Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Enterprise characters, and I'm not
making any money from this story.
Warning: This is another dark story. Contains implications of sexual assault.
Warning #2: Contains angst!
+++
Chapter 6: Breaking Point
Archer entered sick bay to find the Doctor scrubbing his hands at the sink. When the doors swished shut he turned around, drying his hands on a towel.
"Ah, Captain, I thought I might see you down here," he said brightly.
"How is Malcolm?"
"He suffered a puncture wound to the lower lobe of his right lung, lost quite a bit of blood. He got here just in time. I doubt he would have survived much longer."
"And now?" Archer asked anxiously.
"He'll recover quite nicely, I should think. The bruises will heal in time."
"Bruises?"
"Mmm-yes. He had several of them, all fresh. It looks like they were in quite a fight."
"Trip?"
"Still sleeping. I just finished examining him. He has a number of contusions and abrasions in various stages of healing, but no serious injuries. Would you like to see him?"
"Do you mean he was in more than one fight?"
"Yes, I would say so," the doctor responded as he pulled back the curtain that surrounded Trip's bed.
Archer stared down at his friend lying motionless on the bed. Even in sleep Trip's brow was puckered and his jaw was tightly clenched. A smudge of blood was still visible on his cheek, and his hair was spiky with dried sweat. Archer bit his lip. Some of the bruises had already faded to yellow-brown, indicating they were several days old. All this time, while he and T'Pol had been wasting their time dealing with bureaucracy and trying to get them out diplomatically, Trip had been getting the shit beat out of him.
"Scans indicate his most serious injury is two broken bones in his right hand. He also has three cracked ribs. That happened about two days ago." Phlox folded back the blanket and lifted Trip's shirt to show the captain. Archer caught a glimpse of Trip's blood-soaked pants before the doctor covered him again.
"It also appears he had medical care. You see this cut here?" The doctor pointed to a pinkish line above Trip's left eye. Archer nodded. "It's been stitched, quite expertly. I doubt he'll have a permanent scar."
Ensign Cutler emerged from the surgical bay. "Doctor?" she said quietly, "Lieutenant Reed is waking up."
"Ah, wonderful. Captain, I assume you'd like to see him? Come with me."
In contrast to Trip, Malcolm looked freshly scrubbed. Archer guessed Cutler had been cleaning him up. His eyes were closed but they fluttered open when Archer stepped up next to the bed.
"Captain?" Malcolm croaked. He blinked in confusion.
Archer grabbed Reed's hand which was lying on top of the sheet. "You're all right, Malcolm, thanks to Doctor Phlox. Welcome back!"
"Thank you, sir. How's Commander Tucker?"
"Asleep. He'll be fine. Can you tell me what happened to him?"
"He didn't tell you anything?"
Archer shook his head.
"He was attacked. . . two days ago. Put him in the infirmary. . . trying to prevent it happening again, when. . ." Malcolm broke off and swallowed convulsively. "Lot of help I was. Nearly ended up getting myself killed."
"Malcolm, you're both alive, that's what counts. Now get some rest. We can talk more later."
"Yes, sir," Malcolm said weakly. His eyes slid shut and didn't open again. Archer laid the lieutenant's hand back down on the bed and tiptoed out, followed by the doctor.
+++
"Can I go now, Doc? I really wanna wash the rest of this blood offa me."
The doctor looked up from his equipment at his patient sitting restlessly on the exam table. "Please sit still while I complete the procedure. Almost finished." He went back to his task of repairing the bones in Commander Tucker's right hand.
"I think you're finished now. Feels good enough." Trip pulled his hand away and hopped down off the table.
"Commander," the doctor called as Tucker headed toward the door.
"What?" came the irritated reply.
"Take these, in case you want something later for the pain." Phlox held out a bottle of pills. "No more than one every four hours."
Tucker walked back just far enough to snatch the bottle from Phlox's outstretched hand, then he was out the door without so much as a thank you.
"Hmm." Phlox turned off the equipment and headed toward the surgical bay to check on his other patient.
"And how are we feeling today, Lieutenant?" he asked with a smile.
"Tired of being here," Reed replied grumpily.
"I see. Let's check that suture site." Phlox folded back the sheet and inspected his handiwork. "Healing quite nicely. Your scarring should be minimal."
"Is Commander Tucker still here?"
"Just left."
Malcolm frowned. He had hoped Trip would at least come to visit him before he was discharged. He had to admit it hurt just a little to be snubbed so completely. Of course the captain had been by, and T'Pol and even Hoshi had put in an appearance, but Trip had stayed away.
"How much longer do I have to stay here?"
"Oh, I should think you'll be ready to go by tomorrow."
"Good."
"Maybe by tonight you'll feel like sitting up and eating a little, hmm?"
"I suppose so," was Reed's only reply. He turned his head away and stared at the wall morosely.
+++
When Malcolm Reed entered the mess hall it was nearly empty, which was what he had hoped for. He wasn't back on duty yet, so he could time his meals so they didn't overlap the crew's regular breaktimes. It had only been two days, but he was already sick to death of people asking him how he was doing and expressing sympathy. Of course, the one person he wanted to talk to most, the only one who really understood what he and Commander Tucker had gone through, was Commander Tucker himself, and so far the engineer had been avoiding him like the plague.
Malcolm chose a sandwich at random from the food dispenser and turned to find a table, which was when he spotted Tucker sitting in the far corner slowly demolishing a piece of pie with his fork. It didn't look like he had taken a bite yet, just crushed the pie until it was barely recognizable. Tucker looked up. His eyes connected with Malcolm's and he quickly looked down again. Well, that tears it, Malcolm thought. I can hardly ignore him now. He walked casually over to Trip's table.
"Mind if I sit here?"
Trip looked around at all the empty seats. "Couldn't find anywhere else to sit?"
"I'd like to sit with you."
"Suit yourself," he grunted with a fierce stab at his pie. The crust broke into several pieces.
"I've heard pecans can be vicious if only wounded," Malcolm joked as he sat. Trip didn't respond. "Look, Commander, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. You don't know how badly I feel about everything that happened." Trip stabbed his pie again, harder. When he got no response, Malcolm continued with growing anxiety, "I failed at my job. I didn't protect you. . ."
"God, Malcolm, why does everything have to be about you?!" Trip exploded. The few other crewmen in the mess hall turned around to stare at him.
"Commander. . ." Malcolm trailed off. He didn't have a clue what to say next.
"Just shut up, all right? Leave me the hell alone!" Trip was on his feet now. Malcolm jumped up too. He could feel the heat rising up his neck to his ears.
"No, I bloody well won't leave you the hell alone!" he shouted back. "I'm trying to apologize to you!"
Trip headed for the door and Malcolm followed. He stepped in front of Trip and faced him. "Get the fuck outta my way, Malcolm," Trip said in a low voice.
"Commander, please. . ."
Trip shoved Malcolm in the chest, causing him to stumble backwards. He felt a sharp pain in his side where he had been stabbed just a couple of days before. His hands went to the spot. In the background Malcolm was aware of someone calling for the captain over the intercom. Trip took a step toward Malcolm with fury in his eyes.
Crewman M'Butu, one of Malcolm's security officers who had been eating his lunch when the fight began, came up behind Trip and caught him around the waist. "Take it easy, Commander," M'Butu said.
Trip's cursing gave way to frantic screaming and desperate struggling to get away.
Malcolm held up a hand. "Let him go, M'Butu!" he ordered.
"But boss, he-"
"Do it! Let him go now!"
M'Butu released Trip just as the door slid open and the captain entered.
Archer took a moment to size up the situation before speaking. His tactical officer was doubled over with his hand on his side, and his engineer looked ready to explode. Crewman M'Butu hovered over Tucker but he was looking at Reed.
"What's going on?" he asked firmly, looking from Reed to Tucker and back again. Neither of them said a word.
"Crewman?"
"I don't know what started it, sir," M'Butu reported. "They were yelling at each other, then Commander Tucker pushed Lieutenant Reed."
"My ready room, both of you," Archer ordered. He turned on his heel and strode out, with the two officers following.
When they reached the ready room door, Archer stopped and turned to face them. Neither would meet his eye. Archer gave a small sigh. "Trip, wait here. Malcolm, let's talk." He opened the door and let Malcolm through. Before the door closed Archer saw Trip slide to the floor to wait.
"What's going on, Malcolm?"
"I wish I knew, sir. He-he won't talk to me."
"How long has this been going on?"
"Since-since before we left the prison. It's all my fault, sir. I thought he was getting into fights, so I lectured him about learning to get along with people. I didn't realize. . ."
"Realize what, Malcolm?"
"I think his cellmate was beating on him. And then when he got sent to the kitchen and those men attacked him, I completely failed to protect him. Then when I tried to help him, I very nearly got myself killed. I probably did more harm than good, sir." Malcolm shook his head. "I don't know what to do, Captain. I tried to apologize to him, but that only made him angrier."
Archer squeezed Reed's shoulder. "All right, Malcolm. You can go to your quarters." He thumbed the controls and the door slid open. "Trip, your turn," he said quietly.
Trip stood up and brushed past Malcolm on his way into the room. The two didn't make eye contact. Once inside, Trip stood in the middle of the room with arms folded.
"Well?"
"Well what?" Trip responded belligerently.
"Malcolm says you won't talk to him. He also claims it's all his fault."
Trip scoffed. "Typical Malcolm."
"What's going on, Trip? Why won't you talk to him?"
"I just-I don't want to." Archer watched his friend closely. Trip kept his eyes riveted to the floor.
"Trip, look at me." The younger man's eyes flicked up to meet Archer's, then down again. In that split second, Archer saw the fear, the insecurity, that Trip was obviously trying to hide. There was something more here, something that hadn't been apparent when Archer had first talked to Trip after he woke up in sick bay.
"Will you talk to me? Please tell me what happened," he said gently.
Trip shook his head without looking up. His face twisted with emotion that he quickly squelched.
"Malcolm said your cellmate hurt you."
Trip shrugged. "It was nothing I couldn't handle."
"He said you were attacked in the kitchen."
"I don't want to talk about it," Trip's voice broke. "Damnit!" His hand came up quickly and wiped away the tear that spilled down his cheek.
"Trip, what happened in the kitchen?"
Tucker's ragged breathing was his only response. Archer took a step toward him. "What happened in the kitchen?" Trip closed his eyes tightly. Archer took another step. "What happened in the kitchen, Trip?" Archer reached out a hand to touch Trip's shoulder, but the engineer twisted away.
"No!! Don't touch me!" Trip backed away from Archer until he reached the wall. Then he sank down to the floor with his arms over his head. "Don't touch me," he cried hoarsely.
Archer crouched next to him, carefully avoiding any physical contact. "What happened in the kitchen?" he asked again.
"Don't make me say it, please-" Trip sobbed.
"What happened in the kitchen, Trip?"
Silence, broken only by Tucker's harsh sobs. Then in a voice so quiet Archer had to strain to hear, he said, "there were four of them. I couldn't get away."
"What did they do to you?"
More silence, then, in a hoarse whisper Trip finally admitted, "they raped me."
No longer able to restrain himself Archer moved in closer and wrapped his arms around Tucker's trembling shoulders. This time instead of pulling away Trip buried his face in Archer's neck and wept brokenly.
Warning: This is another dark story. Contains implications of sexual assault.
Warning #2: Contains angst!
+++
Chapter 6: Breaking Point
Archer entered sick bay to find the Doctor scrubbing his hands at the sink. When the doors swished shut he turned around, drying his hands on a towel.
"Ah, Captain, I thought I might see you down here," he said brightly.
"How is Malcolm?"
"He suffered a puncture wound to the lower lobe of his right lung, lost quite a bit of blood. He got here just in time. I doubt he would have survived much longer."
"And now?" Archer asked anxiously.
"He'll recover quite nicely, I should think. The bruises will heal in time."
"Bruises?"
"Mmm-yes. He had several of them, all fresh. It looks like they were in quite a fight."
"Trip?"
"Still sleeping. I just finished examining him. He has a number of contusions and abrasions in various stages of healing, but no serious injuries. Would you like to see him?"
"Do you mean he was in more than one fight?"
"Yes, I would say so," the doctor responded as he pulled back the curtain that surrounded Trip's bed.
Archer stared down at his friend lying motionless on the bed. Even in sleep Trip's brow was puckered and his jaw was tightly clenched. A smudge of blood was still visible on his cheek, and his hair was spiky with dried sweat. Archer bit his lip. Some of the bruises had already faded to yellow-brown, indicating they were several days old. All this time, while he and T'Pol had been wasting their time dealing with bureaucracy and trying to get them out diplomatically, Trip had been getting the shit beat out of him.
"Scans indicate his most serious injury is two broken bones in his right hand. He also has three cracked ribs. That happened about two days ago." Phlox folded back the blanket and lifted Trip's shirt to show the captain. Archer caught a glimpse of Trip's blood-soaked pants before the doctor covered him again.
"It also appears he had medical care. You see this cut here?" The doctor pointed to a pinkish line above Trip's left eye. Archer nodded. "It's been stitched, quite expertly. I doubt he'll have a permanent scar."
Ensign Cutler emerged from the surgical bay. "Doctor?" she said quietly, "Lieutenant Reed is waking up."
"Ah, wonderful. Captain, I assume you'd like to see him? Come with me."
In contrast to Trip, Malcolm looked freshly scrubbed. Archer guessed Cutler had been cleaning him up. His eyes were closed but they fluttered open when Archer stepped up next to the bed.
"Captain?" Malcolm croaked. He blinked in confusion.
Archer grabbed Reed's hand which was lying on top of the sheet. "You're all right, Malcolm, thanks to Doctor Phlox. Welcome back!"
"Thank you, sir. How's Commander Tucker?"
"Asleep. He'll be fine. Can you tell me what happened to him?"
"He didn't tell you anything?"
Archer shook his head.
"He was attacked. . . two days ago. Put him in the infirmary. . . trying to prevent it happening again, when. . ." Malcolm broke off and swallowed convulsively. "Lot of help I was. Nearly ended up getting myself killed."
"Malcolm, you're both alive, that's what counts. Now get some rest. We can talk more later."
"Yes, sir," Malcolm said weakly. His eyes slid shut and didn't open again. Archer laid the lieutenant's hand back down on the bed and tiptoed out, followed by the doctor.
+++
"Can I go now, Doc? I really wanna wash the rest of this blood offa me."
The doctor looked up from his equipment at his patient sitting restlessly on the exam table. "Please sit still while I complete the procedure. Almost finished." He went back to his task of repairing the bones in Commander Tucker's right hand.
"I think you're finished now. Feels good enough." Trip pulled his hand away and hopped down off the table.
"Commander," the doctor called as Tucker headed toward the door.
"What?" came the irritated reply.
"Take these, in case you want something later for the pain." Phlox held out a bottle of pills. "No more than one every four hours."
Tucker walked back just far enough to snatch the bottle from Phlox's outstretched hand, then he was out the door without so much as a thank you.
"Hmm." Phlox turned off the equipment and headed toward the surgical bay to check on his other patient.
"And how are we feeling today, Lieutenant?" he asked with a smile.
"Tired of being here," Reed replied grumpily.
"I see. Let's check that suture site." Phlox folded back the sheet and inspected his handiwork. "Healing quite nicely. Your scarring should be minimal."
"Is Commander Tucker still here?"
"Just left."
Malcolm frowned. He had hoped Trip would at least come to visit him before he was discharged. He had to admit it hurt just a little to be snubbed so completely. Of course the captain had been by, and T'Pol and even Hoshi had put in an appearance, but Trip had stayed away.
"How much longer do I have to stay here?"
"Oh, I should think you'll be ready to go by tomorrow."
"Good."
"Maybe by tonight you'll feel like sitting up and eating a little, hmm?"
"I suppose so," was Reed's only reply. He turned his head away and stared at the wall morosely.
+++
When Malcolm Reed entered the mess hall it was nearly empty, which was what he had hoped for. He wasn't back on duty yet, so he could time his meals so they didn't overlap the crew's regular breaktimes. It had only been two days, but he was already sick to death of people asking him how he was doing and expressing sympathy. Of course, the one person he wanted to talk to most, the only one who really understood what he and Commander Tucker had gone through, was Commander Tucker himself, and so far the engineer had been avoiding him like the plague.
Malcolm chose a sandwich at random from the food dispenser and turned to find a table, which was when he spotted Tucker sitting in the far corner slowly demolishing a piece of pie with his fork. It didn't look like he had taken a bite yet, just crushed the pie until it was barely recognizable. Tucker looked up. His eyes connected with Malcolm's and he quickly looked down again. Well, that tears it, Malcolm thought. I can hardly ignore him now. He walked casually over to Trip's table.
"Mind if I sit here?"
Trip looked around at all the empty seats. "Couldn't find anywhere else to sit?"
"I'd like to sit with you."
"Suit yourself," he grunted with a fierce stab at his pie. The crust broke into several pieces.
"I've heard pecans can be vicious if only wounded," Malcolm joked as he sat. Trip didn't respond. "Look, Commander, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. You don't know how badly I feel about everything that happened." Trip stabbed his pie again, harder. When he got no response, Malcolm continued with growing anxiety, "I failed at my job. I didn't protect you. . ."
"God, Malcolm, why does everything have to be about you?!" Trip exploded. The few other crewmen in the mess hall turned around to stare at him.
"Commander. . ." Malcolm trailed off. He didn't have a clue what to say next.
"Just shut up, all right? Leave me the hell alone!" Trip was on his feet now. Malcolm jumped up too. He could feel the heat rising up his neck to his ears.
"No, I bloody well won't leave you the hell alone!" he shouted back. "I'm trying to apologize to you!"
Trip headed for the door and Malcolm followed. He stepped in front of Trip and faced him. "Get the fuck outta my way, Malcolm," Trip said in a low voice.
"Commander, please. . ."
Trip shoved Malcolm in the chest, causing him to stumble backwards. He felt a sharp pain in his side where he had been stabbed just a couple of days before. His hands went to the spot. In the background Malcolm was aware of someone calling for the captain over the intercom. Trip took a step toward Malcolm with fury in his eyes.
Crewman M'Butu, one of Malcolm's security officers who had been eating his lunch when the fight began, came up behind Trip and caught him around the waist. "Take it easy, Commander," M'Butu said.
Trip's cursing gave way to frantic screaming and desperate struggling to get away.
Malcolm held up a hand. "Let him go, M'Butu!" he ordered.
"But boss, he-"
"Do it! Let him go now!"
M'Butu released Trip just as the door slid open and the captain entered.
Archer took a moment to size up the situation before speaking. His tactical officer was doubled over with his hand on his side, and his engineer looked ready to explode. Crewman M'Butu hovered over Tucker but he was looking at Reed.
"What's going on?" he asked firmly, looking from Reed to Tucker and back again. Neither of them said a word.
"Crewman?"
"I don't know what started it, sir," M'Butu reported. "They were yelling at each other, then Commander Tucker pushed Lieutenant Reed."
"My ready room, both of you," Archer ordered. He turned on his heel and strode out, with the two officers following.
When they reached the ready room door, Archer stopped and turned to face them. Neither would meet his eye. Archer gave a small sigh. "Trip, wait here. Malcolm, let's talk." He opened the door and let Malcolm through. Before the door closed Archer saw Trip slide to the floor to wait.
"What's going on, Malcolm?"
"I wish I knew, sir. He-he won't talk to me."
"How long has this been going on?"
"Since-since before we left the prison. It's all my fault, sir. I thought he was getting into fights, so I lectured him about learning to get along with people. I didn't realize. . ."
"Realize what, Malcolm?"
"I think his cellmate was beating on him. And then when he got sent to the kitchen and those men attacked him, I completely failed to protect him. Then when I tried to help him, I very nearly got myself killed. I probably did more harm than good, sir." Malcolm shook his head. "I don't know what to do, Captain. I tried to apologize to him, but that only made him angrier."
Archer squeezed Reed's shoulder. "All right, Malcolm. You can go to your quarters." He thumbed the controls and the door slid open. "Trip, your turn," he said quietly.
Trip stood up and brushed past Malcolm on his way into the room. The two didn't make eye contact. Once inside, Trip stood in the middle of the room with arms folded.
"Well?"
"Well what?" Trip responded belligerently.
"Malcolm says you won't talk to him. He also claims it's all his fault."
Trip scoffed. "Typical Malcolm."
"What's going on, Trip? Why won't you talk to him?"
"I just-I don't want to." Archer watched his friend closely. Trip kept his eyes riveted to the floor.
"Trip, look at me." The younger man's eyes flicked up to meet Archer's, then down again. In that split second, Archer saw the fear, the insecurity, that Trip was obviously trying to hide. There was something more here, something that hadn't been apparent when Archer had first talked to Trip after he woke up in sick bay.
"Will you talk to me? Please tell me what happened," he said gently.
Trip shook his head without looking up. His face twisted with emotion that he quickly squelched.
"Malcolm said your cellmate hurt you."
Trip shrugged. "It was nothing I couldn't handle."
"He said you were attacked in the kitchen."
"I don't want to talk about it," Trip's voice broke. "Damnit!" His hand came up quickly and wiped away the tear that spilled down his cheek.
"Trip, what happened in the kitchen?"
Tucker's ragged breathing was his only response. Archer took a step toward him. "What happened in the kitchen?" Trip closed his eyes tightly. Archer took another step. "What happened in the kitchen, Trip?" Archer reached out a hand to touch Trip's shoulder, but the engineer twisted away.
"No!! Don't touch me!" Trip backed away from Archer until he reached the wall. Then he sank down to the floor with his arms over his head. "Don't touch me," he cried hoarsely.
Archer crouched next to him, carefully avoiding any physical contact. "What happened in the kitchen?" he asked again.
"Don't make me say it, please-" Trip sobbed.
"What happened in the kitchen, Trip?"
Silence, broken only by Tucker's harsh sobs. Then in a voice so quiet Archer had to strain to hear, he said, "there were four of them. I couldn't get away."
"What did they do to you?"
More silence, then, in a hoarse whisper Trip finally admitted, "they raped me."
No longer able to restrain himself Archer moved in closer and wrapped his arms around Tucker's trembling shoulders. This time instead of pulling away Trip buried his face in Archer's neck and wept brokenly.
