A/N: I didn't expect much response, considering how short the prologue was.
Thank you all so much for your positive input.
" " are words.
' ' are thoughts.
*~Chapter One~*
Trip stopped retching and took a deep breath. Phlox and Archer were right behind him, looking concerned. Trip tried to gather his thoughts.
'I don't understand. He's not calling me Sim anymore; he's calling me Trip. But he said that Trip wasn't my name...'
He accepted a glass of water offered to him by the Denobulan, and drank deeply. His mind felt as much a swirl as the water in the glass. The last thing he remembered was the doctor putting him to sleep for the procedure that would save Trip. A marvelous thought suddenly hit him.
'I'm not dead!'
Breaking into a grin, he grabbed Phlox around the middle and hugged him for all he was worth. "You're a genius!" The doctor seemed shocked at the younger man's sudden outburst, and carefully pulled away. "I'm not dead! I have no idea how you did it, Phlox, but-"
He choked on his words as he saw the bio bed next to him. On it was a body covered from head to foot with a white sheet. Had Trip not survived the operation? But, if that were the case, why was Jon calling HIM Trip?
Panicking, he jumped towards the other bio bed, reaching for the bed sheet, oblivious to the fact that he was completely naked. He ripped it back to reveal his worst fear. He saw himself lying, dead, on the bio bed. Lost and grief-stricken, Trip sank to his knees, staring at his own dead form.
"I don't understand," he managed to croak out as the Captain and the Doctor pulled him up and sat him back onto the bio bed. "How is it he's dead, and I'm-"
He stopped short at the other men's confused expressions, and glanced back at the body. It was wearing HIS grey uniform Phlox had given him to wear while working in engineering. And it was in the bed Phlox had sat HIM in just before the operation. Trip felt as thought his bottom had fallen out from under him.
'That's Sim. He's dead. I'm Trip.'
He allowed Phlox to push him back against the bio bed, not hearing the words of comfort and explanation. Archer and Phlox proceeded to tell him everything that had transpired since the accident in engineering, though unbeknownst to them, he already knew. He continued to stare at Sim's body as the two spoke, and nodded when he thought it was appropriate.
Inside, he was more confused than he could ever recall being in his entire life. What had happened? How was it that he had Trip's AND Sim's memories, if he was the real Charles Tucker III?
He shuddered and pulled back as Archer place his hand on Trip's shoulder, in what he probably assumed was comfort. Trip was repulsed. This was the man who had told him to his face that he would kill him in order to save Trip, for the sake of the mission.
Always for the mission.
Not for the sake of his friend, but for the mission. Trip felt so used. He was so insignificant in his 'best friend's' eyes that he could be cloned, harvested, and killed in order to ensure the Xindi mission.
He was a tool.
Trip felt another wave of nausea overtake him, and he had to fight down the bile rising in his throat.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, the two men stopped talking. Trip didn't realize it until he noticed them glancing at him expectantly. Trip coughed and rubbed his head.
"Well, ah, thanks for your great work, Doc. My head's still kinda spinnin'; I think I'm gonna lie down for a bit..." And with that, the engineer rolled onto his side and ignored his friends, slowly drifting into a fitful sleep.
***
Trip awoke slowly to find the lights in sickbay dimmed for nighttime. He yawned and rolled over onto his side, only to find a Vulcan visitor standing stock-still next to the head of the bed, facing him, with her eyes closed. He glanced up.
"Hey there, pretty lady," he whispered.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked uncertainly down at Trip. She seemed at a loss for words after being referred to as 'pretty lady'. Trip would have smiled, but his memories of the past week came flooding back, and he didn't really feel up to it.
He pulled himself into a sitting position, groaning several times at unexpected pain, and settled himself into his pillows.
"Look, T'Pol, we really need to-"
T'Pol seemed to suddenly become aware of her surroundings. She took several steps away from Trip, turning around.
"I am glad to see you are well, Commander, but for now I must leave-" her sentence was cut off by the closing of the sickbay doors behind her. Trip blinked.
'What just happened?'
***
Trip spent another few days in sickbay, where none of his friends visited him. No Malcolm, no Hoshi, no T'Pol.
Archer had come by a few times to talk with Trip, and to make funeral arrangements for Sim's body. However, Trip couldn't be bothered with talking to him for very long. He had seen the truth about his friend, and he no longer considered him such. He was disgusted and repulsed by the monster this man had become. Anytime Archer spoke to him for more than a few minutes, Trip would complain of a headache, or exhaustion, and roll over to sleep without waiting for so much as a response.
The day he finally got out, four days from when he awoke, was the day of Sim's funeral. Trip had once imagined what it might be like to attend his own funeral, while floating in shuttle pod one with Malcolm, when he thought for sure that he would die. He never thought, however, that he'd get the chance. Now, as he stood between his uneasy looking friends and shipmates, he realized it was an experience he would have skipped had he had the choice.
What the others didn't realize was that Sim wasn't really dead, and that Trip in fact housed his memories. Though they misinterpreted the engineer's discomfort, none of them made any attempts to comfort him, and this simply broke Trip's heart. These were the people he'd spent nearly three years with; the people that he had re-acquainted himself with over a week of growing up. He felt a deep bond with them, but at the same time knew that their friendships would be strained and difficult. No doubt they were felt 'weirded out' by the experience, and Trip suspected that they may even blame him for Sim's death.
The funeral was short and solemn, and Trip made a beeline for his quarters as soon as he stepped out the door. No-one seemed to notice, or if they did, they made no attempt to stop him. This hurt him even more. When he turned the corner out of anyone's field of vision, he ran for the nearest turbolift. As he exited, he again ran the distance from the 'lift to his quarters. He slammed the button to the door with his fist, ran in, and locked it behind him.
He felt like he was crawling out of his skin; they were blaming him for something that not only did he have no control over, but for something that hadn't really happened. Sim wasn't really dead. Trip was Sim, AND Trip. They were, and had always been, the same person, despite Jonathan Archer's protests to the contrary.
Upset and feeling slightly ill, Trip stripped and stepped into a steaming- hot shower. After a few moments of standing still under the steady stream of water, he slid to the floor and pulled his knees up under his chin. Tears slowly slid down his face, and he sobbed quietly.
He did not hear his door chime ring, nor did he hear the sigh of the Vulcan woman behind it as she slowly walked away.
" " are words.
' ' are thoughts.
*~Chapter One~*
Trip stopped retching and took a deep breath. Phlox and Archer were right behind him, looking concerned. Trip tried to gather his thoughts.
'I don't understand. He's not calling me Sim anymore; he's calling me Trip. But he said that Trip wasn't my name...'
He accepted a glass of water offered to him by the Denobulan, and drank deeply. His mind felt as much a swirl as the water in the glass. The last thing he remembered was the doctor putting him to sleep for the procedure that would save Trip. A marvelous thought suddenly hit him.
'I'm not dead!'
Breaking into a grin, he grabbed Phlox around the middle and hugged him for all he was worth. "You're a genius!" The doctor seemed shocked at the younger man's sudden outburst, and carefully pulled away. "I'm not dead! I have no idea how you did it, Phlox, but-"
He choked on his words as he saw the bio bed next to him. On it was a body covered from head to foot with a white sheet. Had Trip not survived the operation? But, if that were the case, why was Jon calling HIM Trip?
Panicking, he jumped towards the other bio bed, reaching for the bed sheet, oblivious to the fact that he was completely naked. He ripped it back to reveal his worst fear. He saw himself lying, dead, on the bio bed. Lost and grief-stricken, Trip sank to his knees, staring at his own dead form.
"I don't understand," he managed to croak out as the Captain and the Doctor pulled him up and sat him back onto the bio bed. "How is it he's dead, and I'm-"
He stopped short at the other men's confused expressions, and glanced back at the body. It was wearing HIS grey uniform Phlox had given him to wear while working in engineering. And it was in the bed Phlox had sat HIM in just before the operation. Trip felt as thought his bottom had fallen out from under him.
'That's Sim. He's dead. I'm Trip.'
He allowed Phlox to push him back against the bio bed, not hearing the words of comfort and explanation. Archer and Phlox proceeded to tell him everything that had transpired since the accident in engineering, though unbeknownst to them, he already knew. He continued to stare at Sim's body as the two spoke, and nodded when he thought it was appropriate.
Inside, he was more confused than he could ever recall being in his entire life. What had happened? How was it that he had Trip's AND Sim's memories, if he was the real Charles Tucker III?
He shuddered and pulled back as Archer place his hand on Trip's shoulder, in what he probably assumed was comfort. Trip was repulsed. This was the man who had told him to his face that he would kill him in order to save Trip, for the sake of the mission.
Always for the mission.
Not for the sake of his friend, but for the mission. Trip felt so used. He was so insignificant in his 'best friend's' eyes that he could be cloned, harvested, and killed in order to ensure the Xindi mission.
He was a tool.
Trip felt another wave of nausea overtake him, and he had to fight down the bile rising in his throat.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, the two men stopped talking. Trip didn't realize it until he noticed them glancing at him expectantly. Trip coughed and rubbed his head.
"Well, ah, thanks for your great work, Doc. My head's still kinda spinnin'; I think I'm gonna lie down for a bit..." And with that, the engineer rolled onto his side and ignored his friends, slowly drifting into a fitful sleep.
***
Trip awoke slowly to find the lights in sickbay dimmed for nighttime. He yawned and rolled over onto his side, only to find a Vulcan visitor standing stock-still next to the head of the bed, facing him, with her eyes closed. He glanced up.
"Hey there, pretty lady," he whispered.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked uncertainly down at Trip. She seemed at a loss for words after being referred to as 'pretty lady'. Trip would have smiled, but his memories of the past week came flooding back, and he didn't really feel up to it.
He pulled himself into a sitting position, groaning several times at unexpected pain, and settled himself into his pillows.
"Look, T'Pol, we really need to-"
T'Pol seemed to suddenly become aware of her surroundings. She took several steps away from Trip, turning around.
"I am glad to see you are well, Commander, but for now I must leave-" her sentence was cut off by the closing of the sickbay doors behind her. Trip blinked.
'What just happened?'
***
Trip spent another few days in sickbay, where none of his friends visited him. No Malcolm, no Hoshi, no T'Pol.
Archer had come by a few times to talk with Trip, and to make funeral arrangements for Sim's body. However, Trip couldn't be bothered with talking to him for very long. He had seen the truth about his friend, and he no longer considered him such. He was disgusted and repulsed by the monster this man had become. Anytime Archer spoke to him for more than a few minutes, Trip would complain of a headache, or exhaustion, and roll over to sleep without waiting for so much as a response.
The day he finally got out, four days from when he awoke, was the day of Sim's funeral. Trip had once imagined what it might be like to attend his own funeral, while floating in shuttle pod one with Malcolm, when he thought for sure that he would die. He never thought, however, that he'd get the chance. Now, as he stood between his uneasy looking friends and shipmates, he realized it was an experience he would have skipped had he had the choice.
What the others didn't realize was that Sim wasn't really dead, and that Trip in fact housed his memories. Though they misinterpreted the engineer's discomfort, none of them made any attempts to comfort him, and this simply broke Trip's heart. These were the people he'd spent nearly three years with; the people that he had re-acquainted himself with over a week of growing up. He felt a deep bond with them, but at the same time knew that their friendships would be strained and difficult. No doubt they were felt 'weirded out' by the experience, and Trip suspected that they may even blame him for Sim's death.
The funeral was short and solemn, and Trip made a beeline for his quarters as soon as he stepped out the door. No-one seemed to notice, or if they did, they made no attempt to stop him. This hurt him even more. When he turned the corner out of anyone's field of vision, he ran for the nearest turbolift. As he exited, he again ran the distance from the 'lift to his quarters. He slammed the button to the door with his fist, ran in, and locked it behind him.
He felt like he was crawling out of his skin; they were blaming him for something that not only did he have no control over, but for something that hadn't really happened. Sim wasn't really dead. Trip was Sim, AND Trip. They were, and had always been, the same person, despite Jonathan Archer's protests to the contrary.
Upset and feeling slightly ill, Trip stripped and stepped into a steaming- hot shower. After a few moments of standing still under the steady stream of water, he slid to the floor and pulled his knees up under his chin. Tears slowly slid down his face, and he sobbed quietly.
He did not hear his door chime ring, nor did he hear the sigh of the Vulcan woman behind it as she slowly walked away.