As the World Falls Down
a Star Trek Enterprise fanfiction
by George H.
20th November 2002 - 22nd November 2002
Rating: PG

CHAPTER THREE: Realizations

The bridge seemed like a cold and foreign place the morning Jonathan Archer stepped out onto it to tell his senior officers the news about Commander Tucker. Travis was sitting in his helm chair, swiveled completely around to look at the captain as he stepped off the turbolift. T'Pol was perched on the edge of her seat, following his movement across the room with slightly hooded eyes. Malcolm was at his tactical station, sitting straight-backed and at the ready. Beside the armoury officer stood Hoshi, who looked the most rattled of the crew present. Archer himself felt a gust of wind could blow him to pieces, but he knew he had to be strong for his crew at this time of need.
He opened his mouth to greet them, but how did one begin this sort of a speech? He closed his mouth and moved until he was standing in front of his captain's chair. Everyone was looking at him and he had to take a deep steadying breath before he could begin. "As you all know, Commander Tucker was attacked yesterday by hostile aliens," he began. He let his shoulders droop a little as he took in all their expressions. "While we were able to recover him from the Jaar vessel, he still sustained a lot of injuries. The good news is, he isn't dead." He saw Hoshi put a hand on Malcolm's shoulder and squeeze it at his words. He looked over to T'Pol for a brief moment. "The bad news is, Phlox says even if Trip does recover from his wounds, he may be permanently brain-damaged." His eyes flickered to Travis and held his gaze for a while.
"What this means is that Trip is in a coma. Lieutenant Tess is acting-Chief Engineer until he recovers. I suggest you all try to take some time out of your schedule to visit him, as Doctor Phlox says he may be able to hear us. He feels familiar voices might help." He looked back to T'Pol before closing his eyes. "Doctor Phlox has also volunteered his psychiatric help, if anyone feels they need counseling." He glanced to Hoshi but attempted not to make the look too pointed. He didn't think seeing Phlox for counseling would be a bad idea for himself, either.
He took a moment to breathe after this and then continued. "I talked to Admiral Forrest late last night. He advised against returning to Earth for further medical treatment, as Doctor Phlox is perfectly capable of all procedures necessary to help Trip along." He met Travis's eyes and nodded a little. "So you can resume our prior heading, Mister Mayweather."
"Aye, sir," the ensign replied. Archer looked at the stars displayed on the view screen and then glanced behind him a moment before sitting in his chair.
The captain took a deep breath, looked at all of his present crew one more time and then nodded. "Let's go."

The doors to sickbay were closed and the insides seemed fuzzy and indistinct through the frosted windows as Archer stood outside them, trying to get the nerve up to go talk to Doctor Phlox. It was unlike him to be nervous over discussing any sort of thing, especially with someone who was as impartial as the doctor, but after the Denobulans outlook on his sexual tension in the past, Archer found himself more and more reluctant to listen to anything Phlox had to say in regards to personal matters. He was certain that if he went in for counseling about Trip, the doctor would only bring that point back up, and he had just recently been able to push it aside and stop dwelling on it.
Still, there was undoubtedly a certain truth to some of what Phlox had said, and the doctor was the most impartial and confidential person on the entire ship. Even when Trip had been around to talk to he had never felt comfortable divulging personal information to the engineer. Now, it was a moot point anyway. Especially since it was Trip he wanted to talk to the doctor about. As they said, sometimes it's easier to talk to strangers.
He took a breath and raised a hand to open the doors to sickbay when a voice halted him. "Captain," it said. He turned, hand still raised, and looked right at T'Pol. He let out a breath and dropped his hand, turning completely.
"What is it, T'Pol?" he inquired.
She produced a data pad and offered it to him. "This is the Vulcan database's full account on the Jaar. I haven't had a chance to look through it entirely myself, but there seems to be more information included than I previously recalled. I apologize for my incorrect information yesterday."
Archer accepted the pad, looking down at the surface briefly before glancing back to her face. T'Pol was standing at attention, her hands behind her back. "You just happened to be walking by with this in your hand?" he inquired, his tone almost teasing. T'Pol arched an eyebrow at the question.
"You requested that the information be delivered as soon as possible. I was merely carrying out my orders," she answered directly.
Archer found himself smiling a little and wondered at his ability to do so in light of the situation. "I see. Well, did you notice any mention of Tsul in the database?"
"No, sir," T'Pol answered.
"All right then," Archer said with a finalized touch to the words. When T'Pol did not appear to be moving on he inclined his head. "Was there something else?"
She seemed to hesitate in her response, wavering a moment before nodding slightly. "You're going to visit Commander Tucker?" T'Pol inquired. Archer looked at her a little curiously before nodding.
"Yes," he finally answered.
"I simply wanted to express my condolences. I know you and Commander Tucker were close friends and that this period in time must be . . . difficult for you," she stated simply. Archer found himself smiling again.
"I appreciate that a lot, T'Pol, thank you. Perhaps you'd like to join me in paying Trip a visit?" Archer asked, wondering if he sounded overly polite, or just ridiculous.
T'Pol's chin lifted a little bit and Archer had been around her enough to know that she was trying to find a way to politely decline the offer. "In such a situation, I would opt for meditation and self-reflection," she replied at last, avoiding the question entirely, per usual.
Archer slipped the data pad into one of his leg pockets, zipped it shut, and crossed his arms, interested in her answer. "Vulcans meditate a lot, don't they?" He asked, although he knew quite enough about Vulcans to know the answer.
T'Pol nodded once and explained, "Meditation, as I'm certain you know, is one of the many ways my people suppress our emotions."
"So you're saying I should just, suppress my feelings for Trip?" Archer inquired, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.
"As you are the captain of this vessel, it would be unseemly for your grief to too fully consume you. Discretion and meditation would be advisable," the Vulcan answered.
Archer shook his head. "That may be how it works on Vulcan, but my crew needs to see that it's okay to be hurt by this. They need to see that there is nothing wrong with grieving."
T'Pol was quick to counter. "I did not mean to imply that is it unacceptable to grieve, merely that it is unfitting for the captain to let such grief overshadow his performances."
Archer frowned at her reply. "Are you saying I'm not doing my job adequately enough for you?"
The Vulcan fixed her gaze directly on him before clearly saying, "You often let your emotions dictate your actions. As your first officer, it is my duty to advise you in certain situations."
"Situations you feel I'm not handling as well as I could?" he asked, baiting the question. T'Pol looked down the corridor to see if there were any crewmembers walking along within hearing range.
"Perhaps it might be wisest to finish this conversation in your ready room," she suggested placidly. Archer's frown deepened as he felt anger rising in him.
"I just about lost a man -- my best friend, over a dinner disagreement yesterday. I'm still not sure why they wanted to kill him! You want me to act like he's not lying in a coma in the room over? We're not Vulcans. We feel, we love, and we hurt, and we'd only be denying ourselves if we tried to deny it. I don't think there is any better way to handle this situation."
"It was unadvisable to help the Tsul to begin with. Their distress call was most likely only a ploy to receive assistance so they could kidnap our engineer and use him for themselves," T'Pol said flatly.
"I don't care what the database says about the Jaar or the Klingon's or anybody else. When I see a stranded vessel or receive a distress call, if it is at all within my power, I will stop to help them. There was no way for us to know the Jaar would attack Trip or hold him hostage or whatever," he countered hotly. "You've got to learn to give someone the benefit of the doubt. Your stereotypes are unsuitable for a Starfleet officer."
"I am not a Starfleet officer," T'Pol answered coolly. "And your mission is one of space exploration, not space rescue. In the situations where we have encountered vessels needing assistance, over half of them have proven to be unduly dangerous. The logical extrapolation of these events seems to suggest that you change your method of answering distress calls."
Archer wanted to yell at her more, to rebuke her for her purely Vulcan way of thinking, but a part of him knew that she was speaking some truth. He didn't have to accept her views, so long as he understood them. "Your argument has been noted, Sub-commander," he finally replied sharply. "Now, if there isn't anything else, I'd like to go visit my best friend."
T'Pol's eyes flickered just the slightest. "That is all," she replied.
Archer nodded and looked at her a moment more before they both turned away from each other. She continued back along the hallway while he finally hit the button for the sickbay doors, and entered. His inhibitions about seeing the doctor seemed to have vanished. T'Pol was undoubtedly a beautiful woman, and she was very intelligent, but although as a single man he was attracted to her, Archer knew there was no chance that a relationship could ever work between them, regardless of rank. Entering sickbay with that mind set really helped put him into better spirits, which he needed if he was going to manage talking to Trip's prone form.

Malcolm had felt compelled to bring flowers down to sickbay when he visited but he couldn't explain why. He had never been brought flowers before, nor had he brought anyone else flowers, but it seemed the appropriate thing to do. Of course, it wasn't really appropriate, nor were there any flowers on the ship. So instead he brought a data pad of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales and a Superman novel, the former to subset for when the latter became too unbearably North American to read.
He entered sickbay with the pad tucked under his arm, walking with brisk, long strides. Phlox looked up from one of the cages he was bent over and smiled upon seeing him. "Aah, here to pay a visit to Commander Tucker I presume?" the Denobulan asked cheerfully. Malcolm inclined his head.
"Yes, if it's not too much trouble?"
"Not at all," Phlox said with a smile. He moved away from t he cage and lead Malcolm over to a curtained off section of sickbay. He pulled aside the divider and stepped back to let Malcolm enter.
Trip looked sallow in the lighting, and thinner than usual. He was dressed in a white medical gown and the bruise on his neck was visible. He still wore the breath mask and appeared to just be sleeping. Malcolm pressed his lips together at the sight. It was hard to see such a proud and strong man so diminished like this. The tactical officer looked his body over once before swallowing and speaking. "Hello, Trip," he began softly. "You're looking, ah, a bit paler than usual today."
The figure before him did not reply at all to him. Part of Malcolm had futilely entertained the notion that once Trip heard his voice, he would come to. However, being in the room with him made the reality of the situation clear; it wasn't going to happen.
"I, ah, I downloaded a Superman novel," he said, pulling the data pad out from under his arm. "I thought you might like to hear some of your favourite story while you . . . dreamed," he added softly. He looked around for a chair, found a medical stool and positioned it at Trip's bedside. "I've never read Superman before," he informed the unconscious engineer, "so I thought I might as well start now." It certainly wasn't his typical reading choice, and normally he would be teasing the engineer for the subject matter, but right now, that all seemed extremely trivial. He swallowed again, looking at Trip's chest rising slowly.
He pressed a few buttons on the pad, until the Superman text came up. He couldn't get over how strange he felt, sitting there, preparing to read an old North American novel out loud to an unconscious man, but there was some part of him that refused to let him stop. He didn't like to admit it, even to himself, but Trip had become a very important person to him. He cleared his throat as he skimmed the first line of the text and then began to read in a clear, steady voice.
After he finished the first chapter he paused and looked back at Trip for a long time. If the engineer had heard him reading, he had certainly not shown any sign of it. Not even the monitors connected to his heart rate and brain varied. It was incredibly depressing. The armoury officer set the pad down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at Trip's face. "You can't do this," he whispered quietly. "You can't lie here until you waste away and die." He stiffened a little as Phlox rattled one of the cages close to Trip's bed, reminding him that he wasn't alone.
Standing up, he pulled aside the curtain to look at the Denobulan. Phlox had a can of some sort of and appeared to be feeding whatever was inside the cage. Malcolm shuddered inside and wondered if this place was a medical facility or a zoo. "Might I have some time with Commander Tucker?" he inquired politely.
"Why, certainly," Phlox answered brightly and finished pouring the contents of his container into the cage. When he was done, he moved onto the next cage beside it. Malcolm pressed his lips together and then tautly said, "Alone, Doctor?"
Phlox looked up at him then, surprise registering on his face. After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. "As you wish," he answered and made to go into the adjoining room, out of hearing range. "You will let me know if anything develops?"
Malcolm had already turned his back to the Denobulan. "Of course, Doctor," he muttered and waited until he heard the door slide shut behind Phlox before he looked at Trip again. He felt hunched over and straightened a little on his stool. "I don't want to lose you," he breathed softly at Trip. "Not like this."
He reached his hand out briefly, as if to brush aside a lock of Trip's hair, but his fingers seemed to hesitate and then fell limply to the side of the bed. "I know you wouldn't think so, but I've become rather fond of you since we started out on this ship." He shook his head sadly. "I've become fond of everyone on this vessel, in truth, but you especially." He bowed his head, looking away from the engineer and instead at the floor beneath his feet.
"You taught me so many things, many of them inadvertently through just your personality. You taught me to joke and to play, and that adventures are more enjoyable in pairs. You taught me to look towards life and not death." He glanced up at the engineer's closed eyes. "You taught me to hope, Trip. You taught me that it's acceptable to open myself up to others. You taught me optimism, and with that came the greatest joys I've ever had. You showed me that Enterprise is a family. My family.
"I opened up for you, Trip. I let myself take down some of my walls so you could touch my soul further, because . . . because I had learned to trust and believe in you. You've all the charm, outgoingness, and humour I've always wished I could have, and when I'm with you I feel like . . ." He took a deep breath. "Like I can draw strength from you." He finally looked up and reached out to take Trip's hand in both of his.
"So draw strength from me now. I never feared death until yesterday when I thought you had died. I don't know how I would manage without you around to talk to, to bicker with and to joke with. I've let you get too bloody close to me for you to die now." He drew a ragged breath through his clenched teeth. The tears in his eyes blurred Trip's form, and he had to strain not to shed them. He took a jagged breath and squeezed Trip's hand. "I've never cared a fraction as much for anything as I care for you, and the crew of Enterprise. No one's ever cared as much about me as you and this crew does.
"So you can't die," he growled softly from behind clenched teeth, reaching the limit of his emotional containment. He bowed his head until it rested on the bed near Trip's side. There he closed his eyes and swallowed hard at the unfamiliar feeling of hot tears coursing down his cheeks. In a raspy whisper he crooned, "I've invested far too much love in you to let you go now."
There were several long moments of silence that passed before Malcolm suddenly sat up and quickly spun around. His field training had tuned his senses, and he realized instantly someone was standing behind him. "Captain," he said in a shaky, surprised whisper as he saw the offender. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat and furiously wiped at his eyes as he got to his feet, his hand releasing Trip's instantly. The look on Archer's face was unreadable, somewhere between shock, embarrassment, or disgust and sadness. "I'm sorry," the armoury officer stuttered, honestly not knowing how much the other man had heard. "I didn't know you were there." He shifted as he made to leave.
"Easy, Malcolm," Archer said, the look on his face - whatever it had been - was gone now. "It's my fault, I didn't realize you were here," he said disarmingly, waving a hand. Malcolm couldn't subdue the pounding in his heart.
"I was just," he swallowed forcibly, "going, sir." Malcolm teetered a moment in place while Archer studied him.
The captain didn't want his armoury officer leaving flustered over a few overheard words, but Archer understood Malcolm's reactions. The man did not generally open up to people to begin with and Archer had just intruded on what seemed like a private moment. He was trying to think of how to rectify the moment when Malcolm brushed past him on his way out of sickbay. Archer reacted quickly and grabbed the lieutenant's arm and held him back.
Jonathan was shocked at the bewildered look in Malcolm's eyes when their gazes met. He tried to reassure the man, "It's all right Malcolm, I didn't-"
"Please unhand me, sir," Malcolm said in an agitated voice. Archer released him instantly with an inward sigh and watched as the tactical officer hurried for the door without looking back. He waited until the doors to sickbay closed before he exhaled.
"What a mess I just made," he muttered to himself. He sat down in the seat Malcolm had just vacated and made a mental note to visit Lieutenant Reed in the near future to make sure things were smoothed out. He felt really terrible about walking in on his heart felt confessions. "That kid really cares a lot about you, huh, Trip?" Archer said as he looked over at his unconscious friend.
"Hello, what's this?" he inquired as he found a data pad on Trip's bed. Lifting it up, he was surprised to see Superman: The Novel, chapter two displayed. "A bit of light reading?" he inquired of the prone man. He pressed a few buttons and brought up the pad ownership. He wasn't surprised to see it belonged to Malcolm, but the story behind it seemed strange. Reading Superman to a comatose patient? He shrugged and set the pad aside, vowing to return it to the lieutenant the next time he saw him.
"Guess it bored you to sleep," Archer joked lightly, but all that filled the room was deathly silence and he shifted uncomfortably. Trying to lighten the situation wasn't helping him at all. He frowned deeply at the somber air and knew that he could no longer joke around. Trip was on his way to death, and Jonathan was determined to find a way to prevent it. He bent and pulled the data pad T'Pol had given him out of his pants pocket and turned it on. He settled in to read the contents of the pad quietly, although he occasionally reached up and patted Trip's arm or offered an encouraging word.
The database on the Jaar was quite extensive and Archer wondered how so much information could have been added since T'Pol had last read over the species, or how she had missed so much. While there were many logs about ritual suicides and sacrificial deaths he didn't find anything that fit into what Tsul had done to Trip. He regretted ever having let Tsul escape. He should have brought Tsul to justice. There was no doubt in his mind that the attack on Trip had been premeditated.
Suddenly his eyes widened and he typed in a quick passage into the data pad and began a search on 'murders'. Results began feeding back to him at an alarming rate, and his brows curved as he read. Ritual execution wasn't what he'd been looking for all this time after all. There was nothing cultural in the way Tsul had dealt with Trip; it was criminal.
The entries he read now described what seemed to be space pirates who enslaved the Jaar women and dictated themselves by their own rules. They were their own nation, separate from their home world, so the data was scarce on them, but it seemed faking deaths to gain hostages or slaves wasn't an uncommon practice. Archer felt like he had just stumbled back into the space repair station that had tried to replace Travis with a replicated corpse. He got to his feet, stunned by his revelations. He needed more information than this pad could provide. His heart-to-heart with Trip would have to be postponed again, hopefully for a dialogue later. He swiftly moved to Phlox's computer terminal and commandeered it.
It only took a few access codes and keystrokes to get into Enterprise's full cross-reference database. He plugged the pad's information into the system and put a hand over his mouth as the results began outputting. Ships like Tsul's were well known for what they did, gaining most of their money in slave trading. Since they were a nation outside of the Jaar, most of the entries didn't classify them by that name and instead called them Yuuli, which seemed to be the Jaar word for "outcast". Archer's shoulders slumped as he looked at all the new data he had to sift through. He sighed wearily and muttered, "Oh boy."

To be continued . . .

Special thanks to DNash for being my awesome beta-reader.