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 25
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“That was bad enough. But then I asked him what movie he wanted to watch, and he said he didn’t care. So I chose Alien.” “And?” “Well, we watched it. I mean, he didn’t fall asleep or anything; he snuggled up to me and stayed awake … “ “But?” “But the engineers in that movie are a pair of morons! The Trip I know would have had plenty to say about that, believe me. Instead, he just lay quietly and watched. That’s when I got really worried.” “And I assume things have not improved since then?” Archer shook his head. “No, they haven’t. He doesn’t complain, and he eats whatever I put in front of him, and he’s sleeping better, but he’s just drifting. He’s trying – I can see him trying so hard – but it’s not working for him. He’s getting depressed. He denies it, but after Tasumi, I can recognize the signs. The only time he perks up is when I tell him about the day’s goings-on aboard ship. He hangs on every word.” He looked at Phlox. “I want to nip this in the bud, Doc.” “I agree. I will begin a course of antidepressants.” “Good. I have an idea, though …” Phlox cocked his head on one side. “And?” He listened while Archer filled him in. “You don’t mind?” “No. But let’s take it slowly, hmm? Let’s start out with the first item, and see how his physical response is. If that is satisfactory, you may then continue.” “Sounds reasonable.” “And I will be keeping an very close eye on him. Any adverse reactions, and I will stop this experiment of yours in its proverbial tracks.” “You won’t have to. The last thing I want is another relapse.”* * *
“Hey, brat.” “Hey yourself.” Archer sat on the bedside. “How you doing?” He really didn’t need an answer; he could see that Trip was visibly exerting himself simply to respond. “Sleep okay?” “Yeah, I guess.” Archer ran a gentle hand along his lover’s cheek. “No bad dreams?” “No nightmares, if that’s what you mean.” “But - ?” Trip sighed. “Just unpleasant ones. Not about what happened, but … “ He sighed. “Foreboding,” he finally said. “Like something really bad was going to happen any minute.” “That doesn’t sound good.” “No, I guess not.” “If that’s the case, I wonder …” Archer broke off, looked thoughtful. As he thought, this raised some faint curiosity in his partner. “You wonder what?” “Well, I was going to ask you for a favour, but maybe I shouldn’t.” Trip lifted himself on an elbow. “What favour?” Archer smiled inwardly, but said sternly, “Lie down. Or I won’t tell you.” “Bastard.” But he lay back down. “Okay – I’m being good. So tell me – what’s this favour you want?” Archer took a padd off of the bedside table. “Hoshi got these from the Starfleet bundle transmission last night.” “And?” “And there are a whole bunch of engineering articles they’ve included.” “What for?” “Forrest wants to know if some of these theoretical ideas being advanced could have practical uses. And how the hell would I know? I’m not a quantum engineer. You and Lt. Hess are the only ones on board who would know whether these people are blowing smoke or not.” He sighed. “And Hess is up to her eyeballs already, so I can’t ask her. But Forrest wants an answer ASAP. I don’t know what bug he’s got up his ass, but when he says ‘jump’ – “ “We all say ‘how high?’ on the way up,” Trip finished for him. “I could read these. Write a report. That’s what you wanted, right?” “No.” “No?” “No – I mean, yes, I want you to read them, but I’ll write the report, based on what you tell me.” “You’ve got enough to do,” Trip protested. “Why not let me help out?” “Because Phlox would skin me alive if he knew what I was asking.” “So, we won’t tell him.” “Are you sure you can handle this?” “What’s to handle? I’ll read the reports and dictate a response. I can do that much, you know. Despite what Phlox says.” “Well,” Archer thought about it for a long moment. “All right. Just as long as you take it easy.” “That’s a deal,” Trip said. For the first time in days, there was some animation in his voice. He held out his hand. “Let me see.” Archer made a show of reluctantly handing the padd over. “All right. But only for a while.” “Okay,” Trip said, impatiently. “Until supper. How’s that?” “All right.” He put his sternest expression on. “Because you know what will happen if Phlox finds out …” “I know, I know,” Trip responded absently. He was already deeply engrossed in the padd’s contents. “Airlock, underwear, and the rest of it.” Archer leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “Thanks.” “Mmm – hmm.” Archer allowed himself a faint smile, and then rose. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” “’Kay.” And have fun, my own.* * *
"What in hell?" Trip started. He looked up at Archer with such a comical expression of guilt that Archer literally bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing. The engineer looked down on the assortment of wires, chips and other bits of gear scattered across his bed table, swallowed, looked back up again, offering Archer a weak smile as he did. "Hey." The captain did not answer. Instead, he strode over to the bedside, looked down. The remains of a remote control and a padd were strewn across the tabletop. Although it was difficult to tell exactly what he was up to, it looked to Archer as if Trip was attempting to mechanically meld the two together. Archer held up the remote's face plate. "Care to explain?" Trip took a deep breath, plunged in. "I was reading those reports like you asked, right? And I came across something that got me thinking about the warp coil and how we could increase the matter/energy ratio without violating the Cochrane equation but I couldn't be sure it would work unless I took a look at the schematics and Phlox wouldn't let me have a computer but then I realized I had access to the ship's database after all through the entertainment database but I needed more than just the remote so I asked Hoshi – and don't blame her Jon she didn't know what I wanted it for – for the spare remote so I wouldn't wreck ours and then I got Hoshi to give me my small tools and got one of the book padds to wire to the remote to make a working keyboard and that's what I've been working on and you're not too mad are you Jon? Cause I –" "Whoa, whoa, whoa – Trip! Stop! Breathe! Please!" Somewhat shamefacedly, Trip did so. He glanced up at Archer. "Mad?" His lover did not reply directly. "You only follow the rules when you feel like it, don't you?" "Pretty much," was the admission. "Sorry." "Bull." "Jon?" "You're only sorry you got caught." "Yeah, I guess." "Because you were having a ball, weren't you?" Trip lay back on his pillow and fixed Jon with his best puppy-dog look. His lover sighed with mingled exasperation and amusement. "What am I going to do with you?" Trip simply continued to gaze beseechingly at him. Jon waved his arms in exaggerated annoyance and frustration. "All right, all right! Enough with the sad eyes already! You can keep on with whatever it is you're up to!" Trip was very careful not to look too pleased with himself. "Thanks," he said quietly. "Only a couple of hours every day, you hear me?" "Yes, Jon." "And if you start to feel tired, you stop." "Yes, Jon." "And don't strain your eyes." "Yes, Jon." "And if you get a headache, you stop. Immediately." "Yes, Jon." "And if your sensor bracelet even goes near warning levels, you stop. You hear me?" "Yes, Jon." "And if Phlox finds out, it's your ass." "Yes, Jon." "And you're humouring me right now, aren't you?" "Yes, Jon."* * *
"Hey! Bring that back! I'm still working on it!" "Not right now you aren't." Carefully, so as not to lose any of the small bits littering its top, he placed Trip's tray table atop the small cart that held all of his medical equipment, and then pushed it well out of the engineer's reach. He turned back to see Trip, arms crossed, glaring at him. "Bastard." "Now is that nice? I let you play all afternoon, didn't I?" Trip sniffed, all offended dignity. "For your information, I was not playing – I was working." It's one and the same when it comes to you, my brat, Archer thought fondly. Aloud, he said, "Whatever you want to call it. The point is, you spent all your time this afternoon working on this." "Not all afternoon," Trip pointed out. "Don't split hairs, brat. Nap time doesn't count, and you know it." Trip sighed. "Okay. Can I have it back if I eat my supper?" Archer sat on the bedside. "No." "Why not? I've been good, and I'm not tired yet, and –" Archer shook his head, cutting Trip off. "I said 'no'." "Why?" "Because I'm home after supper." "I know. So?" "So that's my time then?" "And?" "And," he said, taking Trip's hands in his own and pressing them against the mattress, "that's when you're mine." He leaned down, captured Trip's mouth with his own. He broke off the kiss momentarily to add, "And I won't share you with anyone – or anything." "Oh," Trip said, somewhat breathlessly when Archer finally allowed him up for air. "I guess I don't have much of a choice, do I?" ”Much of a choice? You've got none, brat." "Bastard." "Name calling isn't going to change my mind, you know." "I was hoping you'd say that."* * *
"So then Daddy said to me, 'You're absolutely right, son. But you still can't say that in public!'" Archer threw back his head and roared with laughter. He looked at Trip, who was wearing a broad grin. "Is that true?" "Absolutely." "So you were a brat back then, too." "Whoa, hey – that's a little harsh, don't you think?" "Yeah? How would you describe yourself, then?" "An innocent and naïve child." Archer snickered. "Yeah, right." Trip tried to look offended, but failed; a mischievous grin kept quirking up the corners of his mouth. He finally surrendered and joined in Archer's laughter. When they finally stopped, Archer gave his partner a kiss. "Nice." "Yeah. Got another one of those somewhere?" Archer complied. "That wasn't quite what I meant." "Oh? What did you mean, then?" "This." At Trip's raised eyebrow, he clarified, "I mean, just being like this. Together." He and Trip were lying face-to-face in each other's arms. Archer had meant what he said about evenings being time for him and Trip alone. After supper, he would climb into bed, take the engineer in his arms, and spend the evening until Trip's bedtime with his lover. Sometimes they watched a movie, or played a game of chess. But most of the time, they simply talked, or, as Trip called it, “canoodled”. "It is nice," Trip agreed. "We should keep on, even when you're up and around again. Maybe once a week?" Trip was amused. "One night a week for canoodling?" "Sure, why not? There's already Movie Night and Book Club Night." "So you want a Canoodling Night as well." "Got a problem with that?" "Not really ... Although ..." He chuckled. "Although what?" "I can just imagine telling Travis: 'Sorry, Trav. I can't play chess tonight. It's Canoodling Night!'" Archer joined in his laughter. "Or, better yet," Trip continued, still laughing, "imagine you telling T'Pol: 'Sorry, Subcommander, but I have to go. Tonight's my night to canoodle with Commander Tucker!'" Both laughed again. "We don't have to post it on the ship's schedule," Archer pointed out. "That's true. Okay – which night?" "Let's just say once a week – depending. That way, we won't fall into a rut. How does that sound?" "Sounds good. As they say – variety is the spice of life." "There is that. Plus, it'll have the added advantage of keeping you on your toes." "Oh, like I'm usually not? Is that what you're saying?" "The fact that I have to spell it out for you just proves my point." "That's what you think. I happen to know – " He was not allowed to finish; a soft but insistent chime began to sound. "Damn. Is it that time already?" "Looks that way. Thirty minutes and counting." "No shower?" "Not tonight, brat. You know the rules." Trip sighed. Archer smiled at him, got out of bed, and returned a moment later with a tall frosted glass in hand. "Chocolate," he said, referring to the flavor. Phlox was trying to put some weight on the engineer, and so was feeding him milkshakes before bedtime. Archer handed the glass over. "Drink up." Trip obeyed. "Good?" Trip nodded as Archer climbed back into bed. "Finish up, then." Trip obeyed. When he had finally drained the glass, he put it on the bedside table. Archer put an arm around him, and he turned towards the captain, slipped an arm around his lover's waist. He sighed. "I'm not really tired, Jon." Archer smiled, drew him close, began to stroke his back. "It's not up to me," he replied. "And besides, considering how busy you were today, I'm not sure that getting less sleep is a good idea." "I guess you're right." "It's a tough life." "Tell me about it." He kissed Trip. "You're just neglected and abused, aren't you?" "You bet." Archer began to caress Trip's back; long, slow strokes. Trip sighed, closed his eyes. "Better, my own?" Trip nodded as his lover drew him closer. Archer began to move his hands in slow, lazy circles, his fingertips just brushing Trip's skin. "You like?" Trip murmured his assent. He could feel Jon's fingers as they began to gently apply light pressure along his spine, moving slowly and methodically towards his waist. More light, seemingly casual touches at one spot. He shifted slightly, and a gentle warmth seemed to rise up through him, emanating from Jon's touch. He moaned softly. "Something wrong?" "No," he whispered. Jon responded by increasing the pressure, and the warmth became something more, something more insistent. The resultant pleasure made him whimper. "Oh, what's this?" Jon was teasing now. "That didn't sound good." But fortunately, he didn't stop what he was doing. It was becoming difficult to think clearly; let alone reply. There were other, more pressing things to concern him. Another pulse rose up through him, and he moaned again. "Maybe I'd better stop." But even as he said this, Jon pressed down again. The sensations this produced made Trip arch his back and cry out. "No, definitely not good. I'd better stop." His head was starting to spin. "Oh, God, Jon ... " "What was that?" "Jon ... Please ..." "Please what? Please stop?" "Don't ..." "Don't what?" "Stop ..." "You want me to stop?" He could barely think; all that existed was the touch of Jon's hands on his back, and the waves of sensuous delight that touch produced. "Well?" "Bastard!" "Manners, brat. Manners." "What ... you're doing ..." "Vulcan neuro pressure number 259. You like?" Trip whimpered but was otherwise silent. Jon continued his attentions, but did not speed up or slow down; he continued the same slow, deliberate strokes. Trip found himself trapped in the erotic web his lover had spun. He was suspended between waves, waiting ... it was agony ... it was wonderful. He couldn't stand another moment. He couldn't bear it if it stopped ... Please, Jon ... I can't ... I can't... "Yes or no?" He groaned. "Jon ..." Jon did not answer; at least, not directly. Instead, he increased the pressure. Not by much. Only a little bit. But enough. Enough. Enough to send Trip straight into orbit. Enough to make him scream aloud and arch himself up against Jon. Enough give him a shattering climax that seemed to go on forever. Trembling, he slowly relaxed, found himself in Jon's embrace. His head spinning, he was faintly aware of Jon kissing him, then smiling at him. As he tumbled into a deep, exhausted sleep, he heard Jon say, "You were saying you weren't tired?"
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