Trip blinked, sighed and turned his head to look out the windows.  His afternoon nap, like his morning one, had been somewhat less than refreshing.  Between the bad dreams and his aching joints, his sleep had been thin and uneasy.  The skies outside were overcast; a storm was coming. Turning his head the other way, he discovered that the weather outside was a perfect match for that inside.

The Captain was seated in his wicker chair by the bed.  He had been reading, but when he saw Trip was awake, he put the book down.  He placed his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands together, rested his chin on them, and gave Trip a long, measuring look.  The thunderclouds outside were nothing compared to those on Archer’s brow.

Still mad, Trip thought, and realized that there was no way the Captain was going to let his transgression of last night slide.  Trip sighed.  It was really going to hit the fan now.  He had broken the household’s number one rule, and pleading extenuating circumstances just wasn’t going to cut it.

Might as well get it over with.  He looked back, and resigned himself to his fate.

“How do you feel?”  Archer’s voice was mild, but the glint in his eye suggested that the Captain was feeling anything but tranquil right now.

Trip opened his mouth to say “fine,” then closed it, and thought better of it.  The Captain knew how to read the data from the medical sensors monitoring him, and if he lied now, he would be in even more trouble.  Assuming, of course, that that was possible.

“Not so great,” he finally said.  At Archer’s raised brow, he elaborated:  “My joints all hurt like hell.  And I had bad dreams.  Didn’t sleep very well.”

“And your stomach?”

Trip considered.  “Still queasy,” he admitted.

Archer pounced on that. “’Still’”, he repeated.  “So when I brought you your dinner last night, you lied to me, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t lie”, Trip protested.  “I thought it was going to be fine.”

“But it wasn’t it, was it?”

Trip had no answer to give the Captain.  Instead, nervously, he pleated the folds of his quilt between his hands.

“Was it?” Archer repeated.

Trip sighed.  “No,” he finally said.

“What did I tell you, Commander?”  Archer asked.

“Commander”.  Uh-oh.  “You said not to lie.  And I didn’t!   You never asked ...” Trip faltered and fell silent.

“I seem to recall that I told you if you weren’t feeling well, you were to inform me of that fact.  And you saw fit not to.  It may have been a lie of omission, but it was still a lie.”

“I thought I’d be all right,” was all Trip could say.

“You’re missing the point.  I’m not interested in your predictions of how you may be feeling five minutes from now, or five days from now.  You’re to tell me how you’re feeling now.  Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Trip muttered.

“What did you say?”

“I said, yes, sir,” Trip said, loudly.  He couldn’t help it; he could feel himself becoming distraught.

Archer could see this as well.  Given Trip’s current precarious state of health, upsetting him was something he did not want to do.  Unfortunately, though, this time it was unavoidable.

“So,” said Archer deliberately.  “First, you lie to me.  Then, you sneak out of bed in the middle of the night.”

Trip tried to explain.  “I couldn’t wait.  And I didn’t want to make a mess on the floor or the bed.”

Archer leaned over, and pulled open the drawer of Trip’s bedside table, producing a basin.  He held it up.

Trip could feel his face burn.  “I forgot”, he said.  He knew it sounded lame, but it was the God’s honest truth.  “I hate those things,” he added.

“Well, you’re going to have to get used to them.  I’m revoking your bathroom privileges.”

Trip was suddenly furious.  “You’re going to make me use a damn bedpan?  And a basin?  Is that supposed to make me feel better?  Thanks for nothing!”  He sat up, a faint red flush staining his pale face.  “I don’t have to put up with this!  I – “

Archer easily pushed him back down.  “Stop it,” he said, quietly but firmly.  “You do have to put up with it.  And you’ve got no one but yourself to blame.  I told you quite clearly that if you disobeyed me, I was going to come down on you like a ton of bricks.  If you’re buried under those bricks now, and you don’t like it, that’s just too damned bad.”

Trip’s eyes were dark with anger, something Archer hated to see.  He hated what he was about to do even more, but after a consultation with Phlox while Trip slept, he had been forced to agree with the doctor’s suggestion.  Suppressing a sigh, he stood up, and went to the foot of Trip’s bed.  Forcing himself to remain stone-faced, he lifted the blankets from Trip’s feet.

Trip stared at him uneasily.  Still expressionless, the Captain produced a pair of padded cuffs, used in hospitals to restrain violent patients.  Trip’s mouth dropped open.  “You’re not serious!” he gasped.

Archer did not answer him.  Instead, he quickly fitted the cuffs around Trip’s ankles, and attached the straps to the brass rails of the bed.  He locked the cuffs, and deliberately dropped the key in his pocket.  He then replaced the blankets back over Trip’s feet, ensuring they were covered.

Trip was still staring at him.  Archer could see anger and disbelief warring in his blue eyes.  “I am serious,” he told Trip quietly.  “And these stay on until I’m certain you understand exactly just how serious I really am.”

“Get out!”  Trip was practically snarling.

Archer was not surprised at his reaction; Trip’s emotions were ragged as a result of his illness, but he was still sorry it had come to this.  He picked up his book.  “They stay on,” he repeated, “until you’re ready to behave yourself.”

Trip did not answer.  He turned his head away, but not before Archer saw tears.  Trip scrubbed angrily at his face, but the tears continued.

Archer knew that there were plenty of people who would be astonished at the notion of “Tough-as-nails Tucker” in tears.  He was not one of them.  He knew that beneath that “good old boy” persona of Trip’s, a man of sensitivity and depth existed.  Trip might play the “harmonicky” (as he jokingly referred to it), but he was a knowledgeable fan of classical music.  Most of the crew knew him as someone who read comics and watched old horror movies, but Archer knew that this was a man who had written a prize-winning essay on Homer – based on the original Greek text, no less – while still in junior high. 

Because Trip tended to downplay his considerable intellect and talents, many people were unaware of the more sensitive side of his nature.  It had taken Archer himself a long time to discover all of this.  He had often wondered, considering Trip’s impressive abilities, why the younger man seemed content over the years to simply stand behind him and take his orders.  Trip had the capability to be a formidable captain in his own right, if he so wished.  Perhaps he didn’t so wish; it was possible that he was genuinely content to remain a chief engineer, and tinker with the engines.  Archer had never quite mustered up the nerve to ask him.

All of these thoughts passed through Archer’s mind in a matter of seconds.  He looked at Trip, and wished again that he didn’t have to do this to him.  Unfortunately, Phlox was right – it required drastic measures to ensure that Trip would stay put. 

This was all distressing enough; he wouldn’t humiliate Trip any further by remaining in the room and watching him cry.  Besides, he didn’t think he could stand it himself.  He turned to leave.  He heard a muffled sob, and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to continue walking away. 

He closed the door quietly behind him, and headed to the kitchen.  It was the room farthest from the bedroom, and here, Trip’s sobs were barely loud enough to be heard.  Nevertheless, Archer sat at the kitchen table and laid his head in his arms, blocking his ears so even those faint sounds were no longer audible.  And he stayed that way for a long, long time.

* * *

Archer’s first thought upon entering the bedroom was that, like a child, Trip had cried himself to sleep.  He felt absurdly relieved by the notion; if true, then perhaps by tomorrow, some sort of equilibrium could be reached between them.  Playing the big bad was never something Archer enjoyed, and especially when Trip was the recipient. 

The blond head on the pillow moved, and Trip opened his swollen, bloodshot eyes.  Archer sighed inwardly.  No such luck.  Careful to keep his face expressionless, he studied the monitors in the wall above Trip’s head.  It was as he suspected:  Trip had sobbed himself into exhaustion, but had not slept.  Archer bet that right now his chief engineer was sporting one hell of a headache, and probably an upset stomach to boot.

“I want to go back to Enterprise,” Trip stated flatly. 

Archer had been expecting this.  “Fine,” he responded evenly.  “But I think you should talk to Dr. Phlox, first.”  Trip scowled as Archer activated a com link.

“Sickbay,” Phlox’s cheerful sing-song responded.

“Sorry to bother you,” Archer said, “but Trip wants to come back to Enterprise.”

“Very well, Captain.  I’ll prepare things in Sickbay.”

“Sickbay?”  Trip blurted out.  “Why can’t I stay in my quarters?”

“Commander,” Phlox replied, “If you return to Enterprise, you will have to remain in Sickbay.  There are not enough personnel aboard to attend to your needs.”  Trip’s scowl deepened.

“Captain,” the doctor then asked, “can the Commander wait a few hours?”

“I’m sure he can,” Archer replied.  “Why?”

“I’ll have to prepare his bed.”

“Prepare my bed?  What do you need to prepare?”  Trip demanded.

“I’m afraid I have a great deal of work to do,” Phlox told him.  “I can’t be concerned about you falling out of bed – accidentally or otherwise.  So I’m afraid I’ll have to put you in full restraints.  Unfortunate, but –“

“You wouldn’t,” Trip gasped.

“Indeed I will.  And the technical staff is either on shore leave or working the refit, so I’m also afraid that I won’t be able to have anyone set up a computer station for you.  You won’t have access to the ship’s library.  Although I’m sure I can find the time to get you a book.”

“Do you really want to spend the next six weeks staring at the Sickbay ceiling, Trip?” Archer asked softly.

“You put him up to this!” Trip accused him.

“On the contrary, Commander,” Phlox replied, his voice still cheery.  “The Captain is granting you far more leeway than I recommended.”

“What?” spluttered Trip.  “Are you kidding me?”

“Most assuredly not.  For instance, I understand that the Captain is allowing you to remain up until 9 o’clock every evening.  I, on the other hand, had wanted you to be put to bed, so to speak, at 6 o’clock.  He is permitting you unlimited access to the ship’s library, whereas I had suggested that you only be allowed one hour – every other day.”

Trip swallowed.

“Shall I send a shuttle, Captain?”  Phlox asked.

Archer looked at Trip.  “What about it?”

Angrily, Trip shook his head.

“I think Trip’s going to try putting up with me for a while longer,“ Archer told the doctor.  “Thanks anyhow, Doc.”

“Happy to help,” was the response.  “I’ll see you soon.”  And he signed off.

“What does he mean?  I thought you were going to let me stay?”

“Phlox is getting all the readings from your sensors,” Archer told him.  “But the only way he would agree to let you off-ship in the first place was if he could make regular house calls.  He’ll be dropping by tomorrow to check up on you.”

Trip was silent, digesting everything he had just heard.  He sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose in a characteristic gesture that Archer was very familiar with.  He closed his eyes, and sighed again.

“It’s dinner time,” Archer told him.  “What do you want?  Anything in particular.”

Trip simply shook his head.  “I don’t think I’d be able to keep anything down.”

Archer nodded.  He was expecting this.  He exited, and returned a few moments later with an IV. 

When Trip saw this, he rolled his eyes, but said nothing.  Instead, he simply extended his left arm, and exhaled as he did so.  Phlox had implanted an IV needle there before Trip had left Enterprise.  Archer took off the bandage protecting the implant, removed its cap and inserted the IV plug.  He hung the IV over Trip’s head, making sure that the flow was even. 

Throughout all this, Trip lay passively, his eyes closed.  When Archer was finished, he looked down at him.  “How’s your head?”

“Hurts like a bastard,” Trip replied, eyes still closed.  He then opened them and looked up at the Captain.  “Gonna knock me out again?”

“Would probably be for the best, don’t you think?”

A heavy sigh was Trip’s response.  “I don’t have to,” Archer added.

“No,” said Trip ruefully.  “You’d better.  Otherwise, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.”

“Hurts that bad, does it?”

Trip nodded.  “And my joints.  They all ache like hell.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Trip,” Archer said gently.

“It’s not your fault,” Trip replied.  “It’s this damned bug.”

And if I hadn’t volunteered your services to the Elgarians, you wouldn’t have caught it in the first place, Archer thought.

“Still,” Trip added meditatively, “getting a look at those Elgarian engines was worth it.”

Archer started, minutely.  Sometimes it was damned scary how Trip seemed to be able to pick up on the periphery of his thoughts.

“I’ll have to disagree with that,” he said.  Trip looked up at him.  “I’m not happy about losing the services of the best damned engineer in the fleet for this long.”

Trip smiled very faintly in response, and Archer breathed a mental sigh of relief.  Once again, the basic good nature and decency of Charles Tucker III was permitting him to forgive what many others would not.  Archer was certain that Malcolm Reed, for example, would not be half as tolerant and charitable as Trip was over this.

“Do you want a sleeping pill, Trip?”

Trip sighed again. 

“What is it, Trip?  Is there a problem?”

“They give me bad dreams,” Trip said soberly.  “And I never feel like I’ve really slept.”

Archer was on the verge of asking him why he had never volunteered this before, but then realized that to Trip it might sound like either an accusation or a reprimand.  Instead, he replied, “Tell you what.  How about I give you a painkiller first?  Maybe if you can get some pain relief, you’ll fall asleep on your own.  How’s that sound?”

“Sounds pretty good.  I’d appreciate that, Captain.”

“But if you’re not asleep by 9 o’clock – “

“ – you’ll knock me out,” Trip finished.  “I know.”

“Good,” Archer replied.  “Just so we’re clear on that.” He paused, and then added, “Maybe I’m finally getting through to you.  What do you think?”

Trip looked up at him.  “Anything’s possible,” he replied seriously.

* * *

Trip lifted his head, looked at the luminous numbers of the bedside clock.  Four a.m.  There was no way he would be able to wait until morning. 

He shifted, hoping against hope that Archer had relented while he had slept, but his ankles were still held fast by the restraints.  It was a strange and discomfiting feeling, being tied down like this.  He couldn’t for the life of him see how some people could enjoy it, but Trip was the first to admit that when it came to that sort of thing, he was pretty much a white bread type of guy.  Not to say, he reflected, that white bread couldn’t be pretty damned tasty ...  He shifted again.  It was really no good.  He hated to wake the Captain, but he had no choice.

“Captain?” he called out huskily.  Archer grunted in his sleep.  Trip tried again, louder this time:  “Captain – please.  I need help.”

Archer awoke at this.  As usual, he was completely and clearly awake right from the get-go, whereas Trip always needed time to get up and running.  For Archer, coffee in the morning was an option; for Trip, a necessity.

The Captain was at his bedside in two long strides.  “Trip?  What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Trip said humbly.  “But I’ve got to go.”

“No apologies, Trip.”

Trip steeled himself for what was to happen next.  He hated bedpans, bed baths and the like.  He preferred his private functions to be, well – private.  Being sick had robbed him of that, and of everything, he found that aspect to be one of the hardest things to bear about his illness.

But he was in for a surprise.  The Captain went to the foot of his bed, took off the blankets, unlocked the restraints and gently removed them from Trip’s ankles. 

Trip’s jaw dropped.  Archer looked over at him, and Trip, aware that he was doing a pretty good imitation of a goldfish, shut his mouth with a snap.  The Captain helped him to sit up, and he swayed for a moment, as a wave of dizziness swept over him.  “It’s all right, Trip,” he heard the Captain say.  “Lean on me.  I won’t let you fall.”

Trip did so, and it occurred to him that, in one way or another, he’d been leaning on this man for nearly ten years.  He doubted anyone else would be so patient with him, and he often wondered just exactly why Archer put up with it.  Somehow, he’d never found the nerve to ask.

The Captain practically carried him into the bathroom.  But Trip was in for another surprise.  “I’ll wait outside,” Archer told him.  “Let me know when you’re done.”  Trip was grateful.  He didn’t suffer from a shy bladder, but still – a man’s privacy was important, dammit. 

When he was done, the Captain brought him back to bed.  Trip was happy to be able to lie down again; staying upright for any length of time was an endurance test, and lately he wasn’t doing too well on those.

The Captain picked up his left foot.  Trip sighed, but said nothing.  Instead of reapplying the restraints, however, Archer began to gently massage Trip’s ankle, where the cuff had rubbed against the skin. It was really a night for surprises, Trip thought, but remained silent as the Captain rubbed both his feet, encouraging the circulation to return.  It was very relaxing, and Trip found himself growing drowsy.

Archer’s voice brought him awake.  “Do I need to put these back on you, Trip?”  He was holding one of the cuffs. 

Trip looked up, saw the Captain’s level gaze intent on him.  “It’s up to you,” he replied evenly, “But I’m not planning on going anywhere, if that helps.”

“It does,” Archer said.  He then smiled, briefly, then his smile vanished as he added sternly, “Good.  See that you don’t.”  He covered Trip up again. 

“Thanks,” Trip murmured.

“Trip?”

“Yeah?”

“Did the foot rub help?”

Yet another surprise.  “It did.  Made me kind of sleepy, as a matter of fact.”

“Hmm,” Archer said.  Then:  “Get back to sleep.  You’re already short on your sleep for today.”  And without waiting for a reply, he went back to his own bed and was instantly asleep.

Trip lay quietly.  It was a funny thing, he thought.  You could know a guy for years, and yet still be surprised by him.  Especially at four in the morning.

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