mattress beside him. The beagle quickly obeyed, and buried his nose into Trip’s armpit. “Now who’s protecting who?” He gently stroked the beagle’s fur. “Don’t worry, boy,” he soothed. “Your daddy’s on the job.”

Another hit, and Enterprise rocked as if on a rough sea. The ship tilted on a 45-degree angle, and he found himself and Porthos wedged up against the bedrail. Another jolt, and the incline increased substantially. He hooked an arm through the rail and hung on, like a shipwreck survivor clinging to a piece of wood. He had no desire to be bounced like a poker chip out of bed and onto the floor. Porthos whimpered, and Trip spoke soothingly to him. He would have liked to given the dog a reassuring pat, but he didn’t want to let go of the bedrail.

It wasn’t too hard to figure out what had happened; one of the internal stabilizers had gone off-line; taken out by the last hit to the ship. Based on the vibrations he was feeling and the angle the of the ship’s list, it was the starboard one.

He closed his eyes, visualizing both the location of the stabilizer and the probable damage. If Hess were on the ball (and she’d damn well better be) a repair crew was being dispatched right about now.

In his mind’s eye, he followed them. It would probably be Rostov, Jennings and Madison. They were the most experienced of the juniors. He’d run a dozen different varieties of just such a scenario over the past few months, and those three had consistently high scores. Actually, all of his engineers had top-of-the-class marks. Which was no less than what he expected. When it came to ship’s systems, Trip was a stern taskmaster, and he made no apologies for this. You couldn’t get sloppy out here; cut a corner and someone might die. However, he never demanded anything from his crew that he wasn’t prepared to give himself. When he was able to, that was. His knuckles whitened around the rail. Lying here, useless …!

At least the ship wasn’t taking any more hits; it looked like whatever had been going on was over. That was all to the good; right now, there were probably one hell of a lot of messes to clean up, and not just in Engineering. He could just imagine what the Galley looked like right now, and he spared a sympathetic thought in passing for that poor bastard Cunningham, who would probably bear the brunt of Chef’s wrath once again. Chef was damned good at his job, but to say he was temperamental was like saying the ocean was a little damp.

The repair crew ought to have reached the stabilizer by now. Even if the lifts were out of order, they could still get there by using Jeffries tube 43A; it ran parallel to the main power relays and would bring them right to it. They certainly would not have needed to stop and get tools; Trip had insisted on keeping emergency tool kits stocked and ready near all major stations and ship’s systems. It had turned out more than once to be a real lifesaver – literally. Starfleet brass had not been too thrilled about the extra expense when Trip had submitted his requisitions, but he had persisted, and Jon had backed him up. Eventually Fleet saw which way the wind was blowing, and gave in. And a good thing, too. After all, it wasn’t as if there were repair stations every light year along the way, was it? There should be, though. In Trip’s humble opinion, there ought to be at least one major station/relay out here, and he thought he knew exactly where – outside the Rigel system, on the border between Vulcan and Fleet space. It could service Human and Vulcan ships, and lend a helping hand to half a dozen other species. If Earth was really serious about making alliances with other races, then Trip couldn’t think of a better way to go about it than making repair services available to one and all. He’d already talked to Jon about this, and the Captain had given him the go-ahead to approach Forrest. There were some problems in terms of design, but he’d already started to think about those, and had a few suggestions he thought would work.

He shook his head slightly. Woolgathering in the middle of a crisis! He really wasn’t 100% yet, was he? The rate of the vibrations had changed, and he could hear a faint, high-pitched hum. Right. Good. They were re-initializing the power. He looked at his bedside clock. Ten minutes. Ten? Ten??! And they were just starting to re-initialize? Hell’s bells, he would have had it completely done by now. He’d have to have a little chat with Hess, it seemed. That is, if Phlox – or Jon – would allow it. He sighed again. The chances of those two allowing him to do anything more than eat and sleep were probably slim to none.

Enterprise creaked and groaned, and he frowned. Not so good. They weren’t watching the power flow. Too much, too soon, and the ship’s structure was being stressed as a result. The work required delicacy and a light touch, and it felt like they were going at it with a sledgehammer. He looked longingly at the comm. It was so tempting. Just a quick call to Hess; a little nudge in the right direction. A minute – that’s all it would take. Just a minute.

He reached over – and stopped. The last thing anyone needed was to be bothered by the likes of him. If he wasn’t able to contribute anything useful, then he should get the hell out of the way of those who could, and let them do their respective jobs. He sighed. If only he were allowed to help out. Earn his keep. There were a lot of things he could do even when bedridden; staff scheduling, writing reports, movie night – lots of stuff. But both Jon and Phlox had come down on him like a ton of bricks when he had diffidently suggested as much the other day. He sighed again. Between the two of them he was lucky if he was allowed to scratch his own ass, let alone do anything useful.

Enterprise groaned again. Definitely not good. They’d better watch out; too much inertial stress and they’d end up with structural damage. Bad structural damage. A shudder ran through the ship, and Trip scowled. Just what the hell were they playing at? At this rate –

Another creak, and finally, the ship began to level, while the vibrations slowed down, smoothed out. Trip continued to cling to the bedrail; he didn’t want to get bounced around too much. A final shudder, and Enterprise was back on an even keel. Slowly, he let go of the bedrail, and lay back, rubbing his shoulder. He banged it on the metal rail during the initial shake-up, and there was already quite a bruise. Could be worse; he could have ended up in a heap on the floor. Guess Phlox was right when he insisted that the bedsides be left up at all times.

Porthos looked up, wagged his tail. “Oh, so now you’re all right,” Trip told him. “A real tough guy, aren’t you?” The beagle responded by standing and eagerly licking Trip’s face and neck. “Nut! Go on now, that’s enough!” Still wagging his tail, Porthos, obeyed, settling down at Trip’s feet, and wagging his tail whenever he caught his human friend’s eye.

Trip looked at the bedside clock. Twenty minutes from start to finish. They could have done better. A lot better. He’d get a report from Hess, and then figure out how to improve things.

He looked at the comm again, considering. He really wanted to call the bridge, and make sure that Jon – that everyone – was all right. He sighed. Leave it. There would be enough for everyone to do, cleaning up the messes that were sure to be all over the ship. He hoped no one had been seriously hurt. If, for instance, Chef had been boiling water – or deep frying something – when the stabilizer went out, it could be very ugly.

He pulled the blankets up over himself, sighing as he did. He could feel the faint vibrations that told him Enterprise was on the move once more; they were proceeding at impulse. Probably about 0.5c. He lay and listened for a full cycle, but heard nothing out of the ordinary. At least the impulse engines were working. Hard to know about the warp engines, though. There could be a million reasons why Jon had not gone to warp, and none of them would mean that there were any problems with his – with Enterprise’s – engines.

He looked up as the door opened and Phlox entered. “Commander.”

“Doc? What are you doing here?”

“The Captain was concerned,” Phlox replied, “and asked that I check up on you.”

“But – “ Trip raised himself on an elbow, but Phlox easily pushed him back down. “Shouldn’t you be taking care of the rest of the crew?”

“The rest of the crew do not require my attention.”

“No injuries?”

“A few bumps and bruises, but nothing serious. You are still my first priority.”

Trip was silent as Phlox gently probed his bruised shoulder. “This is not too serious. Nevertheless – “ He produced a hypospray, gave Trip a shot. He then ran a scan over the engineer. “Adrenaline levels are high,” he murmured.

“And that surprises you?” Trip asked wryly.

“No, not really.” Phlox gave him a reassuring pat – on his arm, not his injured shoulder.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“I’m afraid not, Commander. I know as little as you do. All I know is that after experiencing some shaking and tilting of the ship, Captain Archer called me and requested that I ensure you were all right. I would have done so, regardless. But the Captain was most concerned for your well-being. Not surprising, all things considered.”

“What are you going to tell him?”

“That I found you relatively unharmed, although somewhat agitated, and you are resting comfortably. Sleeping, as a matter of fact.”

“But I’m not.”

Phlox smiled his extended smile, and produced another hypospray. Trip rolled his eyes. Walked right into that one, he thought.

“That,” said Phlox as he gave him a shot, “is easily remedied.”

* * *

He was floating in a warm sea, weightless and unfettered. It was nice. No worries, no pain. Just this deep, dreamless darkness. Slowly, he became aware of something else. Noise. No, not noise. It was a voice. A human voice. Speaking? No. There were words, but it wasn’t normal speech. Singing, that was it. A human voice singing. And not just any human. It was Jon. Jon, singing.

And with that realization, Trip awoke. He blinked, and scrubbed at his face, looked around. From the bathroom, he could hear Jon warbling some old tune. Trip smiled. A lot of people knew that Jon was a sports nut, but very few knew that the Captain of the Enterprise had a damn fine singing voice. And not just popular tunes -everything from native music to opera was gist for Jon’s mill, and apparently he had a fondness for Gilbert & Sullivan. But for some reason, his lover was shy about singing in public, and Trip could never figure out why. Jon’s voice was more than adequate, and he never strayed off-key. Seemed he’d be a natural for the stage. But maybe Jon figured he already spent enough time in the spotlight. Well, no matter. The point was, Trip got treated to some very fine a cappella singing, and on a regular basis.

Jon, still singing, came out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, and using another to dry his hair. He stopped when he saw Trip was awake. “Did I wake you? Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Trip said. He looked over at the bedside clock. “I slept all night again, didn’t I?” He sighed. “I wish Phlox wouldn’t have such a heavy hand when it comes to those potions of his.”

Jon came over, sat on his bedside, kissed him good morning. “Well, you did wake up once. But you were pretty sleepy; you probably don’t remember.”

“Oh? When was that?”

“I tried to get you to eat some supper.”

“No dice, huh?”

Jon grinned. “You could say that. You let loose a few – shall we say – colourful phrases, and went back to sleep.”

“I cussed you out? Sorry.”

“It’s all right, brat. You were just living up to your name. I just wish you’d have eaten something, that’s all.” He laid a gentle hand on Trip’s bruised shoulder. “You get that yesterday?” At Trip’s nod, he bent, kissed the bruise. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. At least, I’m assuming it’s not your fault. You want to tell me what happened?”

“I’ll make a deal with you. You eat breakfast and I’ll fill you in.”

Trip sighed. “I’m not feeling hungry.” He gave Jon a sideways glance. “But you can do that Vulcan hoodoo and press on my foot if you want.”

“That’s a deal.” Jon went to the end of the bed, lifted the blankets, and began to apply Vulcan neuro pressure to the sole of Trip’s uninjured foot. Finished, he replaced the blankets, and started dressing. Trip watched in silence.

When Jon was in his uniform, he went to the comm and called the Galley. Chef answered. “Trip’s up,” Jon informed him. “Can you send him some breakfast?” Chef promised to send something along, and Jon closed off the comm, smiled at Trip. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” Trip sighed and rolled his eyes, but submitted to the morning ritual of shaving and washing. “You’ll be up and around soon,” Jon assured him, “and then you’ll be able to take regular showers.”

“I hope so,” Trip grumbled. “You know I hate this.”

Jon laughed and kissed him. “That sounds more like the Trip Tucker I know.” He adjusted Trip’s bed, helping him to sit slightly upright. Just in time – the door’s chime sounded. Jon went to answer it, came back a moment later with a laden tray. Trip eyed it without much enthusiasm. Poached egg on toast, a little juice, a large glass of milk, and some weak tea. He now had mild hunger pangs, but this was most definitely not his idea of a good breakfast. Jon, who missed very little when it came to Trip, smiled. “Pretty bland, I know. But we don’t want to overload your system.”

“What’s with this ‘we’ stuff?” Trip demanded. “I sure as hell don’t see you eating this … this … whatever you want to call it.”

Jon grinned. “Food.”

“Really? Well, it’s not my idea of food.”

“Well, whatever it is, you’re going to eat it.”

“Bastard,” Trip muttered. But he picked up his fork, began to eat.

Jon picked up another cup off of the tray. Coffee, by the smell of it. He sat beside Trip, and watched him work his way through breakfast. “How come you get coffee, and I get this coloured water?”

“Because Phlox isn’t planning my meals for me,” was the response.

Trip sighed, and looked longingly at the coffee. “Smells good.”

Jon pointed. “Tea. If you want caffeine, that’s how you’re going to get it.”

Sulking, Trip picked up his cup, sipped slowly. “I don’t know how Malcolm gets up and running in the morning, drinking this stuff,” he said. “Doesn’t do a damn thing for me.”

His air of martyrdom grew, until it was so obvious that Jon couldn’t stand it anymore. Exasperated, he glared at Trip, and held out his coffee cup. “Here. Just a little bit,” he warned. “If Phlox knew, he’d skin me alive.”

Careful not to look too pleased with himself, Trip took a sip, closed his eyes. Finally. Something that actually had taste. Delicious. “Now that’s how you start the morning off right.” He handed the cup back. “Thanks. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Better be,” Jon growled. He looked up, saw Trip looking at him. “Well?”

Trip pointed to his empty plate. “I kept up my part of the bargain.” He looked at Jon, raised his brows. Jon responded with an exaggerated sigh. “You promised,” Trip added.

“You are so spoiled,” Jon complained.

“Tell me something I don’t know. Like what happened yesterday.”

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