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 22
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"Porthos," Trip murmured sleepily, in response to the beagle's bark, "Shut up." Then he realized what he was saying, and woke fully. “Hey.” He blinked and looked up, saw Jon leaning over him. “Hey yourself,” he said happily. He allowed Jon to sweep him into an embrace, then, as he was laid back down on their bed, frowned up at his partner, and said with mock annoyance, “You’re late.” “Am not,” was the response. “You overslept.” Trip looked at the bedside clock. 18:30. “Wow, you’re right. I did.” He lay quietly as Jon adjusted the bed so that he was partially sitting up. “When did you two," indicating Porthos, who was at the foot of the bed, tail wagging, "get home?” “Around 13:30.” “And you didn’t wake me?” “Couldn’t. Phlox was here. He would have skinned me alive if I’d even gone near you.” “Oh. Okay – you’re forgiven. Do your walk?” Archer nodded. This was something he had initiated when he commanded the Washington, and by now, it had evolved into a tradition. Whenever he returned from shore leave or a long away mission, he did a “walkabout”, visiting all ship's departments - from waste recycling to the bridge, and everything in between. He found it was a good way to get back up to speed on what had been going on in his absence, and it also let the crew know Enterprise’s captain was back and in command. He smiled at Trip. “Looks like everything's in its place.” “See? We can get along without you. For a while, at least.” He reached, got his ginger ale and sipped it, while his lover made his way around the bed. Archer lay down beside him, gave a contented stretch. “It’s good to be home.” He slipped an arm under Trip’s shoulders, suppressing a sigh as he did. Trip was so slight and frail, it felt as if he was hardly there at all. “Ready for supper?” “In a while,” the younger man replied, then arched an inquiring brow. “I assume that Phlox gave you the latest scoop?” Archer nodded. “Filled me in on what you and T’Pol have been up to.” He leaned over, gave Trip a kiss on the cheek. He stroked Trip’s hair. “Was that what you meant when you said you had things to think about?” Trip nodded. “I was fed up with lying here, doing nothing to help myself.” “I wouldn’t say that.” “I would. It’s how I felt, anyhow. So I talked to Phlox; asked him what I could do. He told me that the main thing getting in the way of my getting better was lack of what he called “good sleep”. The dreams kept waking me up, keeping me from getting a complete rest. And the bad memories were just putting more stress on me. So I figured that I better do something about it.” “And you did. So you’ve been pretty busy, brat.” “Had to do something while you were out gallivanting around.” He looked at his lover and frowned at what he saw. “Jon? You don’t look too happy. I thought you’d be pleased.” “I am, I am,” Archer protested. Trip simply looked at him, and he sighed. “I guess when it comes to you, I can’t get away with too much, can I?” “Not even a little bit. So spill. What gives?” “It’s stupid of me, I know.” “But…?” “But I just wish I could have been the one to help you, that’s all.” Trip chuckled, and Archer, surprised, stared at him. “It’s not that funny. Is it?” He added plaintively. Trip took pity on him. “No, it’s not. But you really are a stupid bastard, aren’t you?” “Want to explain to me just how stupid I’m supposed to be?” “Well, I assume that Phlox told you how it’s supposed to work, right?” “Right.” “That I’m supposed to substitute bad memories and situations with good ones, right?” “Again, right.” “Well, you dumb SOB, what do the hell do you think I focus on when I’m remembering the stuff that happened on Tasumi? Tea parties?” He grinned. “I think T’Pol actually blushed once. When I started remembering that time you and I were on the island, and …” Archer grinned in response. “Hell, that makes me blush, you brat!” Trip laughed. “I don’t know why. You started it.” “I don’t recall it that way at all. Seems to me you were the one who got things going.” “I’m not going to argue with you,” Trip said loftily. “Your brains are obviously addled. They say,” he added mischievously, “that the memory is the first to go. Among other things.” “You just wait,” Archer promised him. “You won’t have any complaints in that department.” “I never do,” Trip agreed. He smiled. “So. Feel a bit better?” “Yeah. I’m glad I could help. Even though I wasn’t here.” “Don’t.” “Don’t what?” “Don’t start. You know damn well you needed a rest.” “Yeah, I know.” He kissed the top of Trip’s head. “Still.” “Still, nothing. You have a good time?” “I did. But you know,” he said, keeping his tone light, “Porthos really missed you. A lot.” Trip considered him for a moment. “Well,” he finally admitted, “I missed Porthos, too. But he knows it was for his own good, right?” “Oh, yeah, he knows that. But he still missed you.” “And I missed him, too. Got kind of used to sharing a bed, you know?” “I know. Although the beds in Sickbay aren’t really meant for sharing, are they?” “That’s true. Would have been a tight squeeze.” He smiled. “But he’s home now, and all’s right with the world.” Archer smiled in turn, leaned over and kissed his lover quite thoroughly. “It is now,” he agreed.* * *
“Jon?” Archer came into their bedroom at a trot. “What is it?” “Sorry to bother you. But I have to … you know.” “It’s no bother.” Trip sighed while Jon got out what Trip referred to as his “porta-potty”. He hated the damn thing, and hated the fact that he was forced to use it even more. When he complained, Phlox had told him that he should be grateful that he hadn’t been around 100 years ago – he would have been required to use a bedpan. Trip shuddered at the thought. He was easy going about most things, but he preferred his private functions to be just that – private. Jon helped him take care of things. In spite of his lover’s matter-of-fact acceptance of the situation and his unflagging support, Trip still felt humiliated by his helplessness. Despite himself, he could feel tears gathering on his lids, and tried angrily to blink them back. He wasn’t fast enough, though, and Jon caught him in the act. “Hey – what’s this?” Archer looked down at Trip, surprised to see tears leaking out of those blue eyes. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” was the muttered response. Archer smiled slightly. Trip was a terrible liar. “Bull.” “It’s stupid.” “I already know that’s not true. So give it up, already.” “I hate this!” Trip burst out. “I hate using that damn thing, I hate not ever feeling clean, I hate – “ “Whoa, back up. What do you mean, you’re not ever clean?” “I mean,” Trip said irritably, “that my hair feels dirty and the damn bed-baths that I get don’t seem to make a damn bit of difference. I feel greasy and sweaty and I bet I stink to high heaven and I’m sick to death of it!” “I wouldn't say you stink.” Archer reached, began stroking his hair. “Doesn’t feel that dirty to me,” he pointed out. “Yeah? You try using that sonic brush for a week. See how you feel.” “You tell Phlox about this?” Trip sighed. “Yes. And I got told that ‘I must be patient, Commander’,” he said, imitating the Denobulan’s sing-song inflections. He sighed again. Looking down at his lover’s woebegone expression, Archer came to a decision. He bent and kissed Trip’s forehead. “Just a minute.” And he hurried out of the bedroom, Trip staring after him. “Jon?” No answer. Trip wondered what the captain was up to. He hoped he wasn’t going to talk to Phlox, as it was doubtful that would accomplish anything at all. He didn’t hear the door open, so it meant that Jon hadn’t gone out. He could hear, very faintly, some sort of activity going on; it sounded like Jon was looking for something. Hope it’s that bottle of bourbon he’s got stashed away somewhere. I could use a good knock. His sour musings were interrupted by Jon’s reappearance, clad now in only a towel. Trip lifted his head off the pillow. “Jon?” His lover didn’t answer; at least, not directly. Instead, he simply walked over to the bed and quickly fitted Trip with the plastic knee brace and "corset", designed to keep his bones straight and immobile when he was being moved. "Jon?" Trip asked uneasily. Was Jon taking him to Sickbay? Wearing only a towel? “Quiet,” he was told. Jon reached down and lifted him off the bed, carried him easily out of the bedroom and into their bathroom. Trip saw that a small footstool had been set up in the shower, and it was on this that Jon set him. “I’ll get you a chair with some support,” Jon said, “but for now, this will have to do.” He removed Trip's plastic appliances, and then steadying him with one hand, discarded his own towel and turned the shower on. Trip sighed, and happily turned his face up into the hot stream. “Don’t move,” he was told. “You let me do the work.” And without waiting for an answer, Jon knelt in front of him, began soaping him down. Trip submitted, enjoying the feel of his lover’s strong, gentle fingers as they massaged the suds into his skin. He was rinsed off. Then Jon quickly applied the shampoo, lathered it up, and rinsed him off. All in all, it took no more than 10 minutes, but even at that, Trip was starting to feel light-headed. He swayed slightly on his footstool. Jon reached, turned the water off. “There,” he said. “Better, I’ll bet.” Trip nodded. Jon pulled the towel hanging next to the doorway off its rack, and began to quickly dry him off and reapplied the plastic braces. That finished, he again lifted Trip. Trip put his arms around Jon’s neck, and buried his face into his lover’s shoulder, enjoying the close contact. Jon took a deep sniff. “That’s better,” he said. “That’s what I like – the smell of a nice, clean brat.” "I thought you said I didn't smell." "Pay attention, brat. I said you didn't stink. And you don't." Trip smiled drowsily as Jon exited the bathroom with him. He woke up a little when Jon did not lay him in their bed, but on the living room couch instead, covering him with a light blanket. “Lie quiet,” his lover instructed him. “I don’t want you falling off.” “I won’t,” Trip murmured. “What’re you doing, Jon?” “Be back in a minute,” was the answer, and Trip was left to puzzle it out on his own. He found he didn’t feel much like puzzling; he was pleasantly sleepy, and his skin tingled from the water and the scrubbing. He started to doze, then became aware that someone was standing over him. “Finished?” he murmured, his eyes still closed. No answer. He opened his eyes, squinted upwards. Was that - ? It was. Phlox was standing there, glaring down at him. “What is going on here?” the doctor demanded, his voice tight with fury. Before Trip could respond, Jon, now clad in a robe, interposed himself between them. He smiled down on Trip. “I think you’re ready for bed.” “Jon – Phlox … “ “Don’t worry about it.” And he bent to pick Trip up. “Use your knees,” Trip admonished sleepily, “or you’ll give yourself a hernia.” “No, I won’t,” was the response. “And that’s not good.” And Trip found himself easily lifted, and carried off towards the bedroom. He chuckled drowsily. “Just like something out of Marg’s books.” “What’s that, brat?” “My older sister Marg – used to read these romance novels. This is like a scene out of Passion and the Princess.” “And you know this how?” “I tried reading it. Got about 100 pages in, gave up.” He heard Jon chuckle. “Good. You don’t strike me as the ‘princess’ type.” "Oh?" "Yeah. But the other – definitely." Trip smiled again. He sighed as Jon laid him on top of their bed. He had changed the sheets, and Trip sank gratefully into the crisp clean linens. And then noticed something else. "What's this powder?" "A gift from our pet councillor. It's a relaxation powder. The scent is supposed to help you sleep." Trip took a breath. "Does smell nice." "Good." “Feels nice, too.” "I'll let Y'Ayna know." "Say thanks." Trip was fading fast, but not so fast that he could forget to be worried about the angry Denobulan in their living room. “Jon – Phlox sounded really mad.” “Don’t you worry about Phlox,” Jon said calmly. He pulled sheets and one of Trip’s favourite duvets up over him, cocooning the engineer in their warmth. He bent and kissed him. “Go to sleep, brat.” “You’re so pushy,” Trip managed. “Bastard,” he added, saw Jon smiling down on him, and knew no more. Archer stood for a moment, looking down at Trip. Then, remembering what Trip had told him earlier, he bent down and whispered in the sleeping man’s ear, “Pleasant dreams, my Th’y’la.” Behind him, he heard a certain Denobulan throat being cleared, and he sighed, straightened up and turned, ready to do battle.
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