AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you for your reviews, each one of you.
Chapter 4-
T'Pol turned the corner just as Reed intersected from the other corridor. They fell into step toward the direction of the gym.
"Your call was highly agitated, lieutenant." T'Pol stoically stated. "I do agree that Captain Archer's and Commander Tucker's behaviors toward one another has been out of character for both since their return from the planet."
"You can say that again." Reed sighed.
"You referred to them being under the influence of an alien substance." T'Pol continued, ignoring his remark.
"It wasn't intentional on Davanj's part." Reed stressed. "But it was suppose to block their inhibitions for a few hours. It's done a hell of a lot more than that and for a lengthier period."
"You insinuated that the captain may try to harm Mr. Tucker physically. May I ask why?"
"I'll tell you everything after we find them." Malcolm said, nervously. "I just want to make sure they're both all right."
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He grasped the handlebars so tightly his knuckles were white and his forearms were trembling from the pressure. Trip's heart was pounding in his ears, so he couldn't even hear the sound of the cord contacting his bare back anymore. He most certainly felt it, though. Each blow stung worse than the one before and he wasn't sure if it was because the same spots were being hit, or that Jonathan Archer's anger was mounting.
His head was banging with the worst headache he could ever remember having. Jon surmised his blood pressure was the cause. He did not remember ever feeling this angry in his life. Not enough to physically take it out on someone like this. His face was covered in sweat and his body felt as if it was on fire. He kept his eyes fixed on his target. Trip's back was glistening with perspiration, each muscle rippled, clearly defined with spatterings of red marks criss-crossed in between. Welts rose up across the younger man's flesh and his stance wavered slightly with each lash. Twenty should be enough, the captain thought.
Twelve. Trip hung his head waiting for the next one. SNAP! Thirteen. He raised his head now, throwing it back and taking a much needed breath. When was he going to stop? Was he trying to draw blood? This was insanity. SNAP! Fourteen. He felt the tears welling up in his eyes, but refused to let them fall. His throat was parched and the lump that was there threatened to break free and unleash an audible, painful reaction. But he held back. He wouldn't give his attacker that satisfaction.
SNAP! That was fifteen. He's arms were aching and his back was warm and pulsating. He could feel the dampness on his back and wondered if it was only sweat that trickled down to the band of his sweat pants.
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Reed tried the panel once more and, again, the gym door did not open. T'Pol watched him noticing his anxiousness rising. He quickly overrode the lockout and the door opened.
T'Pol followed Reed inside the gym. SNAP! Both turned in the direction of the sound and took in the horrific scene. As they both rushed towards the two men, Reed went for the captain and T'Pol made her way to Tucker.
As Archer was tossing his arm back for another strike, Reed reached out and caught the free end of the cord and wrapped it around his hand. With his other hand clasped over his fist that was entwined with the cord, he yanked roughly and sent the captain stumbling backwards.
Archer turned quickly, stunned to see Lieutenant Reed at the other end of the cord. They both stared at the other, heaving breaths of anger, frustration, fear.
"Please, Captain?" Reed's voice was strained with emotions.
Archer seemed to clear his head, shaking it from side to side. He looked down at the cord and then slowly over at Trip. T'Pol was prying the commander's hands from the handlebars and talking to him in a low voice.
Cautiously, Reed was at the captain's side and unraveled the cord from Archer's grasp. He led the captain over to the step to the walking machines and tugged at his arm to sit. Archer complied, in a daze.
"What have I done?" Archer croaked out, staring out into the room.
Trip had sunk to his knees, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. T'Pol knelt next to him.
"I will be right back." T'Pol told Tucker, intending to call sickbay.
"No." Trip's raspy voice moaned out. "Want...ta walk...on my own..."
T'Pol held onto Tucker's upper arm. He was breathing hard and his fingers were clawing at his thighs.
"Close your eyes, Commander." T'Pol spoke in a controlled voice.
Trip hung his head forward and shook it back and forth, fighting the need to cry out or simply to just cry. His eyes were red and he bit his lower lip constantly.
"Close your eyes." T'Pol said with a firmer tone. "Trip," she decided to try. "I know you're trying to harness your emotions. This will help. Close your eyes."
Trip's head rose up and leveled. He closed his eyes, still digging into his legs with his fingers.
"Breathe in deeply, with your mouth closed." T'Pol continued.
Malcolm could hear T'Pol leading Trip into a deep breathing exercise. He was beside himself with the burden of having kept quiet about the incident in the captain's ready room. If he had told T'Pol about this when he wanted to, this never would've happened. He studied the captain's face and saw the man was stunned. Trip had been hurt physically and, no doubt emotionally, by this. But the captain also had been hurt. He could have prevented these harms to both of them. It was his job to protect these people.
"Lieutenant," T'Pol called to Reed. "We need your assistance."
Malcolm rushed over to them and took hold of Trip's other upper arm. Both Reed and T'Pol put their other arms around Trip's waist, careful not to touch his back. Archer just sat, staring with a detached look.
"Captain," Reed addressed him. "Please follow us."
Archer got up, sluggishly and fell in behind the group. He was careful not to make eye contact with Trip's welt ridden back. Instead he fixed his eyes on their feet and noticed how Trip's appeared to be weighted down, moving slowly and heavily. Archer's inner turmoil raged with his feelings of anger and hatred for Trip Tucker, that had surfaced recently, mixed with guilt and remorse for having whipped the younger man so harshly. Jonathan Archer was in a nightmare he wanted to wake up from. He reached over and pinched his arm, hard, twisting the flesh beneath. He felt it. The sensation was there, dull and throbbing. Oh, merciful heaven please forgive me, he thought.
TO BE CONTINUED
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Chapter 4-
T'Pol turned the corner just as Reed intersected from the other corridor. They fell into step toward the direction of the gym.
"Your call was highly agitated, lieutenant." T'Pol stoically stated. "I do agree that Captain Archer's and Commander Tucker's behaviors toward one another has been out of character for both since their return from the planet."
"You can say that again." Reed sighed.
"You referred to them being under the influence of an alien substance." T'Pol continued, ignoring his remark.
"It wasn't intentional on Davanj's part." Reed stressed. "But it was suppose to block their inhibitions for a few hours. It's done a hell of a lot more than that and for a lengthier period."
"You insinuated that the captain may try to harm Mr. Tucker physically. May I ask why?"
"I'll tell you everything after we find them." Malcolm said, nervously. "I just want to make sure they're both all right."
----------
He grasped the handlebars so tightly his knuckles were white and his forearms were trembling from the pressure. Trip's heart was pounding in his ears, so he couldn't even hear the sound of the cord contacting his bare back anymore. He most certainly felt it, though. Each blow stung worse than the one before and he wasn't sure if it was because the same spots were being hit, or that Jonathan Archer's anger was mounting.
His head was banging with the worst headache he could ever remember having. Jon surmised his blood pressure was the cause. He did not remember ever feeling this angry in his life. Not enough to physically take it out on someone like this. His face was covered in sweat and his body felt as if it was on fire. He kept his eyes fixed on his target. Trip's back was glistening with perspiration, each muscle rippled, clearly defined with spatterings of red marks criss-crossed in between. Welts rose up across the younger man's flesh and his stance wavered slightly with each lash. Twenty should be enough, the captain thought.
Twelve. Trip hung his head waiting for the next one. SNAP! Thirteen. He raised his head now, throwing it back and taking a much needed breath. When was he going to stop? Was he trying to draw blood? This was insanity. SNAP! Fourteen. He felt the tears welling up in his eyes, but refused to let them fall. His throat was parched and the lump that was there threatened to break free and unleash an audible, painful reaction. But he held back. He wouldn't give his attacker that satisfaction.
SNAP! That was fifteen. He's arms were aching and his back was warm and pulsating. He could feel the dampness on his back and wondered if it was only sweat that trickled down to the band of his sweat pants.
----------
Reed tried the panel once more and, again, the gym door did not open. T'Pol watched him noticing his anxiousness rising. He quickly overrode the lockout and the door opened.
T'Pol followed Reed inside the gym. SNAP! Both turned in the direction of the sound and took in the horrific scene. As they both rushed towards the two men, Reed went for the captain and T'Pol made her way to Tucker.
As Archer was tossing his arm back for another strike, Reed reached out and caught the free end of the cord and wrapped it around his hand. With his other hand clasped over his fist that was entwined with the cord, he yanked roughly and sent the captain stumbling backwards.
Archer turned quickly, stunned to see Lieutenant Reed at the other end of the cord. They both stared at the other, heaving breaths of anger, frustration, fear.
"Please, Captain?" Reed's voice was strained with emotions.
Archer seemed to clear his head, shaking it from side to side. He looked down at the cord and then slowly over at Trip. T'Pol was prying the commander's hands from the handlebars and talking to him in a low voice.
Cautiously, Reed was at the captain's side and unraveled the cord from Archer's grasp. He led the captain over to the step to the walking machines and tugged at his arm to sit. Archer complied, in a daze.
"What have I done?" Archer croaked out, staring out into the room.
Trip had sunk to his knees, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. T'Pol knelt next to him.
"I will be right back." T'Pol told Tucker, intending to call sickbay.
"No." Trip's raspy voice moaned out. "Want...ta walk...on my own..."
T'Pol held onto Tucker's upper arm. He was breathing hard and his fingers were clawing at his thighs.
"Close your eyes, Commander." T'Pol spoke in a controlled voice.
Trip hung his head forward and shook it back and forth, fighting the need to cry out or simply to just cry. His eyes were red and he bit his lower lip constantly.
"Close your eyes." T'Pol said with a firmer tone. "Trip," she decided to try. "I know you're trying to harness your emotions. This will help. Close your eyes."
Trip's head rose up and leveled. He closed his eyes, still digging into his legs with his fingers.
"Breathe in deeply, with your mouth closed." T'Pol continued.
Malcolm could hear T'Pol leading Trip into a deep breathing exercise. He was beside himself with the burden of having kept quiet about the incident in the captain's ready room. If he had told T'Pol about this when he wanted to, this never would've happened. He studied the captain's face and saw the man was stunned. Trip had been hurt physically and, no doubt emotionally, by this. But the captain also had been hurt. He could have prevented these harms to both of them. It was his job to protect these people.
"Lieutenant," T'Pol called to Reed. "We need your assistance."
Malcolm rushed over to them and took hold of Trip's other upper arm. Both Reed and T'Pol put their other arms around Trip's waist, careful not to touch his back. Archer just sat, staring with a detached look.
"Captain," Reed addressed him. "Please follow us."
Archer got up, sluggishly and fell in behind the group. He was careful not to make eye contact with Trip's welt ridden back. Instead he fixed his eyes on their feet and noticed how Trip's appeared to be weighted down, moving slowly and heavily. Archer's inner turmoil raged with his feelings of anger and hatred for Trip Tucker, that had surfaced recently, mixed with guilt and remorse for having whipped the younger man so harshly. Jonathan Archer was in a nightmare he wanted to wake up from. He reached over and pinched his arm, hard, twisting the flesh beneath. He felt it. The sensation was there, dull and throbbing. Oh, merciful heaven please forgive me, he thought.
TO BE CONTINUED
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