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 21
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Trip lay back against his pillow, exhausted. It turned out that T’Pol had not been exaggerating when she had said that her technique, “Guided Thought/ Dream” therapy, required discipline. It also required dredging up memories that he would rather not face. But it was necessary, T’Pol said, in order to teach him how to deal with them. He’d been somewhat surprised that technique existed. After all, Vulcans weren’t supposed to dream. T’Pol gravely agreed when he pointed that out to her, and then informed him that the technique was as old as Surak, and was used initially on dreams, and then progressed to controlling thoughts. "It is,” T’Pol said, “one of our most basic techniques. Vulcan children begin studying it when they reach 2 years of age.” And I’m not as disciplined as the average 2-year old Vulcan, he had thought irritably. But all he said was, “And how long does it take them to get the hang of it?” "By age 3, most children have mastered the technique at all levels, and are prepared to move onto other, more challenging mental disciplines.” He sighed internally. She really did think your average human – or at least, Charles Tucker III – was as dumb as a bag of hair. He wondered if she was deliberately trying to goad him, and decided that he would not play that particular game today. Instead, he had slapped an insincere smile on his face, and said, “Sounds absolutely fascinating. Tell me how it works.” Turned out that the whole idea was what might also be called a good old-fashioned bait-and-switch, although no self-respecting Vulcan would ever stoop to calling it that. In essence, whenever a bad memory and/or dream reared its ugly head, he was to replace it with something similar, but something that also carried positive emotional connotations. “For an example,” T’Pol told him calmly, “you might have a recurring nightmare whereby you are being chased by someone or something unpleasant. The Guided Dream therapy, at its most basic level, enables you to change the context of your action.” Trip thought about it for a moment. “So instead of being chased by a bad guy, I’m, say – winning a race?” She nodded. “Very good, Commander.” “What did you mean by ‘at its most basic level’?” “As the practitioner improves his or her control, it is possible to recognize that he or she is dreaming, and actively step into the dream and turn it into another scenario or dream altogether. But for the time being, you should simply work on mastering this. I believe you will find this to be enough of a challenge.” He bit back his retort, and counted to ten. Again, he wasn’t sure if that was a deliberate shot about his mental abilities (or lack thereof) or not. It didn’t matter; he needed her help right now, so if she was taking shots at him, he’d just have to grin and bear it. Taking a deep breath, he asked quietly, “And the memories?” “The same principle applies.” She gave him a steady look. “Are you ready to begin?” He sighed. It certainly had not been easy, but he had made a little progress before Phlox had insisted that he stop and get some rest. He had chosen a “control” word, and had had some small success in turning one memory, that of being looked at lasciviously at by one of the Volashan guards, to one of his old girlfriend Natalie telling him he looked good in a swimsuit. He wasn’t sure how he was going to cope with some of his other memories, but both T’Pol and Phlox had counselled patience. It was difficult to take it slow; he desperately wanted to rid himself of these memories and dreams. He knew that they were a major obstacle standing between him and his recovery, and he was so dreadfully tired of being passive; he wanted to take a more active role in his own convalescence. But Phlox’s authority was absolute right now, and when the doctor had deemed that enough was enough, nothing he could do or say could convince either Phlox or T’Pol to continue. Wouldn’t it be nice if I could lick the nightmares by the time Jon came back? Realistically, he knew that that was not going to happen. Still, Jon should be pleased that he was taking action on this. “Commander.” He looked up to see Phlox smiling down on him. “Doc.” Despite himself, he sighed and shifted slightly on the bed. “Are you uncomfortable, Commander?” “No – yes – I guess so.” He scrubbed at his face with one hand. “These beds are narrower than what I’m used to.” “I can arrange to have your bed brought down, if you like.” He sighed. “Then it would be too big. I guess it’s not the bed so much, as …” He didn’t finish his thought. Instead he looked up at Phlox. “I don’t suppose - ?” Phlox cut him off before he could finish. “Right now you require constant supervision. That means you’re going to have to remain here for a little while longer. Unless you would like me to call the Captain?” “And have him cut off his shore leave? No way! I’ll survive, I guess.” Although the truth was, he missed Jon very badly. This being noble and unselfish is for the birds. Only a few days more, though. Unless – He glanced up at the doctor. “You will let me go home when Jon comes back, won’t you?” “I see no reason why not, as long as your system has stabilized by then.” “You mean it hasn’t?” “You’re still somewhat more stressed than I would like to see,” Phlox told him. “However, I believe that Subcommander T’Pol’s therapy may have something to do with that.” This got a fervent response. “You’re not going to make her stop, are you? ‘Cause I’ve got to do something about these damn dreams! They’re killing me!” Phlox reflected that the engineer was exaggerating – but not by much. “Calm yourself, Commander. In this instance, I am in full agreement with your self-assessment. The guided dream therapy will continue. However, it will be necessary to increase your rest periods.” “And that means …?” “I think you’d be better off going to bed for the night at 1900 hours.” His patient groaned. “Tonight’s movie night, and Travis promised … “ “You may watch the movie tomorrow morning,” Phlox replied firmly. “And what about Jon? He’s supposed to call.” “You may call him before you go to sleep. Or you may stay awake longer.” At this, the Commander brightened. “If,” Phlox continued, “you wish to remain in Sickbay after the Captain returns.” As he thought, that persuaded his patient. “All right,” was the sulky reply. The Commander glared up at him. “You’re a dirty fighter, too.” He pulled his blankets up over himself. “I’m surrounded by them,” he muttered. “You’re quite right,” Phlox agreed cheerfully. “We will all do whatever it takes to foster your recovery.” He gave the engineer a glass. “Drink up.” The Commander obeyed, making a wry face. “What is this stuff?” “A mild sedative; nothing more.” “You sure? Tastes like coolant fluid.” He made another face, but swallowed the rest of his medication obediently. “You really ought to talk to Chef about this recipe of yours, Doc. I doubt even Porthos would take more than a quick swig.” He looked at the empty glass, frowned. “And speaking of that - Why a sedative now?” “I want you to get a good sleep this afternoon, “ Phlox replied, as he fussed around the engineer’s bed for a moment, adjusting the blankets and pillows. “Warm enough?” “Yeah,” his patient said. Phlox could see that the young man was becoming drowsy. “Thanks,” the Commander added, his voice already furry with sleep. “You’re very welcome, Commander. What is your control word?” The Commander woke up a little for that. A faint blush stained his pale cheeks. “Ah – Th’y’la.” This will probably be more effective, then, when uttered by the Captain, Phlox thought. But keeping his face expressionless, he simply said, “Very well. Pleasant dreams – Th’y’la.”
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