Chapter 2-
As soon as the door to his quarters closed, he stripped off his uniform and headed for the bathroom. Trip stood at the sink in his Starfleet issue blue tank top and briefs staring at his reflection in the mirror. The red mark on his cheek was still clearly visible and he could see the faint imprint of the fingers of an open hand. Jon's hand.
He shook off the memory and turned the faucet on. He filled his cupped hands with the cold water and flinched as his hand brushed across his cheekbone. Gingerly he fingered the spot, quite certain there would be a bruise of some sort by morning.
His door chime sounded and he turned off the water, grabbing a towel to pat his face. He walked out into his living area and stopped a few feet from the door.
"Commander, it's Lieutenant Reed." Malcolm's voice called out from the corridor.
"Go away." Trip called back. "My time out's not up yet and ya wouldn't wanna to get in trouble
for fraternizin' with the 'bad boy'."
"Let me in, Trip. Please?" Malcolm's muffled voice said in a loud whisper.
"Suit yourself." Trip said, tossing the towel onto the bathroom floor from where he stood.
Trip thought quickly, lowering the lights and then pushing the panel to unlock the door. He took a running leap and laid down on his bed. The door opened and Malcolm entered.
"What in the hell got into you?" Malcolm assaulted.
"Me?" Trip asked.
"Yes, you." Malcolm reaffirmed, pulling out the desk chair and sitting down. "Mumbling under your breath like a sulking little kid. Talking back to the Captain. It was bloody well embarrassing."
"Come on, Malcolm. So, I'm a smart aleck. Is that really news?"
"So you are, but not like this." Malcolm shifted in his seat. "You've been acting this way all day now. And the captain's been out of sorts as well. You two not getting on?"
"I'll say." Trip folded his hands behind his head.
"I guess so if the captain relieved you of duty when these repairs are so critical."
"Aw, Lieutenant Hess is more than capable of handlin' things." Trip shrugged off. "Besides, workin' day and night on that regulator isn't gonna get it up and ready before 0300. That's when the next electrical storm's suppose to hit."
"At least we can try." Malcolm said, leaning closer towards Trip and squinting in the dim light. Trip glanced over and then turned his face away quickly. "What happened to your face?" Malcolm asked.
"I, uh, ran into the door." Trip fingered his cheek now.
Malcolm, not really believing that, got up and walked over to the bedside. He sat down, leaning over to get a better look. Trip slowly turned to face him.
"A door with fingers?" Malcolm's eyes widened as the realization dawned on him.
"Look, Malcolm, you're right. I went too far. Guess I asked for it." Trip turned his head away again.
"Good Lord, man, there's no excuse for that. What happened?"
"He said I was gettin' too mouthy in front of the crew. And he punctuated his point."
Malcolm rose from the bed and moved towards the comm panel. Trip sat up quickly.
"What're ya doin'?" Trip asked.
"I'm going to contact the captain." Malcolm told him.
"You can't do that!" Trip protested.
"I sure as hell can! Captain or no captain, he assaulted you; a member of this crew that I, as security officer, am here to protect!"
"No!" Trip yelled at him. "It's my fault. I pushed his buttons one too many times."
"Trip, this is not acceptable behavior."
"Please, Malcolm? I'll take care of it when he's calmed down. Promise me you won't say anythin'?" Trip pleaded.
Malcolm reluctantly returned to sit in the chair. He shook his head. "All right, but you better know what you're doing."
"I do. I've known him longer than anyone aboard this ship."
"And has he ever struck you before?"
"No. Never." Trip laid back down. "It was like he hated me. His eyes were so, cold. I froze. I couldn't even answer him 'bout not disrespectin' him in front of the crew anymore. That's when he hauled off and hit me again."
"He hit you twice?!" Malcolm exclaimed, half rising from the chair.
"Malcolm," Trip warned. "You promised."
"That was before I knew he hit you twice." Malcolm leaned back in the chair, wringing his hands. "Trip, this is not the Captain Jonathan Archer I've come to know. And I doubt you either."
"Naw." Trip shook his head, his eyes glistening in the dim light. "But I really think it's me."
"What do you mean?"
"I think he's regrettin' havin' me aboard. I am pretty tryin' at times." Trip answered.
"Did you ever talk to him about it?"
"No. Now if I do, I'll end up gettin' kicked off the ship and sent back home. I don't want to go home, Malcolm. But I think he's lookin' for a reason to do just that."
"You've got to be wrong." Malcolm couldn't believe this was true.
Trip sniffed back the tears that were brimming his eyes. "I don't think so. It's what he's really feelin' comin' out. Just like me."
"I don't understand." Malcolm told him.
"That damn inhibition blocker." Trip mumbled. "Davanj said it would only last a couple of hours."
"Maybe you better start from the beginning." Malcolm said, getting back up and moving to sit on the bed again.
Trip wiped his eyes with his arm, one quick swipe and stared up at the ceiling.
"We were havin' dinner and Davanj's youngest daughter prepared this celebratory punch." Trip began. "I guess she didn't remember that they're suppose to leave out one of the main ingredients when they serve it to guests. It's some spice that acts as an inhibition blocker. Well, not to them, but it's been known to do that to alien visitors in the past. We didn't know about it 'til we'd killed two thirds of the pitcher."
"How lovely."
"Yeah," Trip shook his head. "The cap'n and I decided not to make a big deal outta it. We'd be goin' to bed shortly after we got back from dinner and figured it'd wear off by mornin'. Guess it didn't. I mean I woke up feelin' okay until I got around him. He just rubs me the wrong way. I feel like he's no better than me and why should he be runnin' the show here? All his ideas and decisions seem lame to me."
"Oh, come on." Malcolm said. "You can't tell me you really, deep down inside, feel that way."
"I must!" Trip argued. "What else could it be? And that means deep down inside...he really hates me."
"I don't know, Trip." Malcolm was skeptical. "Maybe we ought to contact Davanj and find out more about this spice and its affects."
"What good would that do?" Trip asked. "Truth's the truth."
"Maybe Doctor Phlox can counteract it." Malcolm tried to lessen the heaviness within Trip.
"Again," Trip stared at Malcolm, his eyes misting over again. "What good would that do? What's done it done. Can't change it."
"So, you're telling me to butt out?"
Trip turned his head away now. "I 'ppreciate what you're tryin' to do, Malcolm. I do. But just let me deal with this on my own. 'kay?"
Malcolm slowly rose and walked to the door. He turned back and looked at his friend.
"I'm sorry about what happened, Trip. But I think there's got to be an explanation other than what you believe. I won't say anything to anyone, for now. I'll see you in the morning."
When the door closed and Malcolm had gone, Trip curled up in a ball on his side. He grabbed the blankets and gathered them up tightly under his chin. He couldn't help but feel what he was feeling inside. He didn't want to believe it. But he was sure, at this moment, that he was hating Jonathan Archer as much as he believed the captain loathed him.
TO BE CONTINUED
----------
As soon as the door to his quarters closed, he stripped off his uniform and headed for the bathroom. Trip stood at the sink in his Starfleet issue blue tank top and briefs staring at his reflection in the mirror. The red mark on his cheek was still clearly visible and he could see the faint imprint of the fingers of an open hand. Jon's hand.
He shook off the memory and turned the faucet on. He filled his cupped hands with the cold water and flinched as his hand brushed across his cheekbone. Gingerly he fingered the spot, quite certain there would be a bruise of some sort by morning.
His door chime sounded and he turned off the water, grabbing a towel to pat his face. He walked out into his living area and stopped a few feet from the door.
"Commander, it's Lieutenant Reed." Malcolm's voice called out from the corridor.
"Go away." Trip called back. "My time out's not up yet and ya wouldn't wanna to get in trouble
for fraternizin' with the 'bad boy'."
"Let me in, Trip. Please?" Malcolm's muffled voice said in a loud whisper.
"Suit yourself." Trip said, tossing the towel onto the bathroom floor from where he stood.
Trip thought quickly, lowering the lights and then pushing the panel to unlock the door. He took a running leap and laid down on his bed. The door opened and Malcolm entered.
"What in the hell got into you?" Malcolm assaulted.
"Me?" Trip asked.
"Yes, you." Malcolm reaffirmed, pulling out the desk chair and sitting down. "Mumbling under your breath like a sulking little kid. Talking back to the Captain. It was bloody well embarrassing."
"Come on, Malcolm. So, I'm a smart aleck. Is that really news?"
"So you are, but not like this." Malcolm shifted in his seat. "You've been acting this way all day now. And the captain's been out of sorts as well. You two not getting on?"
"I'll say." Trip folded his hands behind his head.
"I guess so if the captain relieved you of duty when these repairs are so critical."
"Aw, Lieutenant Hess is more than capable of handlin' things." Trip shrugged off. "Besides, workin' day and night on that regulator isn't gonna get it up and ready before 0300. That's when the next electrical storm's suppose to hit."
"At least we can try." Malcolm said, leaning closer towards Trip and squinting in the dim light. Trip glanced over and then turned his face away quickly. "What happened to your face?" Malcolm asked.
"I, uh, ran into the door." Trip fingered his cheek now.
Malcolm, not really believing that, got up and walked over to the bedside. He sat down, leaning over to get a better look. Trip slowly turned to face him.
"A door with fingers?" Malcolm's eyes widened as the realization dawned on him.
"Look, Malcolm, you're right. I went too far. Guess I asked for it." Trip turned his head away again.
"Good Lord, man, there's no excuse for that. What happened?"
"He said I was gettin' too mouthy in front of the crew. And he punctuated his point."
Malcolm rose from the bed and moved towards the comm panel. Trip sat up quickly.
"What're ya doin'?" Trip asked.
"I'm going to contact the captain." Malcolm told him.
"You can't do that!" Trip protested.
"I sure as hell can! Captain or no captain, he assaulted you; a member of this crew that I, as security officer, am here to protect!"
"No!" Trip yelled at him. "It's my fault. I pushed his buttons one too many times."
"Trip, this is not acceptable behavior."
"Please, Malcolm? I'll take care of it when he's calmed down. Promise me you won't say anythin'?" Trip pleaded.
Malcolm reluctantly returned to sit in the chair. He shook his head. "All right, but you better know what you're doing."
"I do. I've known him longer than anyone aboard this ship."
"And has he ever struck you before?"
"No. Never." Trip laid back down. "It was like he hated me. His eyes were so, cold. I froze. I couldn't even answer him 'bout not disrespectin' him in front of the crew anymore. That's when he hauled off and hit me again."
"He hit you twice?!" Malcolm exclaimed, half rising from the chair.
"Malcolm," Trip warned. "You promised."
"That was before I knew he hit you twice." Malcolm leaned back in the chair, wringing his hands. "Trip, this is not the Captain Jonathan Archer I've come to know. And I doubt you either."
"Naw." Trip shook his head, his eyes glistening in the dim light. "But I really think it's me."
"What do you mean?"
"I think he's regrettin' havin' me aboard. I am pretty tryin' at times." Trip answered.
"Did you ever talk to him about it?"
"No. Now if I do, I'll end up gettin' kicked off the ship and sent back home. I don't want to go home, Malcolm. But I think he's lookin' for a reason to do just that."
"You've got to be wrong." Malcolm couldn't believe this was true.
Trip sniffed back the tears that were brimming his eyes. "I don't think so. It's what he's really feelin' comin' out. Just like me."
"I don't understand." Malcolm told him.
"That damn inhibition blocker." Trip mumbled. "Davanj said it would only last a couple of hours."
"Maybe you better start from the beginning." Malcolm said, getting back up and moving to sit on the bed again.
Trip wiped his eyes with his arm, one quick swipe and stared up at the ceiling.
"We were havin' dinner and Davanj's youngest daughter prepared this celebratory punch." Trip began. "I guess she didn't remember that they're suppose to leave out one of the main ingredients when they serve it to guests. It's some spice that acts as an inhibition blocker. Well, not to them, but it's been known to do that to alien visitors in the past. We didn't know about it 'til we'd killed two thirds of the pitcher."
"How lovely."
"Yeah," Trip shook his head. "The cap'n and I decided not to make a big deal outta it. We'd be goin' to bed shortly after we got back from dinner and figured it'd wear off by mornin'. Guess it didn't. I mean I woke up feelin' okay until I got around him. He just rubs me the wrong way. I feel like he's no better than me and why should he be runnin' the show here? All his ideas and decisions seem lame to me."
"Oh, come on." Malcolm said. "You can't tell me you really, deep down inside, feel that way."
"I must!" Trip argued. "What else could it be? And that means deep down inside...he really hates me."
"I don't know, Trip." Malcolm was skeptical. "Maybe we ought to contact Davanj and find out more about this spice and its affects."
"What good would that do?" Trip asked. "Truth's the truth."
"Maybe Doctor Phlox can counteract it." Malcolm tried to lessen the heaviness within Trip.
"Again," Trip stared at Malcolm, his eyes misting over again. "What good would that do? What's done it done. Can't change it."
"So, you're telling me to butt out?"
Trip turned his head away now. "I 'ppreciate what you're tryin' to do, Malcolm. I do. But just let me deal with this on my own. 'kay?"
Malcolm slowly rose and walked to the door. He turned back and looked at his friend.
"I'm sorry about what happened, Trip. But I think there's got to be an explanation other than what you believe. I won't say anything to anyone, for now. I'll see you in the morning."
When the door closed and Malcolm had gone, Trip curled up in a ball on his side. He grabbed the blankets and gathered them up tightly under his chin. He couldn't help but feel what he was feeling inside. He didn't want to believe it. But he was sure, at this moment, that he was hating Jonathan Archer as much as he believed the captain loathed him.
TO BE CONTINUED
----------