A/N: As seems to be par for the course, I will once again apologize for the bewilderingly long time between updates. My only excuse is a very full fannish life and the rigours of a university-level education. And now, my obligatory whineyness out of the way, we can continue to the story, which will actually be finished in just three or four chapters now! Huzzah!

Chapter 23: New Chief Medical Officer

"There," Doctor Phlox said, satisfied.

Trip's hand was now taken care of, as well as it could be. The Denobulan physician was as good on this side as on the other, although much more hesitant here, and it seemed that he kept looking over his shoulder, expecting the proverbial other shoe to drop.

"Thanks, Doc," Trip said, examining his hand. He suspected that it wouldn't really be his concern anymore, once he got back to his home universe; although in some science fiction stories the crossover was physical, there were scars all over this body that Trip was certain he'd remember getting, so his real body probably wouldn't have this broken hand when he got back.

He wondered if he could hurl himself off the upper deck in engineering and break most of the bones in this body before transporting back. This other Commander Tucker probably deserved it.

"Commander …" Phlox started, and then hesitated, glancing around him surreptitiously.

"Yeah?" Trip said, getting down off the operating table.

"I didn't think you could do it," Phlox said. His voice was just a murmur, difficult for Trip's ears to catch.

Trip's expression turned rueful. "I wasn't sure I could either," he said. "But … I had to try."

"Thank you," Phlox said softly.

Trip thought that what Phlox was really trying to do was apologize for his previous behavior. He felt a strong urge to reach out and pat the Denobulan's arm, or hug him – to do something to let him know that it was all right and that he'd understood exactly why Phlox had had to betray him before. But Denobulan males were notoriously leery of unnecessary physical contact, and Trip didn't want to make him any more uncomfortable than he clearly already was.

"You're welcome," Trip said. There wasn't much else he could say. "No problem" was inaccurate and "my pleasure" would've just been damn flippant, considering the circumstances.

Then he turned and headed for the doors of Sickbay, feeling that he'd left the new captain of the Enterprise to his privacy long enough.

"And … Commander?" Phlox called after him.

Trip turned.

"Good luck," Phlox said. "Getting back to your own universe."

Trip grinned. "Thanks, Doc," he said. "I wish I could bring you with me." He immediately wished he hadn't said it; the flash of wistful longing that coloured the doctor's face was unbearable.

"Not to worry," Phlox said. "There's plenty to do here. It's not every day that a former slave gets a position of high honor on the Terran Imperial Fleet's flagship."

"I guess not," Trip said. He wondered what the ramifications were of that – just what exactly he'd done. Maybe it would turn out to be an isolated incident in a dismal universe, or maybe he'd sparked revolution here, a revolution that would change these people's worlds forever, for the better. He'd never know, and he rather suspected that no one would ever have the opportunity of finding out.

It was a pity, really. But not enough of one to keep him here an instant longer than he had to be by force of situational inertia.

"Good-bye, Commander. I suspect … that we won't be meeting again," Phlox said quietly.

Trip blinked. "I'll probably be able to get down here again, before I get back home," he said. "It'll take us a little while to get back to that planet."

Phlox smiled sadly. "Yes," he said. "It will, won't it?" Then he turned away.

Trip left Sickbay, puzzling over that. It certainly sounded ominous, but he wasn't certain at all what it meant.

Was Phlox auguring his own death? Or Trip's?