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 16
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“And these are your quarters?” Archer nodded. He’d given her the grand tour: the Bridge, Engineering, Sickbay – the works. Now they were en route to the Captain’s Mess for a private dinner. “Just the two of us,” she had purred. “How delightful.” Oh, God, he had thought. He wished to hell he was Vulcan. He’d be able to give her the raised eyebrow and all of her double-entendres would bounce right off his thick green hide. But instead he had smiled, and said with forced gallantry, “It certainly will be for me. It isn’t often I have a chance to sit down with such a charming dinner companion.” Now, as he smiled and nodded, he was thinking that he only had a few more hours to go. He would see her again tomorrow, but that would be along with all of the crew and the entire High Council. There was a banquet planned aboard Enterprise to celebrate the foundation of diplomatic relations between the two peoples. Chef was pulling out all the stops, and the entire crew was labouring to get things ready. But the Mistress had asked if she could meet privately with Archer, and the Captain, mindful of his instructions from Earth that he was to do everything and anything to cement relations with the Vesorams, had agreed, even though he knew talk was not all she had in mind. “May I?” And before Archer could say a word, she had opened the door and gone into his quarters. Archer said a bad word under his breath and followed. She was standing in the living room, looking around. “Disciplined,” she said, her approval evident. He raised a brow. That was not the word he would have used, but he supposed it was applicable. “Are the rest of your quarters like this?” “I suppose so,” he said, managing a smile, and hoping it didn’t look as false as it felt. “Let us see.” She opened the bedroom door, walked in. And stood, staring. Archer came up behind her, saw what she saw. It was Trip, deeply asleep. He was sleeping quietly, but must have been restless earlier; his blankets were rumpled and pooled down around his hips. The engineer sighed through slightly parted lips, shifted slightly, but did not wake; his lashes remained firmly against his pale cheeks. His blond hair had tumbled across his forehead, making him appear far younger than his years. He sighed again, and his hands, with their long, strong, slender fingers, twitched slightly, then quieted. Looking down on him, Archer was once again forcibly struck by Trip’s masculine beauty. Obviously, the Mistress felt the same way, for she turned to Archer, eyebrows raised, and said softly, “My goodness, Jonathan – do all your beds come with such beautiful accessories?” “He’s not an accessory,” Archer whispered in reply. Despite his best efforts, he could hear the irritation in his own voice. “He’s >Enterprise’s chief engineer.” She immediately dropped her bantering tone. “The one who helped repair our engines?” “The same.” She reached out, lightly touched Trip’s shoulder. His incisions were healing, but they, along with the bruises caused by the surgery, were still visible; ugly reminders of his suffering. Archer caught her questioning glance, and hurried to explain before she thought he was in the habit of torturing his crew. “He was badly hurt in an accident a few weeks ago and required extensive surgery.” “And is still healing.” Archer confirmed this. “He’s still got a way to go, but he was well enough to supervise the repairs and make suggestions about your engines. Obviously, he wasn’t able to do the actual work.” “Nevertheless, most impressive. Supervising from his sickbed.” She looked at Archer. “From your bed.” “His,” Archer corrected. “Ours,” he added. “I see.” Gently, she pulled the blankets up to the engineer’s chin, so that Trip’s bare torso was covered. Trip sighed, made a slight snuggling motion deeper into his pillow. The Mistress smiled down at him, then turned to Archer. “I believe we are due for dinner, are we not?” Her tone was now friendly, but nothing more. “I believe you’re right,” Archer said, relieved. Obviously, the Mistress was an extremely good sport. She looked back down at Trip. “Pity,” she murmured. “I beg your pardon?” “I said, it’s a pity that he’s not well.” “It certainly is.” “Yes.” She stroked Trip’s hair very lightly. “The three of us could have had quite a good time.”* * *
“How’s it look?” “Looks good.” Archer pulled self-consciously at his tunic. This was the first time in the mission that he had pulled out the dress whites. “Don’t fidget,” Trip admonished from the bed. “Since when are you my mother?” “Someone’s got to make sure you stand up straight. Remember, you’re representing Earth tonight. I’d hate to have the Vesorams think we’re all slobs.” “Brat.” “Bastard.” Archer walked over to the bedside, sat down and picked up the cup of coffee he had left there. “You spill that and Quartermaster will have your head on a spike,” Trip observed. “She’s been run off her feet these last few days.” “And how do you know that?” Trip grinned. “I have my sources, you know.” He looked at the bedside clock. “Shouldn’t you get going?” “Not yet. They’ll call when the Vesorams come aboard.” He sighed, and stretched his legs. “I tell you, brat, I think I’d rather face a battalion of Suliban than go through this again.” “I thought things were going well.” “They are. Your idea of using a couple of the cargo bays for the dinner and dance was inspired. And everything has been set up. But it’s been a lot of work, and it’s not just the quartermaster who’s run off her feet.” “I’ll bet.” Trip shifted slightly. “Itching again?” “No, I’m okay. Just got a bit of a crick in my neck.” Archer put his cup down, and slipped a hand under Trip’s neck, began to lightly massage. Trip closed his eyes, and sighed. “Thanks, Jon.” He was silent for a moment, and then opened his eyes and asked, “Has Chef had his meltdown yet?” Archer grinned. “Yep. Right on schedule this morning. Threw everyone out of the Galley and threatened to space Cunningham.” “And then screamed for him three hours later.” “Of course.” They both grinned. Chef’s tantrums were a fact of life, and everyone on board had learned to live with them. “I think,” Archer added thoughtfully, “that I’m going to have to figure out some way to award Cunningham a medal.” “Meritorious service, above and beyond,” Trip agreed. “I don’t know how he does it. I would have fed Chef through one of his own food processors a long time ago.” “No you wouldn’t,” Archer replied. “You’re a damn sight too fond of his prime rib and mushroom gravy.” Trip grinned again. “Guilty as charged.” He then sobered and sighed. “Although I doubt Phlox is going to let me have anything even remotely resembling that for a while yet.” “He’s right,” Archer told him. “And you know he is.” “Yeah, I know. But I just get tired of toast and tea, that’s all.” “Patience, brat.” “Easy for you to say, you bastard. You’re not the one eating it.” Archer smiled. “We just want you to get well.” He took his hand away from Trip’s neck, began to stroke his hair. “I wish you could come tonight. I even asked Phlox, you know.” “Really? And how long did the repairs take?” Archer stared at him. “Repairs? What are you talking about?” “To the ceiling. After Phlox hit it,” Trip clarified. Archer laughed. “Well, he didn’t. Not quite. But he did say that you weren’t strong enough. Not on a stretcher, and he wouldn’t even hear of you being brought in a wheelchair.” “Too much trouble. It’s all right. I’ll find something to amuse myself. But thanks for thinking of me.” “Well, I shouldn’t have to be the only one suffering in this uniform.” “Oh, so that’s your motive.” “Well, partly. And also, I wanted to watch you teach T’Pol the two-step. By remote control, no less.” Trip rolled his eyes. “Oh, brother. Please. Can you imagine? ‘This activity serves no useful purpose’,” he said, imitating the Vulcan’s dry, measured tones. “’I see no logic in persisting’.” He grinned. “Can you imagine what she’d say about the tango?” “I don’t want to think about it.” “What about you? Going to teach your pet counsellor a step or two?” “Our pet counsellor.” “Ours?” “You bet.” And quickly, Archer filled him in on the details of the Mistress’ visit. “You’re kidding.” He looked at Archer. “And you didn’t wake me? And you call yourself my friend?” Archer smirked. “Well, I didn’t want you disappointing the lady.” Trip pulled on his blankets. “You never know. I might have surprised her.” Archer tapped him on the nose. “You just concentrate on surprising me, brat.” Before Trip could respond, a chime sounded. Archer sighed. “That’s my cue.” “Knock ‘em dead.” “Thanks.” He bent and kissed Trip. “I’m sorry I have to leave you alone.” “Don’t worry about it. I’ll probably watch a movie and then turn in early.” When Archer still looked uncertain, he smiled. “What’s going to happen to me on Enterprise?” “You want a list? Or do the words ‘remote’ and ‘Porthos’ ring a bell?” Trip sighed. “You’re not going to let me forget about that anytime soon, are you?” “You got that right.” “Look, I’ll be fine. I’ve got everything I need.” And he gestured at his bedside table, laden with all his paraphernalia. “I don’t have to go looking for anything. And I’ve got my call button.” “That reminds me,” said Archer, and went into the bathroom. He came out a moment later with a paper cup. A single pill lay on its bottom. He showed it to Trip, set on the bedside table, then made an adjustment to the clock. “If you’re still awake when reminder goes off, you’re to take the pill. Phlox’s orders. Okay?” He opened the drawer, and set out a communicator. “I’ve got mine. You need something – you call me on this. Okay?” Trip rolled his eyes. “Okay,” he said. When Archer still looked hesitant, he made a shooing motion. “You go, and have a good time.” “I really wish I didn’t have to leave you,” Archer repeated. “You’re only a few decks away,” Trip pointed out. “Like I said – I’ll be all right. And I really want you to have fun. God knows you’ve earned a break. So get going. Before you piss the Vesorams off." Archer sighed again, nodded, and crossed the room. Trip’s voice halted him. “But I want to hear all about it tomorrow. Details. You understand?” Archer turned, saluted. “Yes, sir.” And quickly ducked as a pillow flew across the room and slapped the wall beside him.
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