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: Archer has to resort to some stern measures to ensure Trip’s recovery from a debilitating illness.
The Rules
Part One
By Pippin
* * *
“What happened?” “Captain?” Trip blinked, looked around, and found himself lying on the bed in his quarters. Looming over him were the Captain and Dr. Phlox. Both looked grim. “What were you doing out of bed, Trip?” Archer’s voice was deceptively mild, but the hazel eyes that gazed down on him were stern. Trip swallowed nervously. He knew he was in trouble, and he looked away, trying to evade the Captain’s angry gaze. Archer, however, was not going to let him off that easily. “Trip!” “I ... I .. “ he stammered, then fell silent. “You were specifically told to stay in bed. As I recall, that’s the only reason you were allowed out of Sickbay in the first place, because you promised you would. Am I right?” “Yes, sir.” “’Stay in bed’. What part of that didn’t you understand, Trip? Because I fail to see how passing out on your bathroom floor is obeying that order. Care to explain?” Trip sighed. “I’m sorry, Captain.” Archer didn’t respond, and Trip found himself plucking nervously at his blanket as a result. “But I had to –“ “You’re supposed to buzz the doc, Trip. Someone will come and help you.” “No,” Trip protested weakly, “you don’t understand.” “Then explain it to me.” Trip continued to pluck at his blanket. Without out looking up, he said, “I was going to be sick. I couldn’t wait for someone, ‘cause I didn’t want to make a mess.” Archer suddenly looked stricken. But Trip, intent on his blanket, failed to see the change in the Captain’s expression. Mistaking Archer’s silence for anger, he continued with his explanation: “I figured I could make it to the john by myself. And I did. But then,“ he sighed, “after – I started to get dizzy. I didn’t think I could make it back to my bed by walking. So I thought, if I got down on all fours and crawled back, I’d still be okay. So that’s what I did. But I got dizzier, so I stopped. Thought if I laid down for a minute or two, I’d be able to go on. I was so hot ... and the floor was so nice and cool ... and the next thing I know, I’m back here and you and the doc are standing over me.” He looked up, expecting to see the Captain’s still-wrathful gaze on him. To his surprise, Archer had his hand over his eyes, and he looked more upset than angry. “Captain?” “I’m sorry, Trip,” Archer replied. He sighed, rubbed his face, then dropped his hand and looked at Phlox. “Doc?” “Fortunately, no permanent damage has been done.” The Denobulan gave Trip a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I’m going to give the Commander a shot. It will help the stomach upset, and“ - this to Trip - “will make you very sleepy. Don’t fight it.” Trip nodded. “Good,” said Archer. “Take care of Trip, Doc.” He looked down at the young engineer again. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, and abruptly left.* * *
“I would like some clarification, Captain.” Archer looked up at the doctor and sighed. “It’s my fault.” “You already said that. What exactly is your fault?” Phlox drew up a chair, and sat facing the human captain. He noted that Archer was starting to show the strain; he had circles under his eyes, and the hands cradling the coffee cup shook slightly. The doctor inwardly chided himself; he had been so focused on Commander Tucker that he had neglected the rest of the crew. It was more than likely that the Captain was not the only crewmember affected both physically and emotionally by the Chief Engineer’s ordeal. Commander Tucker was, he reflected, extremely popular. Archer sighed again. “I pushed him.” “Captain?” “Trip. I bullied him into eating.” He sipped his coffee absently. “He told me he wasn’t hungry, but I didn’t listen. I should have. I should have asked him about it. But instead ...” He looked at Phlox. “I never gave him a chance to explain. Hell, I practically shoved his lunch down his throat. And because it was me, and because he’s Trip – he let me.” Phlox nodded. “The Commander is extremely anxious to please you, Captain.” Archer nodded his agreement. “Even when he’s as sick as a dog. Anyone else would have told me they weren’t up to it and to go to hell. But not Trip.” He shook his head again. “I guess I wanted him to eat, because then I could tell myself that he was actually getting better. Instead, I made things worse. And does he blame me?” Archer stood, and began to pace his ready room. "No! Does he say, ‘it was you who made me sick, you stupid schmuck?’ No! Instead, he say’s he’s sorry. Sorry because I made him sick! Sorry! I’m the one who should be apologizing!” “I agree,” Phlox said mildly. Archer stopped pacing and stared at the Denobulan in surprise. Phlox matched his stare. “You were wrong. You acted without having all the necessary information. Fortunately, the resulting damage was minimal.” He smiled slightly at Archer’s astonishment. “You were expecting me to disagree with you?” Archer opened his mouth, closed it again and looked at Phlox. “You’re right,” he finally said. “I guess I was. I was hoping you’d say that I was acting in Trip’s best interests.” “It’s true that you thought you were. But by acting without having all the pertinent data, you were ultimately working against the Commander’s well-being. Of course,” he added, “the Commander himself should have been more forthcoming – “ Archer held up a hand. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t blame this on Trip. He’s been so sick. And he’s still weak –” He broke off at the expression on Phlox’s face. The doctor was smiling that peculiar Denobulan smile of his. It always made Archer think of that old cartoon character, the Grinch. “What’s so amusing?” he demanded. The doctor shook his head. “I apologize, Captain. But the interpersonal dynamic between the Commander and yourself must be one of the unchanging constants of the universe.” At Archer’s inquiring look, he clarified: “The Commander is anxious to please you. He works hard to live up to what he perceives to be your expectations. Even when battling a deadly virus, he still worries about disappointing you. You, on the other hand, are protective of him – very much so. You will not allow anyone else to speak poorly of him. And I suspect that you are also very proud of him as well. Tell me - do you see him as a substitute younger sibling?” Archer shook his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. Phlox smiled. “But very human.” The Captain sat again, and sighed. Phlox regarded him. “You still persist in blaming yourself for the Commander’s condition.” It was a statement, not a question. “I am to blame,” Archer replied. “I’m the one who volunteered his services to the Elgar ship.” “You could have hardly predicted that this virus existed in their engine room. Or that the Elgarians would take the Commander’s resulting illness as an affront.” Archer managed a rueful smile. “Thank God for Vulcan logic. If it hadn’t been for T’Pol, things could have escalated into a nasty incident. I have to tell you, there were times when I was tempted to blow them out of the sky.” “But you refrained,” the doctor said. “And the Subcommander managed to convince them that Commander Tucker’s illness was not a slur on their engines or their species.” “But they still wouldn’t help treat Trip. I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t here, Doc.” “I was merely doing my job.” “And you did a hell of a good one. You got that damned thing under control.” “Unfortunately, ‘control’ does not equal a cure, Captain.” “Don’t you start,” Archer said. “Trip’s still alive because of you.” He stared into the depths of his coffee cup. Then, almost inaudibly, he asked, “Is he going to get better?” “Eventually,” the doctor replied. “But I’m afraid the process will be a slow one. ‘Two steps forward, one step back’, to use a human metaphor. And he is going to need a great deal of rest in order to do so.” “I’m going to talk to him tomorrow. Try and straighten things out. But,” and he looked up, “the question still remains – what are we going to do with him?”* * *
“Ensign – bring us around in a circle before landing, will you?” Travis Mayweather looked over his shoulder and flashed a bright smile. “Sure thing, Captain. Pretty place,“ he added. “It is at that,” Archer agreed. “Take a look, Trip. That’s home for the next six weeks.” Trip craned his head to follow the Captain’s pointing finger. It was difficult to see much, prone as he was, but he was able to make out the island, which was at present merely a colorful dot in the turquoise sea. As the shuttlepod approached, the dot grew in size, and he was able to make out tropical foliage and white sand beaches. “Looks nice,” he murmured, and lay his head down again. “It is nice,” Mayweather told him. “I’ve been here before. Oh, not to this island,” he said in response to Archer’s inquiring look, “but this planet. It’s a great vacation place. I’m sure looking forward to shore leave.” “You’re not the only one,” Archer agreed. “The entire crew is. The refits will only take about a month, so even Engineering will be able to take time off.” At the mention of his department, Trip shifted slightly on his stretcher. “Don’t,” Archer warned him. “Don’t even think about starting.” Mayweather smothered a smile, and stared out the viewscreen, concentrating on his piloting. Here they go. Again, he thought. “Captain,” Trip began. Archer shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “We’re not having this talk a second time, Trip. You heard me.” “But –“ “Trip!” Archer’s voice was sharp. “I said no, and no it’s going to be. You’ve assembled a good crew – they can handle things. The refit will be fine.” Trip sighed. It was evident he felt that he was being treated badly; his handsome, expressive face was set in a pout that, under other circumstances, Archer would have found amusing. But there was very little that was amusing about Trip’s current condition. “I don’t,” he told the engineer, “want you worrying about it. You’ll only make yourself sick.” Sicker, he added mentally. There was an uncomfortable silence, which was finally broken by Mayweather. “You can see the house now, sir.” Archer looked down at the trim white bungalow, nestled amid the rich tropical foliage. Let’s hope six weeks shore leave on this nice, friendly, peaceful planet will do Trip some good. Mayweather broke into his thoughts. “How did you find this house, Captain?” “The planetary governor was very helpful. And Dr. Phlox also had a lot of input.” Which was putting it mildly. The doctor had a long, long list of conditions that had to be met before he would allow Trip to be taken off-ship. “Looks like a nice place,” Mayweather mused. “And some of the Engineering crew that did the refit on it said the ocean view is absolutely wonderful.” At the mention of the engineering crew, Trip sighed. Archer looked at him. “It’s not like you could do all that much anyway, Trip.” “I could supervise,” Trip said hopefully. “Like I said, I –“ “-- And like I said,” Archer replied firmly, cutting him off, “no.” Trip sighed again, and the sulky look on his face deepened. But Archer refused to give into Trip’s sulk. Instead, he looked out the window, watching as the island grew larger below him.
* * *
“Now, let’s get the ground rules straight.”
Trip looked over at him. “Captain?”
Archer brought over a wicker cushion chair, put it by Trip’s bedside, and sat down. He looked at Trip, who appeared slight and fragile under the colorful quilt that covered his bed.
It appeared he was lying on an old-fashioned brass bed, but looks were deceiving. In reality, it was the latest in medical technology. Not only was it adjustable, and would monitor all of Trip’s vitals, but it was designed specifically for long-term patients. Its gel mattress would prevent pressure sores, automatically compensate for every movement Trip made, and could cool down or heat up in response to a fluctuation in body temperature as small as 0.01 degrees.
“The rules,” Archer repeated. “I want you to completely understand how things are going to work around here.” Trip frowned. “And I don’t suppose I get any say in these rules, do I?” Archer shook his head. “Sorry. This is not a democracy. You’re still a member of my crew, and still under my command. So, no. You don’t.” He regarded Trip for a moment. Then: “Rule Number One. Doctor Phlox has ordered bed rest for you. And I intend to make sure you get it. So the first rule is: You. Stay. In. Bed.” “Captain – ” Archer held up a hand. “I mean it, Trip. Bed you’re in, and in bed you’re going to stay. No ands, ifs or buts.” Trip opened his mouth to speak, but Archer continued on. "Now, I know you don’t like bedpans and such, so I’ll compromise as far as that goes. But only to the extent that I’ll help you use the head when you need to. I catch you trying to get out of bed – for any reason – and you’ll end up having bathroom access taken away. Understand?” Trip nodded. He was looking sulky again, but Archer ignored this, and continued: “Rule Number Two follows from number one. And that is – Rest. You’re to rest. “That means you’re going to sleep no later than nine o’clock in the evening, local time, every night. And none of this waking up in the middle of the night and reading until morning.” He smiled at Trip’s astonishment. “Oh, you are busted, my friend. Malcolm and Travis knew what you were up to while they were taking care of you nights, and they let you get away with it. Lucky for you they didn’t say anything to Phlox – or me – until now. But I’m not Malcolm or Travis. If I have to, I’ll dope you up every night to make sure you sleep the night through. I hope I won’t have to, but I will.” He smiled again. “And if you’re thinking that I have to sleep sometime, well, you’re right. But this house has only one bedroom. So guess where I’ll be sleeping?” He pointed to the second bed that stood beside Trip’s. “Right there. Two feet away. So I’ll know if you’re up to something. You get that?” Trip nodded, mutely. “Good. You’re also going to have a morning and an afternoon nap. Every day.” This was too much for Trip. “Two naps? Going to bed at nine? Captain, I’m not – “ “ – well,” Archer finished for him. “You’re not well, Trip, and until you are, that’s how it’s going to be. Behave yourself, or I’ll put you to bed every night at eight o’clock.” Trip swallowed. Archer knew the younger man felt humiliated by all of this, and for his part, he hated putting Trip in this position. But if he didn’t lay down the law, Trip would push himself and prolong an already too-long illness. He hardened his heart, and continued. “Rule Number Three. This,” and he indicated the wall next to the french windows, “is actually a viewscreen.” He showed Trip a remote control unit. “It’s tied into the ship’s library.” He used the remote to activate the viewscreen. “You can read, watch movies or the other entertainment channels, or listen to music.” He turned it off. “You’ll notice there’s no keyboard. Now, I know you Trip, and I know just how smart you are. You’re definitely smart enough to figure out a way to hack into the ship’s systems using only this remote and the onscreen menus. “So Rule Number Three is very simple. Don’t. I catch you using this for anything other than entertainment, or I find out from Enterprise that you’ve been nosing around, checking the ship’s systems or Engineering, you lose access to the computer. How long depends on how badly you’ve broken the rule.” He sighed. “I can almost guarantee that, knowing you, you’re going to go ahead and try anyway. You’re bright enough that you can probably even get away with it. For a while. But I will find out. Eventually. I’d rather you didn’t try, because I don’t want to come down on you. But that doesn’t mean I won’t. Understand?” An angry flush stained Trip’s pale cheeks, and he bit his lip. “Trip?” “I understand,” he muttered, flashing a dark look at Archer. Archer sighed mentally. He knew Trip’s pride was wounded, and he hated putting all these restrictions on his friend. But if he didn’t clamp down hard, as he kept reminding himself, then Trip would continue to push himself, and make himself even sicker than he already was. “Rule Number Four. You’re going to stop lying to me.” This had the effect Archer had expected; Trip gaped at him in astonishment. When he spoke, his voice was a combination of anger and hurt. “I don’t lie to you, Captain.” “Yes, you do, Trip. And lately, you’ve lied a lot. You tell me you’re fine when you’re not. You tell me that you’re not in any pain when you are. You tell me you’ve slept when you haven’t. You tell me you can eat when you can hardly keep water down.” He held Trip’s gaze with his own. “So it stops, and it stops now. If you feel sick, I expect you to tell me. If you can’t eat because your stomach’s upset, you’re going to tell me. If you have a headache,” Trip started guiltily at this, “or are in pain, you’re going to tell me. If you’re tired, you tell me. And finally – if you’re upset, unhappy, bored or angry – you tell me. Understand?” Trip nodded. “And finally. Last, but not least. Rule Number Five. I’m the boss here. The leader. The alpha male. The head honcho. However you want to put it – I’m in charge. And you will do as I say. No back talk, no arguing – you will obey me. Are you clear on that?” “Yes.” Trip’s eyes were bright with tears, and Archer knew how upsetting all of this must be to the younger man. Trip had no problems with following the chain of command while on duty aboard Enterprise, but he considered shore leave to be another matter completely. Archer knew that Trip was angry, humiliated and possibly even a little afraid of him right now. “Good.” He paused for a moment, then: “You look like you have something on your mind, Trip. What is it?” Trip was silent. “Rule Number Four,” Archer reminded him. “Why the hell did you bring me here?” Trip burst out. “You’re upset,” Archer replied quietly. “You’re damned right I’m upset!” “Good,” said Archer. Trip glared at him. “Oh, not that you’re upset. But at least you’re obeying the rules.” “I want to go back to Enterprise.” Now he sounded sulky. “I’m sure you do. But you’re staying put.” At this, Trip turned onto his side away from Archer. “Look at me,” Archer ordered. When Trip had reluctantly and angrily obeyed, he continued. “I brought you here so you can start to recuperate, Trip. And if I have to be somewhat draconian in my approach, well, that’s because you leave me no choice.” “But why here?” Trip demanded. “Why bring me to a beach if all I can do is lay in bed all day? How the hell am I supposed to get any enjoyment from that?” “There’s no reason why you can’t enjoy the fresh air. Or the beach. Although I think we’ll have to draw the line at swimming. For the time being, anyway.” Trip was clearly perplexed. “But you said ... Rule Number One ...” Archer smiled. “I said you were to stay in bed. But not necessarily this bed.” Trip stared. Archer went on. “There’s a couch in the living room. And a hammock on the back porch, and a chaise lounge on the beach. I’m willing to bend the rule and declare all of them beds. For starters, you can lie on the couch every day for a while if you feel like it. When you’re a little stronger, you can use the hammock. Or I’ll take you down to the beach and you can get some sun. When you’re strong enough. Okay?” “Okay,” Trip muttered. “That’s a little better than you thought, isn’t it?” Looking somewhat mollified at this, Trip slowly nodded. Archer reached over, patted him on the shoulder, wincing mentally at the feel of bone beneath his fingers. Trip had lost a lot of weight – too much weight – over the past few weeks. “Trip – have you asked yourself why I’m here?” Trip shook his head. “It’s to take care of you. To help you get well. You know, I don’t want to stomp on your personal liberties or make you unhappy. I’m being strict because it’s the only way I know to get you to settle down and rest. Understand?” “I think so.” “Not that I won’t come down on you like a ton of bricks if you get out of line, mind you,” Archer warned. “But behave yourself, and you might just be surprised. It may not be so bad after all. Hell – you might even enjoy yourself.” Trip sighed, and then smiled ruefully. “Guess I don’t have much choice though, do I?” “You got that right,” Archer told him. “You have none at all.” He looked at the little clock that sat on Trip’s bedside table. “Two o’clock. Time for your afternoon nap.” Trip looked like he was about to protest, then thought better of it. “Rule Number Two.” “Rule Number Two,” Archer confirmed. He gave his friend a searching look. “How do you feel?” “I’m – “ Trip began. He stopped, and looked down at his hands. “Are you going to lie to me, Trip?” “No, sir.” “Then how do you feel?” “My head aches. And I’m thirsty.” He looked at Archer. “Rule Number Four.” “Right you are, Trip.” He poured a glass of water from the thermal carafe that was also on the table, and handed it to his friend. While Trip slowly sipped, the captain went into the adjoining bathroom and returned with a paper cup. A single red pill rested within. “An analgesic,” Archer said, answering the question he saw in Trip’s eyes. “For the headache. I think once that’s gone, you’ll be able to sleep on your own. You’ve had a pretty busy day.” Trip obediently swallowed the pill, and finished his water. “How long?” he asked. “I mean, how long do you want me to sleep?” Archer placed a gentle hand on the too-thin shoulder. “I think two hours will be fine. Any longer, and you’ll have trouble sleeping tonight.” “Okay.” And Trip closed his eyes. Archer frowned. This was far too easy. Trip was being a model patient. Which meant only one thing – he was still too sick to cause trouble. When he started to get better, that would be when the fireworks would start. He wasn’t looking forward to that, but would deal with it when the time came. “Alpha male,” Trip murmured, and then was asleep. Archer smiled ruefully. Trip would never know just how hard it was for him to play the heavy like this. He reached over, and gently smoothed back a stray hair that had tumbled over Trip’s forehead. “Get well soon,” he murmured.* * *
Trip sighed. He was really in for it now, and he was most definitely not looking forward to his next encounter with the Captain. He shifted slightly, causing the alien that Archer had hired to do the housework to stop changing his bed. She?-he?-it? – looked over to where Trip was lying on the Captain’s bed. As was its usual routine, it had changed Archer’s bedding first, and when that was done, Trip had been rather unceremoniously dumped on top of the Captain’s bed, had a single blanket tossed over him, and left to wait while it performed the same task on his own. “I’m okay,” he said. The alien gave a grunt which Trip supposed was meant to be some form of communication. The natives of this planet were very human-looking in their appearance, but the planet also boasted a large population of off-worlders who were not, and it was one of these that Archer had hired to do the housework. The alien had no name that Trip was aware of, and was, in his humble opinion, ugly as sin (although he was certain the alien regarded him in much the same light), but it did a hell of a job keeping up the place. He sighed again, and rolled onto his side, so that he was facing the french windows. He was able to look out onto the beach, and he could see the Captain, hands in the pockets of his jeans, taking his morning walk. Archer kicked a piece of driftwood out of his way, and Trip wondered uneasily if he was going to receive the verbal equivalent of that kick when the Captain came back. He sighed again. Archer looked pretty grim. Porthos wasn’t even around to lighten the Captain’s mood; Travis and Malcolm had taken the beagle camping with them. Well, at least someone was having a good time, Trip reflected. He shivered, and pulled the light blanket up over himself. Damn this bug! He could go from boiling to freezing and back again in a second. And if the Captain found him lying here, shaking like a leaf, it wasn’t going to improve his already-foul mood. He curled up, trying to keep warm. The problem was, he hadn’t intended to make the Captain angry. All he had wanted to do was save him some trouble. But, as his mother had frequently observed (in terms of weary exasperation), Trip’s good intentions went awry so often that she was terrified of what would ever happen if he deliberately set out to cause trouble. No, when he had awoken in the middle of the night, all he had wanted to do was avoid causing a fuss. He had discovered that the dinner he had eaten earlier (and without a lot of enjoyment, which should have been a warning) was threatening rather insistently on coming back up the way it had gone done. He had felt queasy when Archer had brought him his meal, but managed to convince himself that he would be fine. Well, once again, he was wrong. He had lain quietly for a moment. Sometimes, if he took a few deep breaths, the nausea would pass. Not often, but sometimes. After a minute, though, he knew that this was not going to be one of those times. He had then looked over to the other bed. The Captain was asleep. Trip lay still, calculating. The bathroom was no more than three running steps away. He was sure he could make it there and back without needing to disturb the Captain’s sleep. Besides, the situation was rapidly becoming critical. He didn’t think he could hold on long enough to wake Archer, and the idea of sicking up his dinner all over the bed or on the floor was not an appealing one. Not at all. He had then slowly (and, he had to admit, stealthily) sat up. It wasn’t easy; every joint ached like hell. He had slid off his bed, and stood, swaying for a second. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his ankles and knees, and using the wall for support, he had made his way into the head. And not a moment too soon. Afterwards, he found himself kneeling before the john, resting his forehead on the rim. Well, he told himself, he didn’t have anything left to donate to the cause, so he had better get back to bed before – That was when the lights went on. Trip started, and looked up. Uh-oh. Busted. The Captain, his face dark with anger, was standing over him. “Evenin’,” Trip had offered. “Captain ...” He’d been told to call the Captain by his first name while they were on leave, but even after all these years, he still found it hard to wrap his mouth around the word “Jon”. And he judged that this particular moment was not the right time to try. The Captain had not responded. Instead, one powerful arm had reached down and yanked Trip to his feet. He had then been marched back to his bed double-time. Archer had practically carried him, and when he got Trip back to the bed, he had literally lifted Trip off his feet and dumped him back into bed so quickly that Trip’s head had spun. He had then returned to the bathroom, and emerged carrying a hypospray. Trip, who hated the strange dreams and heaviness that accompanied drugged sleep, had groaned aloud when he saw this. “No – please – Captain ...” Archer had silenced him with a quick, angry gesture. Realizing that in this case, discretion was most definitely the better part of valor, Trip had submitted. The last thing he remembered had been the Captain throwing his blankets back over him. What he had found especially unnerving about the whole affair was that Archer had not uttered a single word. Not then, and not when Trip had awoken. Which meant, he realized, that when the Captain finally did talk to him, he was going to get an earful. And how. Damn it! Now his teeth were chattering. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself, and tried to stop shivering. He hoped the alien would be finished with his bed, and soon. He looked out the window again. The beach was empty. Trip hoped this simply meant that the captain had walked further down, or was tramping through the greenery behind the house. But when he heard the front door slam, he knew he was out of luck. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself, and waited for his doom to fall.* * *
Archer gave the Cleaner a short nod as it entered the living room. The alien had a name, but one that was virtually unpronounceable by a human tongue or vocal cords. The alien in turn found human speech to be almost equally prohibitive, although it was able to communicate with Archer for more easily than Archer could with it. In order to avoid problems on either side, it was agreed that it would simply be known as “the Cleaner”, while it in turn referred to Archer as “the Leader” and to Trip as “the Sick”. The Cleaner stopped Archer. “The Sick,” it said in its harsh, buzzing voice. “Shaking. No heat, for the Sick.” “Thanks,” Archer replied, and hurried into the bedroom. Unfortunately, the Cleaner was correct. Trip was curled on Archer’s bed, under a blanket, trembling violently. Archer could even hear the younger man’s teeth chattering. He could have sworn in exasperation; this damned bug picked the lousiest times to assert itself. Trip’s bed was ready, and so, silently, he lifted Trip off the bed. He could feel the younger man shivering, and Trip’s hands and feet were like ice. The engineer passively allowed himself to be laid back on his own bed without any protest. Archer was grimly amused; Trip knew he was already in trouble, and was behaving himself. Probably hoping that all would be forgiven if he did. Tempting as it would be to do just that, Archer knew that he had to let Trip know he meant business. That was the only way to get it to sink into that stubborn blond head of his; otherwise, Trip would keep pushing and would never recuperate. He pulled the blankets up over his friend. As their warmth, and the automatic heating of the mattress underneath him began to take effect, Trip’s shivering lessened, then stopped. Archer silently handed him his morning medication and a glass of water. Trip meekly swallowed his pills and drank the water. He gave Archer back the glass, pulled the blankets up over himself, and looked up. It was difficult to ignore the plaintive, puppy-dog look he was getting, but Archer did so. Instead, he took the glass, and set it down on the bedside table. He deliberately kept silent all the while. He knew it was unnerving Trip, and that was exactly the reason he was doing it. Not very pleasant, but necessary. He tapped the bedside clock. It read ten-thirty. Time for Trip’s morning nap. Trip swallowed, hard. He realized that Archer was going to keep him hanging for a while longer. He also knew that to protest was only going to land him in even deeper trouble. If that was possible. Archer turned on his heel. He closed the curtains, turned out the lights, and left Trip alone in the dark.
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