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 7
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“I’m sorry,” Jon was saying for about the tenth time. “I thought they would have told you.” He laid a hand on Trip’s forehead. “You know, I didn’t want to leave you alone while you were being prepped. But I had to get ready myself, and it’s a long process. I figured it’d be better to do it this way, so I’d be with you right from the start of the surgery. I hope it wasn’t too bad,” he said, referring to the preparation process. Trip felt absurdly happy. Jon hadn’t deserted him after all. “It wasn’t too bad. But I wondered where you were.” “Sorry,” Jon repeated. “It’s all right. Just don’t do it again, okay?” “That’s a promise.” He was wheeled over to the table. As opposed to a simple rectangle, it was humanoid in shape, with discernable areas for a patient’s head, torso, arms and legs. Each of these could be positioned separately, so that the surgeon had maximum access to whatever he or she was working on. Trip was quickly placed on it, face-down. Jon stood beside him, his expression grave, and took one of Trip’s hands in his. “This isn’t going to be fun,” he said quietly, “but I promise you, it’ll be over quick. Okay?” Trip nodded. He felt something cold and wet on his back, high between his shoulders. One the Vulcans spoke. “We are now going to administer a spinal block, Commander. Are you prepared?” No, he thought, but made a small noise indicating assent. Just get it over with. At first, there was only pressure on his back. This isn’t so bad, he thought. It increased steadily. And then the pain hit. It was monstrous, implacable. Trip gripped Jon's hand with all of his feeble strength, and found himself biting his pillow to keep the screams locked in. He wasn’t going to give the Vulcans any more reasons to pity the poor backward human if he could help it. Jon stroked his hair. “Hold on,” he kept murmuring, “hold on.” Trip hardly heard him. He was hanging, agonized, suspended alone in eternity with only the pain to keep him company. But gradually, it lost its sharpness, began to ebb away, as did all feeling below his collarbone. He exhaled, shakily. Jon squeezed his almost totally numb hand. “Finished,” he told him. “And that’s the worst of it, okay?” “Okay,” Trip agreed faintly. “You withstood that well,” the Vulcan who had administered the block said. Trip craned his head over his now-frozen shoulder. The Vulcan actually looked surprised. Guess I showed you. But all he said was, “Thanks.” He was then flipped onto his back. Sterile sheets were draped over him, and curtains hung from a frame above him. He could no longer see the surgeons, nor could they see him. Additional screens were also placed on either side of him, creating a small enclave. He couldn’t see – or feel himself – beyond the screens. It was strange – he felt disconnected, floating. He looked over, and Phlox smiled down on him. “You’re doing very well.” He heard a slight scraping, and turned his head to watch as Jon pulled up a chair and settled in beside him. His lover smiled. “Well, brat, looks like we’re in it for the long haul, doesn’t it?” “Seems that way,” Trip agreed. “What do you want to talk about?” Jon smiled again. He produced a small viewer and dual headphones. “How about the latest game between Chicago and Miami?”* * *
“He’ll sleep for a few hours at least,” Phlox said. He was examining the read-outs from the various monitors and instruments surrounding Trip. Telemetry of life, Archer thought abstractedly. From behind the screens, he could hear the surgeons’ quiet whispers as they continued their work. It made him realize, yet again, the superiority of Vulcan hearing. He was only a few feet away from them, and all he could make out was the faintest murmur, and no intelligible words. He looked over at Phlox. “I thought you said Trip was too weak for a general anesthesia.” “He is.” “But you just gave him a sedative.” “Captain,” Phlox said, smiling, “there is a vast difference between the effects of a general anesthetic and a mild sedative.” “Oh.” He should know better than to question Phlox by now. But when it came to Trip, he couldn’t help himself. “How long?” He kept his voice low; the last thing he wanted was to disrupt the Vulcans’ concentration. Not while they were working on Trip. “It’s been six hours,” Phlox told him. “I’m told it’s going very well. But they estimate another six hours - at least - before completion.” He looked at Archer, his face expressionless. But his eyes were kind. “You have done an excellent job with the Commander, Captain.” “It’s not me,” Archer muttered. “Trip’s easy to please.” They’d watched the game, then listened to a talking book. Phlox interrupted several times, checking on Trip. The last time, he had given the engineer some fruit juice, and Trip had dozed off not long afterwards. Now Phlox handed him a carton. Archer drank it, noting absently as he did that it was orange juice. Must have brought it over from Enterprise. “You should rest as well,” the doctor said. Archer looked at him. “Just stretch out on the floor here beside Trip, is that it?” Phlox smiled. “Of course not.” He came around the table, took Archer by the elbow and led him to a small anteroom off the main theatre, making sure that Archer did not look in the direction of the surgery as he did. It was empty except for a single cot. “You may lay down here and get some sleep. This room is sterile so you won’t need to scrub in again.” Archer suddenly felt sleepy. “You doped my drink,” he accused. Phlox did not deny it. Instead, he led the Captain over to the cot. “Lie down. Rest.” Archer obeyed, only because it was too difficult to stand upright. “Trip,” he managed. “You will waken before he does,” Phlox assured him. “Believe me, I will not cause you to break your promise to the Commander.” “Thanks,” Archer muttered, and was out like the proverbial light.* * *
Phlox was as good as his word. Archer woke a few hours later rested and refreshed. He stood, and stretched, and looked around. Bad mistake. He could see the surgeons milling about Trip, but he could also see Trip. There’s so much blood! He rapidly turned his head the other way, but still felt dizzy. Phlox came over, pushed him down so that he was sitting on the floor. “Head between your knees,” he commanded, and as Archer obeyed, he felt the hiss of a hypospray. He felt better, but kept his head down for a few minutes longer. “Are you all right, Captain?” “Yeah,” he muttered. “Sorry.” “No apologies are needed, Captain. Do you think you can stand?” Phlox extended a hand, and Archer took it. “Don’t look over there,” the doctor warned. “You don’t need to remind me of that, believe me.” Phlox guided him over to the operating table. Trip was still asleep. Gently, he stroked his lover’s forehead. “He has not awoken,” Phlox said. “Nor will he for some time yet.” He gave Archer another carton of juice. “Nothing in it,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Thanks, Doc.” He took a drink, and felt better, then sat beside Trip, continued stroking his forehead. “It’s all right, brat,” he murmured into Trip’s ear. “You’re doing great. The doctors are really pleased.” And he continued murmuring reassurances into Trip’s ear until he awoke.* * *
The chief surgeon drew the curtains back. “We have finished,” he said calmly. He looked gravely at Trip. “You did well, Commander.” “Thanks,” Trip whispered. Phlox bustled over. “You’ll be taken to recovery for the adjustments.” Trip looked apprehensive. “Adjustments?” “We’ve discussed this already, remember?” Phlox asked kindly. “The nerve implants.” “Yeah,” Trip murmured. “Nanotechnology. I remember.” The Vulcans were using the latest, cutting-edge technology on the engineer. His broken bones had tiny, molecule-sized nanobots implanted along the fractures which would encourage the growth of new bone at an accelerated pace. Tiny gravitational generators, no more than an inch in diameter, were placed in strategic areas to exert the proper pressure and keep the bones aligned, eliminating the need for bulky, cumbersome casts. Micro-electric implants were also placed along the bone and muscles. These would generate a weak current, designed to both stimulate healing and keep the muscles from atrophying. And finally, small pain inhibitors have been placed at the appropriate nerve junctions. These would interrupt the synapses from selected nerves, thus keeping him pain-free without chemicals. “The pain inhibitors will have to be activated and properly adjusted.” “Okay.” Trip sighed. “Sleepy?” Archer asked. “Sure am.” He sighed again. “I feel like I just ran the marathon.” “Not surprising,” Phlox assured him. “You have undergone an extensive procedure, and the stress placed on your system has been considerable. If you want to sleep, then sleep.” “Might as well,” Archer added. “I’m sure they’ll wake you when they need you.” “Sounds good,” Trip murmured, and was asleep again.* * *
The recovery room was dim and quiet; surprisingly quiet, considering the number of people present. Trip, still sleeping, was stretched out on a diagnostic bed, flanked on either side by Archer and Phlox. A number of Vulcans milled about, taking readings, or adjusting the instruments that would help calibrate the pain inhibitors. “Captain,” Phlox said quietly. “I think I should warn you. When he awakens, he will be in considerable pain. It is unfortunately necessary in order for the calibrations to be done correctly. I know it will be distressing to witness, but I assure you, they will adjust the inhibitors as quickly as they can.” “Make sure they do,” Archer warned grimly. “He’s been through enough as is.” “The Commander will need you to remain calm,” Phlox warned in turn. “If you are upset, then it will only serve to distress him all the more, and make his ordeal that much worse.” “So you’re saying I should just ignore his suffering?” Archer snapped. “Is that it?” “Of course not,” Phlox replied patiently. “But your task is to support and calm him. You will not be able to do so if your own emotions are in an uproar.” “You’re right,” Archer said, chastened. “Sorry, Doc. I don’t know what’s the matter with me lately.” He sighed. “I can’t seem to hold my temper in.” “Not surprising,” Phlox said gently. “You, too, are under stress. It’s never easy to watch a loved one suffer.” No kidding. He sighed, stroked Trip’s forehead. He would gladly take all of Trip’s pain upon himself. If only he could. If only. Trip’s head moved. His hands twitched slightly; the anesthetic was wearing off. His eyes opened, and he looked around, dazed. “Jon?” “I’m here.” He picked up Trip’s hand. “How you doing?” “You’re holding my hand,” was the weak response. “The feeling is coming back.” “You’re right,” Archer agreed. “But don’t get too hyper. Just lie quiet.” “No cartwheels yet,” Trip concurred. He closed his eyes, as Archer stroked his forehead. Suddenly, Trip’s eyes opened and he caught his breath. “Oh,” he moaned faintly. “The feeling’s really coming back.” One of the Vulcans approached him. “To what extent?” “My chest,” Trip managed. “My belly.” “What about your legs?” “Not yet.” The Vulcans began to work on the equipment, turning dials and taking readings. Trip suddenly tensed. “What are doing? You’re making it worse!” he cried. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and his pallor increased. “He’s going to lose consciousness,” Phlox warned. And Trip did indeed faint a few seconds later. “He must hurt like hell,” Archer worried. “Trip’s one tough customer.” “We will rectify the matter quickly,” one of the Vulcans promised. A cold cloth was produced, and Trip’s face and wrists were bathed with it. His eyelids fluttered, and he came around. “Oh, God,” he groaned. Archer took his hand. “I’m sorry, brat. Try and hold on.” He looked over at the Vulcans, who were coolly observing the interaction. “What are you waiting for?” he demanded angrily. A number of raised eyebrows met this question, but they returned to their tasks without comment. Adjustments were made, and slowly, Trip began to relax. He was still tense, but the pain was lessening. He closed his eyes. More adjustments were made, and Trip’s eyes opened. “What did you do?” Archer stroked his forehead. “Is the pain bad?” “No,” Trip said in a tone of wonderment. “It’s like they flipped a switch. It’s gone. Completely.” “Excellent,” one of the Vulcans said. “These, then, are the correct settings.” She looked at Phlox. “It should be the same for the leg, but of course we will double check that area as well.” Archer sat down beside Trip, held his hand, and waited with him for the feeling – and the pain – to return to his leg. “Thanks,” Trip murmured. “For what?” “For being here. For staying with me through all of this. I know you’re not crazy about this kind of thing.” “You’re right – I’m not,” Archer agreed. “But I am crazy about you, you know.” “Careful,” Trip replied. “You’re getting all mushy again. All that emotion – you’re going to scare the Vulcans.” “Screw the Vulcans,” Archer retorted, and kissed him.
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