Funeral for a Friendship
Summary: Scene additions to The Good That Men Do, Chapter 15. Captain Archer learns of an unexpected complication caused by the "death" of his best friend.
Author's Note: I stumbled upon a group of stories from spring 2007. You may have seen this one at some time in the past... If you have not read the book, this short story can also be viewed as scene additions to the evil that is These Are The Voyages. The critical scene in question is Archer's and T'Pol's conversation in Trip's quarters after his death. The first scene addition happens prior to the conversation and the second happens the next morning.
Jon raised the towel to his face and blotted away the tears. His eyes were already red and itchy from his conversation with Trip's parents. They'd only gotten worse after he spoke with Trip's brother. After speaking with him, Jon's hope that Trip's brother could help his parents cope with the family's loss was shattered. If anything he took the news worse than his parents.
Jon closed his eyes and held the towel in place. He hoped they'd be able to forgive him for the needless pain he just caused them.
No, I hope I just caused them needless pain.
He'd pretty much recomposed himself when the buzzer rang. He didn't feel like talking to anyone right now so he let it ring. If it were critical, Malcolm would interrupt him in person.
Jon let out a growl as the person simply couldn't take a hint and the buzzer kept ringing. Finally he got fed up with it and yelled, "What!" into the comm. panel.
"Captain, I apologize for interrupting but I need to speak with you," Doctor Phlox said.
Jon growled again, this time deep down in his throat. "Can it wait?" He wanted to spend a bit more time alone.
"It can, for a bit. I need to speak with you at your first opportunity."
Jon closed his eyes, took a deep breath and centered himself. "Okay, Doctor... What can I do for you?" He tried very hard to sound composed, but wasn't sure how effective his disguise had been.
Phlox paused long enough for Jon to wonder if the doctor was still there.
"I would prefer to speak with you directly, Captain. I can come to your ready room if..."
"No, I'll come down there," Jon cut him off. He passed through the door and headed onto the bridge. "Malcolm, I'll be in sickbay."
Malcolm simply nodded as Jon climbed the steps to the turbo lift. Once the lift doors opened onto the proper level, Jon walked quickly to sickbay. Hopefully he could wrap things up with Phlox and get something to help him sleep. His head was killing him.
"What's this about?" Jon asked after verifying no one else was in sickbay.
"It's about T'Pol, Captain," Phlox answered after joining him in a secluded corner of sickbay. Even though it was the middle of the night, Jon didn't want to take any chances someone would come in once people came to grips with Trip's "death". "She was here earlier and insisted on seeing Mr. Tucker's remains."
Jon frowned. He worried about something like this. He didn't agree with Trip that T'Pol would just shrug this off. Although Trip probably knew her better than he did, he doubted Trip had observed T'Pol with as much detail as he had lately.
Trip stopped attending movie night once they returned from the Expanse. Therefore he hadn't seen her brief glances at every person who entered the Mess Hall come Tuesday night. She had always one of the first to arrive and no matter how large the attendance, there was always an empty seat just to her left. Eventually she too stopped coming altogether.
Trip couldn't know that not once did T'Pol leave the bridge to take care of some issue in main engineering while he was aboard Columbia. Immediately upon his return, there was always some issue or concern popping up that required she remove herself to main engineering for resolution.
Trip most likely also hadn't seen the long looks T'Pol gave him while he sat alone in the Mess Hall. Since returning from Vulcan to bury their daughter, Trip mostly kept to himself at mealtime. Jon assumed most of the crew let him since few were sure how to deal with recent events. It was an uncomfortable topic for most. Jon frequently caught her staring at Trip across the room but he hadn't decided which was sadder–Trip's self-imposed isolation or T'Pol's apparent inability to make her feelings known.
"Captain?" Jon heard Phlox ask before he realized he was just staring off into space.
"Sorry," he said and was certain he blushed. "I was worried something like this would happen... What'd you tell her?"
"I am afraid I am not very good at these things... I mumbled some excuses which she did not accept," Phlox said before pausing. "I finally said Mr. Tucker asked that she not be allowed to see his remains... I told her he wanted her to remember him as he lived, not how he died."
Jon's attention focused like a beam of light. "That's an excellent answer, Doctor. You have no reason to apologize... It's an excellent excuse." It would also help them explain the need for a closed casket. Yes, the doctor had done well.
Phlox's expression though made it clear he wasn't as impressed. "I am not sure if that will be good enough... She was insistent and I probably used too much force when I said flatly I would honor his request, even if she did not."
Jon winced. That was a pretty low blow–especially coming from the normally deft doctor. "How did she take that?"
Phlox took a deep breath and flailed his arms a bit. "I am not certain... I could not read her expression and she did not say anything before leaving sickbay." Phlox turned away from Jon. "I will have to apologize for my behavior tomorrow morning... I should not have been so... hurtful."
Phlox looked truly guilty. Jon stepped a bit closer and put his arm on the doctor's shoulders. "You did the best you could, Phlox... Trip insisted she be kept out of the loop and... I'm not sure I completely disagree with him... yet."
Jon was halfway back to his quarters before he forgot to ask the doctor for something to help him sleep. Aww, hell!
He wasn't exactly sure why, but something possessed him to stop at Trip's quarters before going to bed. He smiled and chuckled to himself as this small part of him wondered if Trip had changed his mind and he'd find him lying on the bed reading an engineering report.
It was a pathetic glimmer of hope to cling to, but it was all Jon had.
He didn't have words to describe the feelings that washed over him when he opened the door to find the light on and T'Pol packing Trip's things away.
Jon awoke to Porthos alternately licking his face and climbing around on the bed. He scratched the dog's ears and rubbed his coat when Porthos began licking his face in earnest. There were far worse things to wake up to...
He sat up quickly and instantly that mistake became abundantly clear. The stabbing pain in his head and the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels reminded him why.
Jon leaned over, put his head in his hands and groaned.
Porthos continued jumping around his legs. He needed a walk. It was 0935 hours and Jon was late for the bridge. He decided to ask Phlox to help out. Porthos always liked spending time with the doctor.
Phlox scowled at Jon as soon as he entered sickbay. "Don't say it," Jon commanded. "Can I get you to give Porthos a walk? I need to get on the bridge and I just got up." Since Jon had set Porthos on the nearest bio-bed, he was sniffing around Phlox's shoulders and licking him too as Phlox scratched various places around the dog's neck and ears.
"I would like to Captain," Phlox said as he looked around sickbay. "I am worried that Commander T'Pol may come by again this morning." Jon noticed his happy face while playing with Porthos turned grim. "The morgue does not have any security... If I am not here to stop her, she may decide to investigate for herself."
Jon scowled. He didn't like hiding things from her but he especially didn't want her snooping around. He turned his head to Porthos. "Come on buddy, it looks like it's you and me this morning," he said as he picked the dog up and set him on the floor.
They weren't more than a few meters out of sickbay before Porthos barked and took off. Jon didn't need to go chasing after him with his hangover. But he pursued as best he could in his current condition. When he'd finally caught up with Porthos, Lieutenant Hess was kneeling on the ground next to Porthos. She had him on his back and was scratching his belly while saying, "Who's a good boy?" over and over.
Both seemed to be having a pretty good time together.
Jon stopped short and cleared his throat while giving her a grin. He smiled as she shot up and her face turned red. Porthos turned over back onto his feet and came running to him.
"Sorry Captain," she said in a quiet voice.
He chuckled. "Don't worry about it." Then an idea popped in his head. "Could I get you to give him a walk? I'm needed on the bridge."
Jon could see her struggle back a smile as she pressed her lips together. "I was heading to the Mess for a snack, I'd be glad to."
She smacked her thigh and said, "come on boy," and started to slowly walk away backwards.
Porthos just looked at him with questioning eyes. "Go on!" Jon said and pointed toward her. Apparently he figured out what to do and took off after the Lieutenant.
Jon was glad someone aboard Enterprise was happy.
A short while later Jon stepped onto the bridge and walked to his command chair by memory. That was necessary since the light bothered his eyes. He kept them shut and just pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sorry Malcolm... Tough night," he apologized.
"I understand sir," Malcolm replied from a short distance away.
Jon plopped down in his chair and took another swig of coffee. He noticed out of the corner of his eye Malcolm hadn't moved. He turned slightly and asked, "Is there a problem?"
"It's Commander T'Pol," Malcolm answered quietly.
Jon turned and realized she wasn't at her station next to Hoshi.
"She hasn't show up this morning and she's not in her quarters, sir... That is not like her at all."
Jon closed his eyes and groaned as the pain in his temples intensified.
"She's not at any of the duty stations or sick bay either," Malcolm continued
Jon was just about to ask why Malcolm hadn't done a scanner sweep when he remembered it was against regulations for junior officers to perform sweeps in search of senior officers unless the ship was under attack.
He was just about to give Malcolm the order when it dawned on him where she probably was.
The pain in his forehead only got worse. And not from the hangover.
"You have the bridge Malcolm," he said as he made his way toward the turbo lift–but not before making sure he had his coffee with him.
Jon quietly stepped into Trip's quarters. The lights were set low but still on. He noticed not much more packing took place after he left T'Pol early that morning. He moved around and found T'Pol just where he expected her to be.
And yet where he hoped she would not be.
She was curled up, almost in a fetal position, on Trip's bunk. The blankets and covers were all twisted around her like she had tossed and turned a good portion of the night.
There were few times in his life where Jon was truly upset with Trip and his decision-making ability.
This was one of them.
He stepped over to her sleeping form and tried to rouse her. He knew she didn't like being touched so he attempted to wake her by just saying her name. He kept getting louder and louder until she finally stirred and looked up at him.
Immediately her eyes shot wide and she quickly sat up at attention.
Jon stifled a grin at the pillow wrinkle along her right cheek and messed up hair. It never occurred to him a Vulcan might get pillow face and bed hair. The thought was almost too ludicrous to comprehend.
The look in her face, though, helped him maintain a proper sense of decorum and quenched any humor at her situation. The area around her eyes was puffy and her left one was tinged lime green. The cause wasn't hard for him to guess.
"What time is it?" T'Pol croaked.
"It's 1015 hours, Commander," Jon answered with a grin.
T'Pol almost knocked him down as she stood up out of bed and began apologizing for being derelict in her duty.
"T'Pol wait!" He commanded before she streaked out the door. She stopped and turned to him. He did notice she would not look him in the eye. "It's okay... Pretty much everyone on the ship is... having a hard time."
Jon slumped and debated if she even heard him.
"Why don't you take today off?" Jon stammered around a bit. He looked around the room. "You know, pack things up... I'm sure Trip's parents will appreciate the effort," he added softly.
She just shook her head. "No, I should not abandon my duties... I will be at my station before 1100 hours. You may record this lapse in my service record."
Jon rolled his eyes before squinting and pinching the bridge of his nose gain. "I will do no such thing," he replied. But upon opening his eyes, it was wasted since she wasn't even there.
He sighed. Dammit Trip!
Later Jon took the last swig of tepid coffee from his mug. The clock read 1122. Hopefully that meant T'Pol took his advice. He smiled as he chalked up one more instance he got a Vulcan to listen to his opinion.
He turned slightly to Hoshi. "Hoshi, give Ensign Matthews a page. Tell her I need her on the bridge by 1200 hours," Jon said just before the turbo lift doors opened.
"That will not be necessary Ensign," T'Pol said flatly as she walked to her post. "I apologize for being late," she added with a tilt of her head.
"Apology accepted, Commander," Jon replied as he smiled at her.
Just then it dawned on him something was wrong. He quickly turned to spy T'Pol at her science station. T'Pol caught him staring and lifted a single eyebrow in response.
He quickly turned back, facing the front of the ship. "Travis, take her to Warp 4.7," he said trying to think of any order to hide his amazement.
"Aye sir, Warp 4.7."
Jon cleared his throat and fought the urge to return his focus to the science station. He wondered if anyone else was having a similar problem.
T'Pol had arrived on the bridge this morning wearing a normal Starfleet regulation uniform. It even had the correct piping. He and Trip joked about requiring her to wear one and even briefly teased her about it, but he never expected her to actually go through with it.
Jon cleared his throat again and struggled to figure out what the change meant. He closed his eyes and leaned forward. It couldn't have been a coincidence this morning T'Pol started wearing a standard issue Starfleet uniform. Trip's preference for the brightly colored jumpsuits never was a well-kept secret.
The End