Pain.
The hearing had been recessed for the day after the cross-examination ended yesterday, and the witnesses had been called into the courtroom and ordered to present themselves for duty again the next morning at 0830. In the meantime, they still weren't allowed to talk to one another.
The summons had given him his first glimpse of Malcolm, uncovered, since the whole damn thing began. Though he hadn't been able to catch more than a quick glance as they all trooped out again he'd been horrified by the hurt and humiliation in the guy's face as their eyes met – and, underlying them both, a tension that suggested a caged animal, just biding its time till something came within clawing range.
So here they were again, a little earlier than required, seated in a suitably separated row like coconuts at a fair, silent; waiting to be called in.
Phlox seemed to be the most placid of the three of them, but then in all the years they'd served together aboard Enterprise he'd always had vast reserves of calm. He was sitting with hands joined comfortably across his abdomen and his eyes closed, probably composing another letter to his friend Doctor Lucas or mentally going through the complexities of his marital relations. When you had three wives, each of whom had three husbands (who presumably each had three wives of their own, and so on), the numbers of people you were related to by marriage multiplied exponentially the further you went. It was entirely probable that most of the inhabitants of Denobula were linked by marriage within a couple of generations.
If he'd been here in his capacity as a doctor rather than a medical expert, and conversation wasn't forbidden, Trip would probably have asked him if he had anything to help combat pain and nausea. It was a working certainty that one of the pockets in that capacious gown held a hypospray even so (Phlox never went anywhere unprepared), but the rule kept him silent.
The headache was blinding, though. One of the worst he'd ever experienced. Probably the nausea was just a reaction to the pain.
But was it his pain, though?
Certainly he had enough physical issues to be going on with, for he'd tossed and turned through an interminable night in the comfortable field grade quarters he and the other witnesses were assigned. At first he'd been desperate to fall asleep, hoping that somehow he might find some way to reach that weird 'white space' he'd experienced yesterday. When he'd failed to fall asleep – which was pretty inevitable, really, because it never happens when you're waiting for it – he'd even gotten out of bed and sat in a chair, recreating the exact pose where he'd made it happen back in the corridor outside the courtroom. But he'd had no success either way. And sleeplessness never left him feeling good.
Being unable to get a hold of Admiral Forrest hadn't helped any, either – even one of the 'heroes of the Expanse' didn't get to have an admiral's cellphone number. Yesterday evening he'd tried to get through to Starfleet HQ, but encountered the usual obstructions. Even when he'd finally exploded and told them to put his voice through a damn recognition program (and it had taken them a while to finally decide to do that) he hadn't had any luck. By that time Forrest had left the building.
Jon would almost certainly have it. But now the trial was on, any attempt to communicate was almost certainly out the window. By the time the sun had finally put in an appearance this morning Trip was so glad to see it that he had thoughts only for the upcoming witness appearance. He knew that unfortunately he would be the last witness to be called, so how long he'd have to wait depended on how long everyone else took about giving their evidence and being questioned on it – there was a chance it might be today but it might well not happen till tomorrow, a prospect he viewed with part resignation and part dismay. Of course it wasn't going to be pleasant and he wanted the whole goddamn business over and done with, but most of all, as soon as his part was done he would be free to leave the JAG building, and then hopefully there wouldn't be any problem with going to find Admiral Forrest and starting a conversation that included the words 'Political Asylum'.
Still – he had to get the direct and then cross-examination over first. He was reasonably sure that whichever of the Starfleet attorneys took him through his evidence first would be reasonably tactful about the … the 'alleged relationship' side of things, if indeed it was mentioned at all, but he had a bad feeling about what the Vulcans would find to say about it. His fists clenched in anticipation.
Pain. His head rang and buzzed with it. He hoped he wasn't going to puke on the witness stand.
There was a gentle touch on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and found Phlox standing in front of him – while the desk clerk rose, ready to intervene.
But Phlox said nothing, simply looked hard at the aching double cleft that was sitting between his brows. At a guess he wasn't looking so good at all, not when he was feeling like this.
Trip nodded emphatically, shut his eyes against the resulting wave of nausea, and grimaced to show how goddamn awful he felt.
Good ol' Phlox.
The Denobulan stepped over to the clerk. "I am a licensed medical practitioner currently working for Starfleet," he said firmly. "Based on my current observations of Commander Tucker I believe he is unwell enough to require medical intervention so that he will be in the best condition to testify. Please ask him if this is the case and arrange for treatment to be given by someone qualified to do so and not involved in the trial."
The clerk had to contact someone and find out what the position was, but permission was given and a Starfleet medic appeared. Trip sighed with relief as the hypospray hissed against his neck and blessed ease flooded his system. It didn't cure it completely – a nagging ache remained, which was unusual, but maybe this standard analgesic wasn't as effective as one of Phlox's magic nostrums – but at least now he felt able to function.
It wasn't a moment too soon, either, for less than five minutes later Malcolm appeared, flanked by his guards and once again being guided by them. That meant the trial was about to re-start.
Not much longer now, buddy.
He was taken inside, and then after a brief pause – presumably while he was settled in his chair and handcuffed to it, and everyone else had gotten into their places and said whatever had to be said in these affairs – a clerk opened the door.
"Doctor T'Kuri is called to the witness stand, please."
The immobile Vulcan opened his eyes, stood up, straightened his robes and strode the courtroom door, which closed behind him.
The whole procedure had to start again: the statement of whatever evidence the witness was there to give (guided by the relevant attorney) and then when that was completed, the cross-examination. It was impossible to say how long this would take; presumably this Doctor T'Kuri was there to call Phlox's conclusions into question. That would undoubtedly get technical.
It looked like he and T'Pol were the prosecution's only witnesses. When he'd been dealt with, it would be the defense's turn.
"We'll be calling Doctor Phlox first," Hicks had said, in their last preparatory meeting. "Between his testimony and cross-examination, it's our opinion the prosecution will essentially be finished."
"So what are Doctor Langford and I needed for?"
"The likelihood is that Doctor Langford will not be called, though of course we're glad to have her expertise to call on if necessary." Her lack of reaction said that this didn't come as a surprise. "But you, Commander, are our engineering expert. I'm quite sure you can provide more than enough information on the technical superiority of Vulcan technology to ours."
"Some," he'd agreed with feeling. At every encounter with Vulcan fleet ships he'd been awed by their size and strength, and during their earlier encounter with the crew of the Vakhlas its friendly and open engineer Kov had been willing and happy to talk 'shop' as they worked. As a result he was more than able to demonstrate for the court's benefit just how much lethal potential they'd have been leaving as a gift to the enemy if they'd just left the Seleya adrift, its hapless crew abandoned to die as and when fate saw fit.
So, he wouldn't be needed just yet. He picked up his book and started to read, but found it hard to concentrate; his headache was ramping up again. It wasn't nearly as bad as it had been, but there was a band of tension across the top of his skull – it felt almost as if he were wearing a pair of invisible metal headphones.
He put his book down and rubbed his temples, trying to ease it. He'd suffered this kind of thing often enough in the Expanse, where he like everyone else had been living on his nerves and his sleep suffered accordingly.
I sure as hell could use some neuropressure right now…
His mind went back to the glimpses of T'Pol he'd had yesterday. No more than glimpses, as she was taken back and forth escorted by Starfleet guards – what the hell had that been all about?
And, of course, that weird – whatever it had been – that glimpse of the white space, and its lonely, exhausted inhabitant. The sight of her worn, weary little face had torn him in two.
As for whether any of that had been real, or whether it had been a weird dream, or what – who knew? He sure didn't.
Presumably, now she was no longer required as a witness (unless of course she was to be called back again later for any reason), she was free to go. But where to?
Back to Vulcan, presumably. She'd get a thin welcome from Starfleet after what she'd done.
Back to Koss.
Sonofabitch.
Suppose she'd already been sent back there? How would he ever get a message to her? And even if somehow he managed it (possibly with Hoshi's help again), they'd most likely make sure she had no way of getting back to Earth, even if she wanted to…
I'll never see her again.
Almost certainly Enterprise would be setting out again within the next few weeks, assuming Jon and Malcolm were released. Maybe he himself would be appointed the new XO, as he'd been supposed to be at the start. He hadn't minded so much to begin with because it was kind of interesting seeing a Vulcan at close quarters – he hadn't really encountered them since last saying goodbye his homeroom teacher Mr. Velik at school – and besides, her effective appointment was only temporary. Later on, he was happy enough for the situation to continue because she was damn good at her job and to be honest he didn't much like the prospect of having to sit on the Bridge half the day; he was far happier being in Main Engineering where he could keep an eye on his beloved warp engine.
Enterprise would launch. But not with T'Pol at the Science Station. Maybe one of her team would step up, or maybe her replacement would get the job. Or maybe he'd get to step up at last, and Hess would have to cover in Main Engineering.
Yeah. But it would be a real different Bridge without her on it.
The realization suddenly hit him like a brick in the chest. Yeah, she was a married woman. Someone else's married woman. But that didn't change the fact that down where it mattered, she was his woman … his one and only.
He squeezed his eyes shut, stopping the tears from falling. If she was already gone she was most likely outside his help for good. Why should she ever get in touch with any of them again? All she'd believe was that they blamed her for a turncoat, for taking the enemy's side against her own colleagues – when she knew there was nothing Jon or Malcolm or anyone else could possibly have done to save the Seleya's crew.
A hand tapped his shoulder lightly, and he opened his eyes. Doctor Langford was standing in front of him, with a coffee on a tray – she must have asked the clerk to have some fetched.
She didn't speak, of course, but her eyes were kind. You got the feeling she was someone who'd always want to help, no matter if it was a total stranger lying in the road - and not just wailing and hand-wringing, but calling the ambulance and organizing blankets.
"Thanks," he mumbled. Surely that didn't break the spirit of the order, if not the letter?
The hot, black, unsweetened liquid steadied him even while it scalded his mouth.
Jon would be furious and hurt, that went without saying. Hell, any guy would be in his position! But when he knew, when he understood – he'd never left any member of his crew behind.
The pain was still lying across his head. Now, weirdly, he thought he knew whose it was.
We won't abandon you, sweetheart," he thought. Just hang on in there.
