It had been a long night, and Dr. Phlox was as tired as he could ever remember being.  Tired in both body and soul.

Between Captain Archer and Commander Tucker, he had been kept very busy.  To say the least.  After finally managing to bundle the Captain off to bed, he had then come to Commander Tucker’s quarters, to keep a watchful eye on the young engineer as he slept.

He sighed.  Difficult, it was all so difficult.  Take the Captain, now.  He might not be in the same physical discomfort that Commander Tucker was, but the man’s mental anguish was very real and very great.  As evidenced by his clumsy (and ultimately unsuccessful) attempt to anesthetize himself with alcohol.  Clearly, the Captain was going to have a difficult journey ahead of him.

A faint whimper intruded into his thoughts.  It was much the same sound one of his children might have made, when very young, and suffering either from a fever or bad dream.  Certainly not the sound he would expect coming from the man on the bed beside him.

Phlox put his padd down.  Commander Tucker’s head shifted on his pillow, and he cried out softly.  The sedative was beginning to wear off.  Phlox spoke quietly to him, assuring him that he was safe aboard Enterprise.  His patient quieted down again, but nevertheless, Phlox sighed.  Healing the Commander’s physical hurts was a simple undertaking when compared to the daunting task of healing his emotional and mental ones.

The Chief Engineer, seemingly so outgoing and gregarious was, in reality, a deeply private man.  As the Captain had pointed out, he was always sympathetic to the trials and cares of others, but when it came to his own woes, he tended to shut down his emotions and shut others out.

“Trip puts his troubles in a safe deposit box, “ the Captain had told Phlox, “then locks that box in a vault, and digs a moat around the whole thing.”  Considering the amount of alcohol present in the Archer’s bloodstream at the time of this pronouncement, the veracity and accurateness of the Captain's summary had been impressive.

Commander Tucker shifted, moaned again and shivered.  Phlox had promised the Captain that the young engineer would not awaken alone, and this was a promise he meant to keep.  The only problem was, he was not the correct person to whom the Commander should wake up to.

It was a pity, he mused, that it was currently impossible for the Captain to hold this bedside vigil.  Jonathon Archer was the one person Charles Tucker trusted implicitly.  While Phlox understood why the Captain felt he could, and should, not be present, it was still unfortunate.  He hoped that Archer would be able to defeat his demons.  Otherwise ... he sighed again, and his expression, normally cheerful, was glum.

Commander Tucker gasped, then cried aloud.  His eyes flew open, and he looked around, momentarily confused.  His frightened gaze came to rest on Phlox.  “Doc?” he whispered hoarsely. 

“That’s right, Commander,” Phlox replied reassuringly.  “You’re safe aboard Enterprise.”

“Tasumi?”

“I can’t be entirely certain,” Phlox told him, “but considering the fact that we have been at warp 5 for the past 24 hours, I would guess that we are far away from that particular system by now.”

“Warp 5?  Too fast,” was the hoarse reply.  Enterprise’s chief engineer tried to sit up, but the doctor was able to easily prevent him.  The Commander cringed at the doctor’s touch, but obeyed.  He lay back, shivering.

“You are in no condition to take up your duties, Commander.”

At the word “duties”, the younger man flinched.  Still shivering, he looked away from Phlox, and pulled his blankets protectively up over himself.  It was then he noticed the bandages on both wrists.  Hesitantly, he put a hand up to his throat, and found the dressing the doctor had placed there as well.

"Yes," Phlox said, answering his unspoken question.  "They've been removed.  The Captain," he added in a seemingly off-handed manner, "ordered them destroyed.  He was somewhat annoyed."

That was an understatement.  When Archer had learned that the bracelets and collar that Trip had been wearing were not only restraining devices, but pain givers as well, the Captain had been as angry as Phlox had ever seen him.  Once Phlox had removed them, Archer had ordered Lieutenant Reed that they be destroyed.  The young Lieutenant, equally enraged, had taken grim pleasure in personally melting them down to their component atoms.

Phlox's patient had no answer to this.

Suppressing a sigh, Phlox continued.  "I need to explain what is going to happen now, Commander."  This earned him another frightened look.

"It's nothing to worry about," the doctor said, gently.  He realized those words, or others to the same effect, were going to be a necessary part of the vocabulary of those who would be dealing with the Commander.  And probably for quite some time to come.

"Your former, ah, hosts," Phlox continued, keeping his tone detached and clinical, "forced you to ingest large quantities of certain drugs."  His patient remained silent.  "Quantities that are far too great for your system to handle.  As a result, your metabolism has become dangerously unbalanced.  The shivering and cramping you are experiencing are symptoms of this.  I need to stabilize you, and also flush those drugs out of your system."  There was still no response.  Phlox continued.  "In my opinion, the safest way to accomplish this will be to induce a coma –"

"- Coma?"

"Yes, Commander.  I will use medication to put you into an artificial coma.  It will be quite safe.  Then I will be able to stabilize you, and also rid your system of these dangerous drugs.  However, I need your informed consent before proceeding."

"Coma," the young man mumbled.  He looked at Phlox, considering.

"It's the best way," the doctor assured him.  "Otherwise, the procedure would be more prolonged, more difficult, more dangerous – and certainly far more painful."

"Dreams?"

Phlox understood.  "Comatose patients do not experience REM sleep."

That decided the engineer.  "Do it," he muttered.

Archer groaned, sat up.  His head throbbed, and it felt as if something had crawled into his mouth and died there.  Hung over.  And how.  Well, it wasn't surprising, was it?  He'd set out to get loaded, and loaded he had gotten.  He had danced last night, and now he was getting to pay the piper.  In full.  With interest.

A hand, holding a glass, appeared in his field of view.  He blinked.

"Try this."

"Damn it, Doc," Archer cried in genuine anguish, "Not so loud!"

Phlox did not reply.  Instead, he simply continued to hold the glass out.  Archer groaned, but took the glass and drank, grimacing at its bitter taste.

"All of it," Phlox ordered.  "Although after last night, I would be tempted to let you suffer as a warning against over-indulgence.  However, Enterprise needs her captain to be fully functional."

Archer gave him a dark look, but complied.  "That's got to be the foulest-tasting stuff I've ever had."

"I admit it is somewhat crude, but I think you'll find it quite effective.  How are you feeling?"

"My teeth itch," Archer replied irritably.  "And my hair hurts."

"You see?  You're starting to feel better already!"

Archer glowered at him.  Sometimes it was difficult to know if Phlox was being genuine in his responses, or simply sarcastic.  "What about Trip?"

"Captain, we will discuss Commander Tucker's situation once you've showered, changed and had breakfast."

Archer sighed, but knew better than to argue; underlying that Denobulan geniality was a will of iron.  Suppressing another sigh, he rose.

He hated to admit it, but Phlox was right.  A shower, shave and fresh clothes may not have made a new man out of him, but the old one sure as hell felt a lot better.

He looked across the table at Phlox.  Chef's scrambled eggs, orange juice and coffee had also played a role in the regenerative process.  True to his word, Phlox had refused to discuss any official business while Archer had eaten.  The Captain had chaffed at this, but had reluctantly acquiesced. 

Now, sipping his coffee, he leaned back and regarded the portly Denobulan.  "Okay?" he asked.

"I'm sure that you are feeling much better now, Captain," was the response.  "It must be preferable to how you felt when you first woke up."

"I'm not worried about me," said Archer with some asperity.

"Perhaps not.  But your health is one of my responsibilities."

"And you've fulfilled that responsibility.  As far as my physical health, anyhow.  But my mental health ..."

"Captain?"

"Trip!  Will you please tell me what's going on?  This not-knowing is driving me crazy!"

The doctor reflected that there was more truth in that statement than the Captain probably realized.

"The Commander is in his quarters," he replied.  "He is currently in a state of induced coma.  I will keep him that way until I am satisfied that all of the Tasumi drugs have been cleared out of his system and his metabolism returns to normal.  It's well you found him when you did," he added.  "I doubt if he would have survived much longer.  But, as it is, the physical damage is fortunately minimal."

Archer looked unhappy.  "No kidding."  He took another sip of coffee.  "'Induced coma'," he repeated.  "Are you sure that's the only way?"

"I am.  Otherwise, the process would be prolonged unnecessarily – along with the Commander's physical discomfort."

That decided Archer.  "All right.  You say he's in his quarters?"

"He is not alone, Captain.  He will not be left unattended throughout this.  Members of my staff, or I myself, will be with him at all times.  Also," he added, "Lieutenant Reed, Ensign Mayweather and Ensign Sato have volunteered their services.  Among others."

"Think that might help him?"

Phlox sighed, and he looked downcast.  "I don't know, Captain.  I would be less than honest if attempted to convince you that the Commander's recovery will be either quick or easy."

Archer stared at him.  "But I thought you said the damage was minimal."

"The physical damage, Captain.  But the emotional damage is far more severe."  The doctor leaned forward.  "You yourself felt shame, anger and disgust over what transpired downplanet.  And yet, for you, that was a single incident.  Commander Tucker has been in Tasumi hands for many weeks.  Imagine what he has had to endure.  Not once, but possibly dozens of times.  His pain, shame and rage must be overwhelming, to say the least."

"Can you help him?"

"I will certainly do my best.  Unfortunately, I have no 'magic pill' that will instantly cure him."  At Archer's look, he added, "Oh, I have medications that will help the almost-inevitable depression he will experience.  And I will use these tools to the best effect.  But his complete recovery will be due to other, less precise methods."  He looked evenly at Archer.  "And you are going to play a pivotal role in that recovery."

Archer shook his head.  "No, not me.  I can't.  After what happened – I can't face him."

"You are going to have to," Phlox said.  He had not raised his voice, but something in his tone stopped Archer cold.  "I understand that it will not be easy for either one of you.  I will certainly endeavor, myself, to draw the Commander out, but I can almost guarantee that this will not work.  You are the only person that he trusts enough to talk to about this."

"Trusted," Archer said, almost inaudibly.  "Now?  I doubt it."

"If you have lost that trust, Captain, then you must regain it.  Otherwise, the Commander's mental health will suffer.  The damage may be irretrievable.  I will assist and advise you to the best of my ability, but ultimately, I am afraid that the success or failure of this attempt will be solely yours."

"Great," Archer muttered.  He sighed.  "I'll try."

Phlox shook his head.  "No, Captain.  To 'try' will not be good enough.  You must do this."

No answer.  Reed buzzed the door again.  Still no response.  He tried to open it.  Locked.  Becoming alarmed, he tried buzzing once more time.  Still nothing.  He attempted to open it, discovered it was locked.  He touched in the key code sequence to open it.  Nothing.

He keyed the wall com.  "Computer.  Security override.  Reed.  Code: beta, gamma, omega.  Four seven two."

There was a click, and the door slid open, and he hurried in.

Commander Tucker's bed was empty.  Reed frowned.  The Commander had been brought out of his coma only 48 hours previously, and Dr. Phlox had been quite specific in his decree that the engineer remain in bed until further notice.

He heard a faint sound, turned.  For the first time, he noticed that the bathroom door was closed.  He approached it.  Now, he could hear the sound of running water.  "Commander?"  No answer. 

Reed was now very alarmed.  The engineer was not supposed to use the facilities unattended.  In his weakened state, he could easily slip, fall and further injure himself.

Reed tried the door.  Locked.  He swore under his breath, then reached over, and tried the key code.  Fortunately, Trip had not thought to change this one.  The door slid opened.

Reed stared.  Oh, my God.

Then he was jolted into action.  He hurried over to the shower stall.  The water was streaming down; it had been turned to the highest setting possible.  Trip was not standing under it.

Instead, he was huddled into a corner of the shower, arms wrapped around his knees, and unaware of the water that was pouring over him.  His blue eyes stared straight ahead.  At nothing. At everything.

Reed wondered just how long he had been sitting there like this.  Steam hung heavy in the damp air, and he guessed it had been for quite a while.  Quickly he turned off the water, but Trip did not stir.  This only increased Reed's unease.

He took a towel, and approached his friend.  At the sound of his footsteps, Trip shrank further into himself.

"Hey, Commander," Reed said, trying to sound calm.  Trip flinched.  "It's all right.  It's only me.  Malcolm.  See?" 

Trip looked up.  "Mal - ?"

"That's right."  Reed reached over.  "Here, let me help you – "

Trip dodged Reed's helping hand.  He pulled himself upright.  Reed tried again, but Trip held both arms out, palms forward, in a gesture of warning so unmistakable that the Lieutenant stopped in his tracks.

"Here's a towel," he said, trying to sound as if nothing out of the ordinary was taking place.  "You're sopping."

Slowly, Trip took the towel, wrapped it around his too-thin waist.  He had lost a lot of weight during his captivity, and so far had not regained any of it.  Not surprising, as he was refusing to eat.

"Come on, Commander," Reed said gently.  "Let's get you back to bed."  Trip turned, and began to shuffle slowly out of the shower.  Reed noted with relief that at least the dressing on his back, where Phlox had removed the Tasumi ownership tattoo, was still in place.  He didn't relish the idea of trying to apply a new bandage to Trip when he was in this state.

Trip continued his slow progress.  It was obviously a struggle for him to stay upright; he stopped and swayed several times.  Finally, he reached his bed, and simply stood there, looking at it.

Reed approached him, another towel in hand.  "You'd better dry off first."  He then made the mistake of trying to drape the towel over his friend's shoulders.

Trip reacted.  With cat-like swiftness, he whirled and pushed Reed away from him, so savagely that the Lieutenant fell.  "Don't touch me!"  He was literally shrieking.

Reed, stunned, looked up from where he had fallen, but remained silent.

"Don't touch me," Trip repeated, in a lower tone of voice.

"I won't," Reed said cautiously.  "But you have to dry off, Commander.  Then you need to get back into bed."

Slowly, Trip began to towel himself off.  While he did so, Reed cautiously stood up.  He felt as if he were locked in a cage with a man-eating tiger.  This was not the Trip Tucker he knew.  Considering what Trip must have been through, it was not surprising he was acting like this.  But it did not make him any less dangerous.

Trip finished drying himself.  He dropped the towel on the floor, looked uncertainly around.

"Commander," Reed said carefully.  When there was no response, he took a step forward.

Trip shrank back at this, and Reed stopped immediately.  "I won't hurt you," he promised.  "But you need to get back into bed."

Sluggishly, Trip complied.  He lay down, pulled the blankets tightly around him.  "Commander," Reed began.

Trip refused to answer.  Instead, he turned onto his side, away from his friend.  He pulled himself into a fetal position, and lay silently, ignoring Reed. 

And stayed that way until Phlox arrived.

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