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 8
* * *
Archer hurried down the corridor. Phlox had just called him. The T’Mara would be leaving in 72 hours for a rendezvous with another Vulcan science vessel. Faced with this deadline, Captain Salec had decided that Trip was well enough to answer his questions. Archer quickened his pace to a near-gallop, cursing Vulcan inquisitiveness. But he knew that he was also at fault; he should have warned Trip. He hadn’t, though; he’d been so worried about the surgery that he’d forgotten. He reached Trip’s room and rushed inside. Salec was sitting by Trip’s bedside, and at his entrance, both of them looked up at him. Trip’s expression was unreadable. “You,” he said.* * *
“Thank you for remaining, Captain,” Salec said. “I still have a number of questions.” Archer sighed mentally, and looked over at Trip. “How about you? You okay?” Trip gave him a faint smile. “I’m fine.” Archer was relieved to see that Trip had apparently regained his sense of humor. He’d been afraid that the engineer would be upset, but so far he was holding up fairly well. He took Trip’s hand, looked over at Salec. “Fire away.” It turned out to be a long afternoon. Salec did not just have a number of questions; he had a large number of questions, and he wanted detailed answers to every last one. At one point, Salec looked at Trip curiously. “Commander – you appear somewhat reluctant to discuss some of these issues. Are you embarrassed?” “Embarrassed?” Trip looked surprised. “No. No, not really.” “Then what is the reason for your reticence?” “Just the way I was raised, I guess.” “Can you be more specific?” Trip thought a moment. “I remember my daddy telling me that a real man didn’t kiss and tell. That it was disrespectful.” Archer observed that his accent was more noticeable, as it always was when Trip hearkened back to his Southern roots. “He said that if I didn’t love every girl I was with, then I should at least respect her. And locker room talk wasn’t respectful.” He smiled. “I saw what my parents had, and I wanted that. So I took what dad said real seriously. Still do.” Archer realized that was true. In all the years he’d known Trip, he had never heard him talk about the women he had been with. He really did not engage in so-called “locker room” discussions. When it came to his sex life, Trip was a gentleman. He didn’t kiss and tell. His answer seemed to satisfy Salec. “Speaking of your parents – what do they think of your relationship?” This was directed at both of them. “Both of my parents are dead,” Archer said quietly. “I see. Commander?” “They’re happy if I am,” was the response. “Although they told me I have to bring Jon home with me next time we’re back on Earth.” He smiled at Archer. “Want to check you out, I guess. Make sure you’re good enough for their boy.” Archer smiled back. “I’ll try not to disappoint them.” “Speaking of returning to Earth, what are your plans once Enterprise’s mission is completed?” Trip looked surprised. “Hadn’t thought that far ahead, to be honest.” “You don’t think that your career may have some impact on your relationship?” “How so?” “Some day you’ll be the captain of your own starship, Commander. That will necessitate an adjustment in your relationship, will it not?” Trip was silent. “You really haven’t considered this?” Salec persisted. “No.” Trip finally said. “Mostly because I don’t want to be a captain.” Both Salec and Archer looked at him in surprise. “I’m happy down in engineering,” he added. “Why would I want to give that up?” He smiled at Archer. “Close your mouth; you’re catching flies.” “You really mean that, don’t you?” Archer asked. “Well, I don’t think there are any actual flies aboard – “ “Brat. You know what I mean.” “Yeah, I do. And I yeah, I do. Mean it, that is.” He smiled. “I know what I want, and I’ve already got it. As far as I’m concerned, the Captain’s chair is a nice place to visit, but I don’t want to live there.” He sighed, shifted slightly. Archer stroked his hair. “Getting tired?” At Trip’s nod, he looked over at Salec. “I think we’d better finish this up.” “Very well. I have one more question.”* * *
“You okay?” “I don’t know.” “I’m sorry,” Archer said again. “If I’d known …” “How could you? You’re not psychic.” I wish I were, Archer thought. Salec’s last question had turned out to be a killer, though no doubt the Vulcan had thought it innocuous: “Can you tell me about your first sexual encounter with each other?” Trip’s smile had vanished, and his hands had clenched. Salec had looked from one to the other in honest bewilderment. “It’s a little complicated,” Archer had finally said reluctantly. Seeing that this was not going to satisfy Salec, he then added. “It was on Tasumi. And it was – “ “ – an act. A charade.” Trip’s voice had been flat. “It was necessary to convince the Tasumis that … “ Archer had trailed off. He hadn’t known how to finish, but Trip had no such problem. “That I was the Captain’s slave. We had to have sex in front of them before they would believe it.” “It was the only way I could get Trip away from Tasumi,” Archer had added. God, that sounds lame! Even though it’s the truth. “I see,” Salec had said, although it was evident he did not. “We didn’t become lovers until much later,” Archer had said. Then, he had added, “I think that’s all. Trip’s tired.” His voice had been courteous but firm. It had been obvious that Salec had more questions, but a look at Archer’s determined countenance had convinced him that pressing the issue would not yield any results. The door had closed behind an unsatisfied Vulcan, and Archer had been left with Trip. Trip had been polite but remote, and he had been wearing a frozen expression that Archer was sadly all too familiar with; the engineer had worn it a lot while he had been recuperating from his experiences on Tasumi. There seemed to be only one thing to do. He had pushed their beds together, then climbed in, took Trip in his arms. He had kissed the younger man. Trip had stirred, turned his head to look at him. “I’m sorry,” Archer had said. “Sorry that it brought back bad memories.” When Trip was silent, he had kissed him again. Trip managed a faint smile. Archer repeated himself. “Sorry.” Now he stroked Trip’s face. “Guess what?” “What?” Trip was only being civil. His tone of voice said quite plainly that he wasn’t interested in anything Archer might have to say. Well, that’s going to change, Archer thought. “Phlox says you can come home tomorrow.” “Sickbay?” “No. Home with me.” “Really?” Trip brightened. “You’re not putting me on?” “Scout’s honor.” Trip’s smile illuminated his face. Archer kissed him again, breathing a mental sigh of relief as he did. It looked like Trip was going to be all right after all. As it turned out, he was wrong about that.* * *
Home. At long last. Trip sighed contentedly. It was really quite astonishing how happy he was, considering how little things had changed. He was still confined to bed, still had the damn pillows restricting his movements, was still as weak as a kitten and helpless as a newborn babe, and still continuously exhausted. And ridiculously happy. Despite everything, mentally he felt 100% better. Just being back home and in his own bed made all the difference. Well, okay, technically it wasn’t his own bed. Jon had traded several of the bajet seedlings for a cargo hold of equipment. Turned out that the Vulcans aboard the T’Mara were as crazy for bajet fruit as T’Pol was. Of course they would never stoop to admitting it, but the amount of equipment Jon had been able to get in return spoke volumes. Included amongst the booty were several hospital beds. Two of these had been delivered to their quarters, and Jon had wasted no time in locking them together. So when Trip had been allowed to come home, he’d found the bed – and Jon – waiting for him. He smiled again. Jon and Phlox had both been fussing around him, getting in each other’s way, until Phlox, exasperated, had given Jon the boot and had not allowed the Captain back into his own quarters until everything was set up to the doctor’s stringent standards. But once Phlox had left, Jon had crawled into bed, taken Trip in his arms and held him until he fell asleep. Trip slept better than he’d had since the accident. He looked over at another prize Jon had wangled from the Vulcans; a high-quality, wall-sized screen. Jon had received several of these, and had one installed in their quarters. Rank, after all, did have its privileges. It could be used to watch movies or other entertainment channels. Or, as now, it could be programmed to display landscapes. Trip’s favorite was currently present; a tropical beach, complete with palm trees and the faint sounds of seabirds. The landscape would change in real time, and as it was mid-afternoon, ship’s time, the light in the sky on screen also had that slanted, afternoon look to it. They had watched the sun set last night, and then Jon had left the program on, so that they had slept under the light of a bright tropical moon. It was almost as good as the real thing. He pulled his grandmother’s quilt up around him, and at the sight of the bright patchwork was again reminded of the happy, sunlit days of his childhood. At the movement, Porthos lifted his head, wagged his tail. “Yeah,” Trip whispered, “I even missed you, you cheese-stealing hound, you.” Porthos’ tail wagged even harder; presumably, he was echoing Trip’s sentiments. The door to the living room opened, and Malcolm Reed looked in. “Commander?” It seemed that Enterprise’s crew was taking turns babysitting. “Do you need something?” “No, Mal. Just talking to Porthos.” “Are you sure?” “Yeah. I’m going to have a nap, so you don’t have to hang around anymore.” “I don’t mind.” “I know. And thanks. But you can go. If I need something, I’ll buzz Sickbay.” “Are you sure?” “Yeah.” Reed hesitated. “Would you like me to get you something before I go?” Trip shook his head. “I’ve got my ginger ale. I’m okay.” When Reed still looked unconvinced, he added, “I can’t sleep, knowing you’re out there all worried about me.” As he thought, that did the trick. “All right. Sleep well.” And the door closed. “Lights,” Trip murmured, and the lights obligingly dimmed. He looked at the screen. “Display off.” It flicked off, and he was in semi-darkness. He looked down at Porthos. “Let’s have a snooze, okay?” Porthos wagged his tail, and Trip smiled slightly. It’s good to be home, he thought, and closed his eyes, preparing for a nice long nap. He heard the door open, and without opening his eyes, said, “I’m all right, Mal. Just saying ‘sweet dreams’ to Porthos.” But it wasn’t Malcolm Reed standing there. It was Healer T’Myr.* * *
Trip pulled his quilt up about him defensively. T’Myr had been at him for what seemed like hours, and he was exhausted. “I’m really getting tired,” he said for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I regret tiring you,” she said, and he knew that she didn’t regret a damned thing. “But I need your assistance, Commander.” He sighed. She had been persistent, prying, drawing answers out of him, forcing him to relieve his ordeal on Tasumi. She was relentless. Almost desperate. “Please,” he said, his voice pleading. “I really don’t want to do this.” She ignored him. “I understand that you were repeatedly, publicly assaulted as a disciplinary measure. How have you been able to come to terms with this?” Disciplinary measure. He shuddered. That was one way of putting it, he supposed. And despite his best efforts, the memories rose up, overwhelmed him. The laughter. The applause. The pain. And worse – the pleasure. “You really are a slut,” one of the guards had said, after he had forced Trip into another climax. “Look at you!” And laughing, he had then made him come again. Trip pulled the quilt about himself as tight as he could. “Please,” he whispered. “Don’t make me … “ “Anything you can tell me, Commander. Anything at all.” “I’m tired,” he muttered. “Leave me alone.” He turned his head away from her. “No more.” “Commander.” He was silent. “Commander!” No response.* * *
“Madam Healer!” Phlox thundered. “You have overstepped your bounds!” T’Myr turned in her chair, her expression resolute. “You knew that I wished to speak to Commander Tucker.” “And I expressly forbade it. You have disregarded my orders. Worse, you obviously have no regard for my patient’s well being! What kind of ethics do you practice, madam?” “My conduct is perfectly ethical, Doctor.” “Really? Take a look at the Commander, and tell me that again.” “I judged that the risk was acceptable, and I took it.” “And who are you to judge?” T’Myr stood, lifted her chin. “I am a Healer. And I have patients who need my assistance. My duty to them supersedes any other considerations.” “You do not help one patient by harming another! Commander Tucker is not a mere consideration! He is a thinking, breathing sentient! You had no right – “ “Enough!” Archer was furious. He turned to Phlox. “Have security escort her to the airlock.” He looked at T’Myr. “You are no longer welcome aboard Enterprise. And I intend to have a discussion with Captain Salec about this incident.” T’Myr was unfazed. “Do what you feel is necessary, Captain. But remember, I only did the same.” Archer ignored her. Instead, he went to Trip’s bedside, laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, noting unhappily that it was stiff and unyielding. “Trip,” he said quietly. When there was no response, he tried again. “Hey, brat. It’s me, Jon.” He bent down to kiss his lover, and was dismayed when Trip shrank away from the touch. Regression plus. He persisted, stroking the younger man’s hair. “Trip. It’s all right.” Still no response. He sighed, and stepped away, making room for Phlox.* * *
“No!” Trip glared up at Archer. “I don’t want it!” Archer sighed. After three days of silence, Trip was speaking again – with a vengeance. “Trip,” he said patiently, “you’ve got to eat.” A scowl was the response. “Not hungry.” “Try it,” Archer coaxed. “Just a little. Chef made it special. Just for you.” “And probably stuffed it full of drugs. I’m not eating!” “Now you’re being ridiculous.” “Don’t patronize me, dammit!” “I’m not patronizing you. But you’ve got to eat.” “No! Leave me alone!” “You know I can’t do that. Look, I know it’s tough – “ “ – You don’t know a goddamned thing! You have no idea what I’m going through! Or what I’ve been through!” “You’re right,” Archer agreed. “I don’t.” Trip glowered at him. “Thank you. Now will you just go away and leave me the hell alone?” “Not until you eat.” “No! Why can’t you get it through your head that I am not hungry?” Archer put out a hand, meaning to comfort him, but Trip was in no mood for comfort. “Don’t touch me!” He was beginning to become extremely upset; two red spots flared in his otherwise pale cheeks, and his blue eyes were suspiciously bright. “Trip?” “Everyone’s always touching me. Poking, prodding! Grabbing me! Never leaving me alone! I’m not a piece of meat, you know!” “I know, brat,” Archer soothed. Trip refused to be soothed. “Don’t call me ‘brat’!” Even though you’re living up to that title today, Archer thought. Trip was certainly doing his best to provoke him, but he refused to be drawn. God knew he was sorely tempted, but God probably also knew how badly Trip was hurting right now. T’Myr, in her quest to find relief for her Vulcan patients, had stirred up memories best left alone. And now, Trip was going to have to come to terms with them all over again. Add to that his depleted physical condition, and it was no surprise that he was upset in both body and soul. “All right, Trip. Whatever you want.” “What I want,” Trip said, enunciating every word, “is to be left alone.” He glared at Archer. When the captain simply stood, gazing calmly at him, he scowled again. Unable to turn away, he instead pulled the blankets up over his head in an attempt to shut the captain – and the world – out. Archer stared, unbelieving. And then he couldn’t help it - he burst out laughing. Furious, Trip popped his head out from under the quilt. Archer knew his laughter was only serving to upset the younger man even more, but he couldn’t stop. It’s a stress reaction, he thought abstractedly, even as his laughter continued. “It’s not funny!” Trip snarled. When Archer still kept laughing, he reached over to his bedside table, groped for a missile of some sort. He found a crystal sphere that was sitting within reach, and hurled it at Archer with all of his feeble strength. Archer caught it easily, plucking it out of the air with one large, practiced hand. He sobered. “I don’t think you want to break this, Trip.” Trip glared at him, but was silent. Archer recognized the look; he seen it a few times before. Trip realized that he had just crossed the line, but was still unrepentant and defiant nonetheless. “I know you’re not yourself,” he said gently. Trip turned his head away, but not before Archer caught a glimpse of tears. He sighed again, and reached out, began stroking Trip’s hair. The younger man shivered, but submitted, allowing the touch. “You’re really feeling lousy, aren’t you?” A faint sob was his answer. There was only one thing to do. He climbed onto the bed, took Trip in his arms as best he could. He’d done this often enough in the wake of Trip’s ordeal on Tasumi, and it seemed to give the engineer a measure of comfort and reassurance. Trip tensed, then turned his head. A single tear slipped down his cheek, and Archer reached, gently wiped it away with the ball of his thumb. “It’s all right.” “No it’s not,” Trip said, angry and upset. Archer gathered him close, stroked his back and kissed him on the forehead. “But it will be,” he said, rocking the engineer as if he was a small child. “It will be.”
| Back to Chapter 7 |
Payment in Full chapter listing |
On to Chapter 9 |
| To Pippin's page | To Main MEG Archive page |