CHAPTER TWELVE

Jon paced back and forth restlessly, casting concerned glances at the two figures occupying the bio-beds. Of the two, Phlox was the closer to regaining consciousness.

Trip was a mess. He was covered in bruises from head to foot and his right forearm jutted at an abnormal angle, but what drew Jon's attention, every time, were the angry purple and blue marks around his friend's throat; marks from throttling fingers, the fingers of a friend.

The Vulcan doctor addressed him. "Your medial officer is awakening, Captain Archer. He should be thankful that Denobulans have thick skulls."

Jon crossed to beside Phlox's bed as the man struggled to open his eyes.

"Captain? Am I to understand that we actually survived?"

Jon placed a restraining hand on the doctor's shoulder as he attempted to rise.

"Take it easy…remember all the times you tell us that. And yes, we survived, thanks entirely to the timely arrival of Travis and the Vulcans. His urgent request for help to Starfleet was answered in the shape of a Vulcan ship."

Phlox looked around at the alien sickbay, nodding in understanding, wincing slightly as his head reminded him of his recent exploits.

Jon continued the explanation.  "Apparently their transporters are more reliable than ours and they were able to pick up the away team. For good measure, and because he had a hold of Hoshi at the time, they also transported the chancellor, much to his surprise. He's currently languishing in their brig, none too happy with developments. So, after your adventures, how do you feel?"

"A little raw around the edges, Captain, but I'll be fine once my headache disappears. How is everyone else? Did we…lose anyone?" The question petered off, as if Phlox was afraid to voice it out loud.

"Malcolm and I are fine, just the expected bruises. Hoshi will be ok, but she's a bit traumatised, and coming off the drugs they'd been giving her isn't easy. She's been a bit more vocal than the Hoshi we're used to. As for Trip and T'Pol, they haven't regained consciousness yet."

Phlox turned his head and observed the still, battered form of the engineer occupying the next bed. He looked in the other direction, worry creasing his brow.

"I don't see the sub-commander."

"She's in guest quarters at the insistence of Captain Lar. Something to do with respecting her privacy whilst she recovers. I have my suspicions that  they're not too comfortable with having an emotionally volatile Vulcan on board."

Phlox struggled into a sitting position. "I should go and see her, Captain."

"You need to rest as much as anyone else, Doc. And besides, the Vulcans won't let anybody see her. Doctor D'Pac is treating her and assures me that she'll recover, physically, in time."

Phlox's eyebrow rose at the captain's choice of words…physical recovery was, on its own, only part of the package. Anything less than full recovery was unthinkable.

A soft moan from the other bed brought Phlox carefully to his feet, and they looked down at Trip as he struggled back to consciousness. He swallowed painfully, his automatic reaction being to raise his right hand to his throat. The pain from his fractured arm halted him in his tracks and forced his eyes open.

"Easy, Trip. It's over, and you'll be fine," Jon reassured him.

"What…can't talk…" Trip whispered, painfully.

The doctor nodded in sympathetic understanding. "I'm not surprised, Commander. You've suffered quite a bit of trauma to your throat. Hard as it's going to be for you, you're going to have to be quiet to give your voice time to recover. Now that I've recovered, I'll assist Dr D'Pac in setting your fractures."

Phlox lifted the padd on the bedside table and scanned the contents, humming tunelessly.

"Quite an impressive collection, this time, Mr Tucker. Left clavicle, ribs, right radius and ulna, severe bruising over much of your body, not to mention your throat…you're going to be my guest for a few days."

Trip had been trying to ignore Phlox's enthusiastic cataloguing of his injuries, and his eyes widened as he looked around and took in his surroundings.

"Vulcans! They're everywhere. Cap'n, we been boarded?" Even though it hurt to speak, he couldn't contain his surprise.

Jon chuckled, the first lifting of his spirits in many days. "I'll explain when you're feeling better. Get some rest, Commander."

"You ok, Cap'n?"

"I'm fine, Trip. Now rest, I gave you a direct order."

"Knowing the commander's lack of co-operation when he's in sickbay, Captain, I believe I'll need to assist him in that whilst I deal with his injuries."

Phlox spoke to one of the Vulcan attendants, who nodded and moved away to prepare a hypospray. He crossed to the weary engineer and pressed it against his neck, and with as careful a sigh as he could manage, Trip let blissful sleep wash over him.

*~*~*~*~*~*

When he wakened some time later, Trip felt only marginally better. A dull ache from his fused fractures reminded him that he couldn't over-exert himself, but his throat had decided to set up a constant reminder of their recent conflict. He felt as if he was recovering from an acute case of quinsy. He looked around and spotted Jon and Phlox talking with a Vulcan doctor.

'What was it Jon said about so many Vulcans being on Enterprise?'

"Hey, Cap'n…" he tried to project his voice, but it sounded like a bullfrog with laryngitis.

Jon's face lit up as he grinned, crossing to the bed. "Welcome back, pal. How are you feeling?"

Trip indicated the drably coloured walls. "Don't think much of the re-decoratin', ya should get you're money back." His hoarse whisper was painful to listen to.

Jon looked around at the spartan, but efficiently functional Vulcan sickbay, and smiled at Trip's quizzical expression.

"We're not on Enterprise yet, but I'll be sure to tell Captain Lar that you don't like his taste." He laughed as Trip's brow wrinkled in perplexity. "This is the Vellos; Admiral Forrest sent the cavalry in the shape of our friendly neighbourhood Vulcans and they arrived just in the nick of time. Things had got a little beyond us down there…"

He paused, watching his friend's face to see if he remembered the last moments of the fight. Apparently Trip did, as his bruised eyes widened and he looked around him, searching for someone.

"Where is she?"

Phlox bustled over to join them. "Commander, I really must insist that you rest your voice. How do you expect it to recover if you persist in straining it?"

Trip ignored the doctor. "Where…is…she?" he repeated, emphasising each word, demanding an answer.

Phlox sighed in understanding; these humans could be so stubborn. He looked to the captain to supply the answer.

"She's under sedation in a private room. Their physician's looking after her and won't let me see her. We'll just have to let him get on with it."

"Will she be ok?"

"Commander, please rest," Phlox tried again.

"Will she?"

Jon looked at the concern in Trip's blue eyes, and spoke truthfully. "I hope to God she will, but we just don't know."

Trip made to rise, fidgeting restlessly. "Doc, when can I get outta here?"

Phlox looked at him in amazement; the man was barely fit to clean his teeth, never mind to be walking about.

"If you behave yourself, I might release you tomorrow. There's nothing to be gained by having you fall onto your face and undoing my handiwork." As Trip made to protest, Phlox held his hand up to silence the engineer. "And if you don't stop talking, I'll have you sedated again."

Trip reluctantly lowered his head back onto the pillow, studiously ignoring the self-satisfied smirk on the doctor's face. If he was honest with himself, he really didn't want to have to move for the next year, but he needed to see T'Pol, to reassure himself that she was going to be alright.

"Ok, I'll be good, but you've gotta promise to keep me posted on how she's doin'. Deal?"

Jon rested his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Deal. Now get that rest or Phlox will have us both sedated. And I seem to recall not too long ago that you said to take your name off that bed in sickbay, you weren't going to be using it again."

Trip managed a battered grin. "Vulcan sickbays don't count."

TBC