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: By saving Trip, Archer may lose his friend.
Savior
By Pippin
"What the - ?" Archer stepped aside, as two crewmen exited his quarters, carrying Trip's bed. He felt a sudden sinking in his gut – was Trip leaving?
"Ah, Captain," said Phlox with his usual good cheer.
"Doctor – what's going on here?"
"I'm removing the Commander's bed," Phlox said, evidently surprised that he had to explain the obvious to the Captain.
"I can see that," Archer replied with exaggerated patience. "The question is – why?"
"Because it's no longer needed," Phlox said, beaming.
Archer strode into his quarters, steeling himself, expecting to see that Trip and all of his possessions were gone.
Instead, he found Trip curled up in his bed, Porthos at his feet. He turned and looked at Phlox.
"As I said," the doctor told him blandly. "It's obvious that the second bed is no longer necessary. And I can use it in Sickbay."
At this, Trip turned. "H'lo," he said sleepily.
"Hey, Trip," Archer said. "Have a good nap?"
"Haven't slept," Trip replied. "Too much racket."
"I apologize, Commander," Phlox said. "We're finished now. We won't disturb you any further."
"Try and get some sleep, Trip."
"'Kay." And he turned, curled up again.
Archer gestured to Phlox, led him to the end of the room, away from Trip. Speaking in a low voice, he asked, "Are you sure about this?"
"Why, Captain? Aren't you?"
Archer did not answer.
"Personally, I am delighted," the doctor continued. "You've obviously made great strides."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Archer asked, his voice rising.
Phlox made a "shushing" noise, indicating Trip.
"Sorry," Archer said in a quieter voice.
"I merely meant that you have earned back the Commander's trust."
Archer was silent.
"You find this situation an odd one, don't you, Captain?"
"You said a mouthful."
"If you wish some advice – I suggest that you accept reality and move on from there."
"And you think you know what reality is, do you?"
"Oh, yes," Phlox said, smiling his peculiar smile. "I'm sure I do." And his bright blue eyes twinkled at the Captain.
* * *
Trip shifted uneasily, moaned in his sleep. Archer turned off the game, went over to their bed. "Trip," he said. "It's just a dream. Whatever it is, it's just a dream."
Trip still cried out. Archer sighed. Obviously, words alone weren't enough. He lay down beside the younger man, put his arms around him. He could feel Trip shivering in his sleep. "It's only me, Trip. You know you're safe with me."
Trip sighed, but did not stop trembling. It must be a bad one, Archer thought. He realized that they were coming closer to whatever it was that continued to fuel Trip's trauma. The engineer had been able to talk about much of what had happened to him, and God knew that had been bad enough, but there was something else; something that continued to haunt him both waking and sleeping.
Trip started, cried out and awoke. He gasped, looked around, drew a trembling hand down his face.
He looked miserably at Archer. "Aren't you tired of this yet? I know I sure as hell am."
"You can't help it," Archer replied. "You're not doing it deliberately." He waited a moment, then added, "Are you?"
Trip smiled very faintly. "Looking for attention? No."
"Tell me about it."
Trip was silent for several minutes. Then, finally, almost inaudibly, he asked, "Is that an order?"
He looked at Archer. The Captain stared into those blue eyes for a long moment, then firmly replied, "It is, Commander."
Trip shivered again, closed his eyes. Then, taking a deep breath, he opened them, looked at the Captain. When he spoke, his voice was firm and clear. "Yes, sir."
Trip lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He was exhausted; exhausted by the hours of pain he'd suffered. When he had been discovered lying in the garden, he'd been carried back to his room, stripped and dumped on the bed. His punishment devices had not been deactivated. He'd fainted several times and been revived. Finally, a little while ago, the pain had stopped. He doubted that was going to be the end of it, though.
As if summoned by his thoughts, the door unlocked, opened, and Al-Saahn stepped through. He stood at the bed, and gazed at Trip with those hooded eyes of his.
Trip stared back at him.
"Why? Have you not been treated well here?"
"I don't belong here," Trip told him.
"But you are here. And here you will stay. Oh," and the House Master shook his head, "His Lordship is angry enough that if it were strictly up to him, he would sell you to the lowest bordello he could find. But his Lady would be most upset; you are her property, after all. And apparently, you have pleased her greatly. You will remain in your present capacity."
Trip was silent.
"However, you will not escape punishment."
He remained silent.
"Pain is of limited value when dealing with one such as you. And we cannot do anything to mar you; her Ladyship would not permit it. So I have been forced to be creative."
And with that, he left.
"And he didn’t' say anything?"
"No."
"He wanted you to worry about it."
"Pretty much."
"Clever bastard."
"No kidding."
There was a moment's silence. Archer could feel Trip lying, tensed. "Surely that's not all you have to tell me, Commander."
Trip swallowed, hard. "No, sir."
A few hours later, his door opened again, and once again, Al-Saahn entered, followed by three guards.
"On your feet," the House Master ordered.
Evidently, he was too slow in responding, for the guards yanked him upright. The third splashed the stimulant oil on him.
He was then marched, not to her Ladyship's chambers, but into a room he'd never seen before.
"The 'Entertainment Room'," Archer said.
Trip nodded.
There was a round, raised stage in its center. A square frame stood on this. Trip was hustled over to it, and bound to the frame, arms stretched over his head, feet spread apart. He was effectively immobilized.
And they left him there.
Archer could feel him tremble. "I don't know how long I stood there," Trip said. "Seemed like forever. And then, the audience arrived."
He watched as the room filled. It seemed that every servant in the house, from the kitchen staff to the administrators, was present. He saw curiosity on some faces, a careful, cautious compassion on others, but for the most part, the general atmosphere was a festive one.
Al-Saahn entered, followed by a retinue of the Lord's Household Guards.
"This slave," he announced, indicating Trip, "has scorned both the good treatment and generosity of the Lord and Lady Volasha. Such ingratitude must be paid for. The usual penalty would be death. However, you are here to witness the justice – and mercy – of the House of Volasha." He nodded. "Begin."
One of the guards ascended to the stage. It was the man Trip had knocked out, whose uniform he'd stolen. The man gave him a bright, hard, glittering smile. "I've been waiting for this," he told Trip.
Trip felt the splash of lube oil, and then, without warning, he was taken savagely from behind. He cried out, and the response was laughter and applause from most of the audience.
He closed his eyes, enduring the pain. And then, one detestable hand crept round him, found his member, began to manipulate it. Trip clenched his jaw. He now understood the reason for the application of the damned oil. He became aroused almost instantly, and there was more laughter and applause at that.
The guard pounded into him, and his hand stroked him, harder, faster. There was no finesse this time, no teasing. Just brute need. The guard stiffened, moaned, then cried out triumphantly as he climaxed into Trip. He kept at him, and a moment later, Trip himself had a hated, unwelcome climax. The audience cheered at this. Slowly, the guard withdrew. "Lovely," he whispered in Trip's ear.
Trip was trembling violently by now.
"Let me tell the rest of it," Archer said.
"Captain?"
"The first guard – that was just the beginning, right?" At Trip's nod, he continued. "They gang-raped you, didn't they?"
Another nod.
"The Lord's troops."
"Right." It was barely more than a whimper.
"But it wasn't enough to gang-rape you, was it?" Archer shook his head, answered his own question. "No. You'd be able to tell yourself you were raped; that you couldn't help it, that you were defenseless. And they couldn't have that, could they? It wouldn't do, would it?"
Trip was weeping now, but Archer pressed on, difficult as it was. He was determined to dig up this thing that was festering in his friend's soul; he was going to dig it up, pull it out by the roots, smash it, burn it, destroy it, before its poison could do Trip any more harm.
"So they played with you, too. Stimulated you. Made you come. Use any special devices?"
Trip was sobbing but still coherent. "Some of 'em wore special gloves. Rough leather. Or with little studs."
"So it was more intense," Archer said calmly, although he was raging inside. "So you screamed. And the only thing you knew was what they were doing to you. And they kept at you all night long. After the audience went to bed, they still kept at you. And you came and came and came until you couldn't take it anymore."
"I passed out," Trip gasped between sobs. "They woke me up."
"And made you go through it all again. Until, finally, you collapsed."
Trip couldn't answer, he wept into Archer's embrace. The Captain was, however, pitiless. "Isn't that right, Commander?"
"I couldn't take it anymore," Trip sobbed. "I begged them to stop. Said I'd never try anything again. Ever."
"And when you said that, they stopped. Finally."
"They won." Trip was practically wailing. "Don't you see? They beat me down. They won!"
"Jesus Christ, Trip!" Archer said sharply. Startled, the engineer looked up at this. "You're only human, goddammit! We've all got our breaking point. Hell, even the Vulcans do. And let me tell you, they had to damn near kill you to get you to yours. How long did you spend recuperating?"
"I don't know," Trip moaned. "Long time. I remember a doctor – and I guess a nurse. I was doped up most of the time. But at least a week."
"A week spent recovering. What does that tell you about what they did to you, Trip? Anyone would have broken at that. I know I would have."
Trip gaped at him, but Archer continued. "So you're not superman. Big surprise. But let me tell you this – I said it before, and I'll say it again – you're one brave son of a bitch. And I'm proud to know you."
Trip was now weeping too hard to answer. Archer stroked Trip's hair, rubbed his back gently. But he didn't try to quiet him; he simply let him cry. Get it out of him. The worst of it was now known. Trip would still have a ways to go, but at last he'd gotten the horror at the heart of his ordeal out into the open.
Finally, Trip wept himself into exhaustion. He looked up at Archer with eyes that were so red and swollen, it was a wonder he could see out of them. He opened his mouth to speak, but Archer beat him to it. "Don't you dare! Don't you dare tell me you're sorry, Charles Tucker III!"
Trip looked stunned. Archer went on. "You've got nothing to be sorry for. Or ashamed of. Do you understand? And if I ever hear that from you about this again, I'm gonna knock you on your ass and pound some sense into that thick skull of yours. You hear me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. I actually think that it might have finally sunk in."
Trip shivered. Archer drew him close. And now, he started to comfort him. "It's all right. You got the worst of it out."
But Trip continued to shiver, and nothing Archer could do or say would make him stop. The Captain made a decision. He started to move away, and Trip whimpered. "It's okay," Archer said. He leaned down, kissed Trip gently on the forehead. "I'll be right back."
He went to his desk, made a quick call, and then to the bathroom, and returned with a cold wet facecloth.
"Here," he said.
Slowly, Trip took the cloth. "I'm a mess," he whispered.
"A wet mess," Archer corrected. Trip managed a weak smile, and wiped his face.
Archer took the cloth, deposited it on the book shelf above the bed, then lay back down beside the engineer. "Come here," he said. Trip obeyed, laying his head on Archer's chest. Archer put his arms around him, and Trip reciprocated, laying an arm across the Captain's waist. He sighed.
The door buzzed, and Trip started. Archer stroked his back. "It's all right," he repeated. "Come," he called.
Dr. Phlox entered. If he was surprised to find the Captain in bed with his arms around the Chief Engineer, his round, cheery face did not show it.
Trip looked up, but Archer did not release him from his embrace. "Doctor," the Captain said.
"Captain. Commander. No need to ask why you've called me here."
He crossed over and stood by the bed.
"Trip's had a rough evening," Archer said.
"I can see that," Phlox replied. "I think a tranquilizer is in order here. With your permission, of course, Commander."
Archer gave Trip a gentle squeeze. "Calm you down. Help you to sleep."
"And an analgesic, too, hmm?" Phlox added. "I'm sure you have a headache as well, yes?"
"You could say that," Trip whispered. "Or you could say it feels like the top of my head is gonna blow off."
Archer smiled. Same old Trip. It was good to know that despite all the pain, his old friend was still there, underneath it all.
But all he said was, "Shut up and let the doctor work."
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