Authors: Sita/T'eyla

Rating: PG-13

AN: Thanks to Tobie Holloway ("wicked" and "creepy"... I like the sound of that ;-) ), Luna (sorry, I don't think Porthos can help Trip... but maybe someone else can?), Dacker Spaniel (we were thinking of you when we wrote the part about Porthos...), skully (poor Archer... but he tries so hard!!! ;-) ), Maraschino (well, maybe there is someone who can help him), ally (yes, poor boys...), CordeliaBlack (I like readers getting suspicious ;-)... but I guess this time they're really back), bunsdarien (and more and more and more and more ;-) ), KaliedescopeCat (yeah, good thing Archer doesn't have a cat... I bet Malcolm's allergic to cats!), Gabi2305 (ups, welcher Rechtschreibfehler? Mist. Danke für das Kompliment über Porthos ;-) ), Aeryn Lavanthia (thank you! good to know we wrote them right), Drogna (we thought we needed to give Malcolm a break, the poor guy...), Rinne ("write really well"... these are three little words I like to hear ;-)... thank you!!), Les1 (everybody loves Porthos!), jazri (yes, evil, EVIL! harharhar...), Exploded Pen (now we made people care about Trip, too, I'm so happy ;-)... just kidding. Well, we'll see about this sending-back-to-Earth thing... eg), Drakcir (why are we doing this, hmmm... good question. To get reviews??! ;-) No, seriously, glad you're enjoying the story so much and I promise you'll get regular updates even though T'eyla's not here right now) and Stage Manager (there'll be more about Trip, promise!) for reviewing.

Note: In this chapter we'll introduce the topic of mind melding, but we'll ignore the events of several episodes such "Fusion", "Stigma" and "The Seventh". So, like in the Original Series, in our universe melds can be performed by all Vulcans, and melding, while a touchy subject, is not something Vulcans regard as unethical. Just so nobody gets confused! ;-) Sita

And now, finally - on with the story! Read and review!

----------------

Chapter 10

They had put him in another cell looking exactly like the decon chamber back on Enterprise. Sometimes Trip even believed it was Enterprise, but it didn't matter. He wouldn't fall for it, no matter if it was the real Enterprise or just another trick. The Voice had told him not to trust anyone, and he wouldn't. No way. No matter what they did.

When he'd realized that they were all working for his captors, he hadn't been very surprised after all. Why, Malcolm had betrayed him without a second thought, so why shouldn't Archer, Phlox, T'Pol, everybody? There'd been a time when Trip had wondered if they were doing this to gain some kind of advantage, technology maybe, or if they did it out of pure spite, to see if they could trick him again. But not anymore. It didn't matter. The Voice had told him it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except not trusting anyone, not believing anything. At first he'd had his doubts, had asked questions, what if all of this was real, after all, what if somehow, miraculously, Enterprise had come and had rescued him. These were the only times the Voice had gotten angry. Again it had spoken in that hysterical, screechy way, telling him not to even consider believing these lies, and he'd quickly assured that he wouldn't.

The only way of playing safe was not trusting anyone. Not believing anything.

Ever.

He didn't know how long he'd been in here. Hours, days, weeks, maybe. No, it couldn't be weeks, for he hadn't eaten or drunk anything since he'd woken up on that cot, and except for a little queasiness of the stomach he was still feeling quite alright. Not that they were trying to starve him; they kept bringing him all kinds of food, but he'd be a fool to touch any of those meals. He wasn't going to do them the favor of willingly consuming their drugs, not if he could help it. Not too long ago Phlox - if it was Phlox - had tried to give him an injection, but he'd managed to fight him off, landing a good punch on the doctor's nose when he'd come too close. He'd expected him to hit back, but Phlox hadn't done so, pulling out a kleenex to stop his nose from bleeding and talking to Trip in a low, soothing voice. Trip hadn't listened to him, though - the Voice had said not to listen to anybody, and by now he knew it was giving good advice - but had only waited for Phlox to leave again, which he'd done eventually. Nobody had tried to harm him since then, and Trip felt a grim satisfaction at the fact that they'd obviously realized he wouldn't play their guinea pig any longer.

Staring at the blue wall of the chamber, Trip noticed his eyelids getting heavy and felt a sudden surge of panic. He mustn't fall asleep, when he slept he was defenseless, and of course they would use that opportunity to administer some of their drugs, or worse. It was getting increasingly harder to stay awake, though, and Trip knew that sooner or later he would have to face the inevitable, allowing his body a short period of much needed rest. But not yet, not as long as he could still keep himself awake. Running his tongue over his dry, cracked lips, Trip pulled his knees tighter to his upper body and tried to ignore the nagging hunger that was wrenching his guts. It was awful, not being able to eat or drink, and every time he blinked it felt as if there were tiny grains of sand caught under his eyelids, rubbing against his cornea. But all of this was still better than letting himself go, giving them an opening so they could hurt him again. He wouldn't allow that. Ever.

The sound of the door sliding open made him raise his head. Phlox was back, carrying a tray with one of these silvery food containers and a bag of water on it. The bag's shoulder strap had been removed.

Trip tightened his grip on his knees and pressed his back against the wall.

"Commander." He saw that false smile spread on the doctor's face. "How are you feeling tonight?"

Trip licked his lips, following the doctor's every move as Phlox carefully lowered himself onto the cot across the room and put the tray on the floor at his feet. With certain satisfaction Trip noted that the doctor's nose was slightly swollen. Phlox bent down and removed the lid of the container, then carefully pushed the tray towards Trip.

"Here," he said. "I hope you like chicken soup for supper. Chef made strawberry shortcake for dessert, but I'm afraid there wasn't any left. I brought you some fruit salad instead."

Again, that smile appeared on Phlox' face, but Trip only stared back at him, not moving or looking at the food. The spicy smell of the soup made his stomach grumble, but he ignored it. After a while Phlox got up, picking up the soup bowl and taking a step towards him. Trip tensed, lowering his hands to the floor in case he had to push himself up if the doctor came too close. Moving deliberately slow, Phlox placed the bowl onto the floor a few feet away from where Trip was sitting, then retreated to the cot. Forcing himself to tear his gaze away from the bowl, Trip continued to watch the doctor, ready to jump up in case Phlox attacked him. The doctor, however, only folded his hands in his lap, looking at him with that particular expression that told Trip that Phlox was about to try another one of his tricks.

"You have to eat something some time soon, Commander, you know," he said. "Your body needs nutrition, and you'll get sick if you continue to neglect to take food."

Trip slowly shook his head, not quite able to believe they thought he would fall for this. As if any of them cared if he lived or died. They must be getting quite desperate if they tried things like that.

"I'm not gonna eat that food of yours," he said, his voice sounding hoarse from the dryness of his throat. "Don't you think I know it's full of drugs?"

Phlox watched him for a moment. "Well, Commander, I know it's no use telling you that there are no drugs in that food. But if you continue to refuse to eat, I'll have no choice but to sedate you and hook you up to the drip. It's your decision to make."

See? the Voice hissed, creeping up from where it had been lurking at the back of his mind. See? He's threatening you. They realized they can't trick you, so now they're threatening you. But you mustn't give in to them. As long as you don't trust them, they can't hurt you.

"I won't," he whispered, nodding and feeling relieved as he sensed the Voice's satisfaction. "I won't."

"Commander." Phlox' voice returned Trip's attention to the doctor. "Do you understand what I'm telling you? I don't intend to do you any harm, but you know that as a doctor it's my duty to keep you from harming yourself."

Trip pulled his lips into a sneer even though he didn't feel amused at all. "You're no doctor," he spat. Phlox sighed.

"What makes you think so?"

Trip shook his head. "Oh no," he said, and now he did feel a little amused at their stupidity. How could anyone be so obvious? "Face it, I won't fall for that. You're not gettin' any information from me, no matter what you try. I know it's a fake, and I know you're runnin' some kind of tests on me here. How come you think I'm that stupid?"

"I don't think you are stupid," Phlox said quietly. "But I do think that you are sick, Commander, and you're going to get a lot sicker if you keep refusing to eat."

Trip shook his head again, not bothering to give an answer to that. Phlox' single-minded attempts at tricking him were getting kind of annoying, and Trip wished the doctor would leave again, and even more important, take that soup with him. By now his insides were giving him hell, cramping with hunger as the soup's aroma wafted around his nostrils, and he knew that eventually the smell of the food would become too much for his empty stomach to resist. Suddenly he noticed a movement out of the corner of his eyes, and his head snapped up. Phlox had gotten to his feet, approaching him with slow calculated movements that told Trip the doctor was up to something. Quickly, he scrambled to his feet, and for a moment felt close to panicking as dizzyness blurred his vision. Fool, he heard the Voice hiss scornfully. Don't you know that one unguarded moment is enough for them to-

"Stay away from me!" he said, blinking furiously to drive away the haze that was clouding his eyes. "Don't come closer!"

Pressing his back against the wall, he watched as Phlox slowly bent down, picked up the bowl and straightened up again.

"I don't want to harm you, Commander," he repeated in that faked friendly tone of voice. "But you do have to eat something."

"Stay away." Trip followed Phlox' every move with his eyes, ready to lash out in case the doctor tried something funny. Phlox took another step towards him, and Trip could feel his heart thumping in his chest, his breathing speeding up as fear made his throat constrict.

"Commander. Trip." Phlox came even nearer, holding out the bowl with the soup. "Why don't you-"

"Take that thing away!" Trip shouted, blind with panic, and shoved the doctor out of his way, hastily retreating to the opposite corner of the room. Sliding down the wall, he again flung his arms around his knees, protecting his midriff to prevent getting hurt when the doctor attacked. At the moment, though, Phlox didn't seem inclined to do so; he was slowly picking himself up from the floor, brushing off his shirt that was soaked with chicken soup. When he was back on his feet, he turned around to face Trip, but, incredulously, his face didn't display anger or any similar emotion.

"Well, soup's off the menu, then," he said, his voice carrying a certain dry tone that made Trip even more suspicious. "But won't you at least try the fruit salad? And drink some of that water? I know you're thirsty."

How would he know that? the Voice asked, almost startling Trip. They're monitoring you. They know everything. You mustn't trust them.

The familiar mantra helped Trip calm down a little, and his fear dissipated, leaving only a slight wariness and irritation in its wake.

"Don't you try to threaten me with that thing again," he said, watching as Phlox picked up the bowl Trip had sent flying when he'd pushed the doctor. "I'm warnin' you, I'll smash your face in if you do."

Regarding him for another moment, Phlox sighed again. "I don't doubt it."

Pulling a hanky from his pocket, the doctor cleaned up the few splashes of chicken soup that hadn't landed on his shirt, then straightened up again.

"I'll go now, but I'll leave the water and the fruit salad with you." Again, he smiled that malicious smile of his. "Maybe you'll feel like eating something later, hm?"

Trip didn't answer, continuing to watch Phlox as he left the room. The doors slid shut behind him, and slowly, very slowly, Trip felt his tense muscles relax. It was a relief, being alone again, not having to keep a wary eye on his enemy's every move. Still, he wished Phlox hadn't left that food with him. He was careful not to look over at the tray that was still standing on the floor in the middle of the room, but he couldn't help imagining how that water would feel running down his sore throat.

Those are drugs, the Voice spoke up again. You know that. If you eat or drink any of this, they will get you. And if they get you, they will use you for their tests. Or kill you right away.

"I know," he whispered. "I know that. It's just that I'm so hungry..."

It doesn't matter if you're hungry! the Voice snapped, again sounding as if it was about to get very angry. If you trust them, you're dead. Nothing matters except not trusting them. Not trusting anyone. Do you understand?

Trip understood. He'd understood a long time ago, but it felt so dark and lonely inside, sitting in that bare, empty room with no one but that hateful voice to keep him company. Even though the Voice had said it didn't matter, he couldn't understand why they were doing this, why they were being so cruel. Despite himself he turned his head to glance at the tray with the fruit and the water, and felt a sharp stab of hunger slice through his insides. He knew that the only reason they'd left this here was to torment him even more, giving him food that he couldn't eat. And all of a sudden he realized that there was no one, not a single person he could turn to. It wasn't just a matter of escaping this. Even if he somehow managed to get away, he would be alone. He had no way of telling what trick they would try next, and no one was going to help him. There was no way out.

Pulling his legs closer to his chest, Trip rested his forehead on his knees, and began to cry.

-###-

Staring at the surveillance monitor, Archer saw Trip curl up tighter in his corner and bury his face in his arms. For a moment Jon thought - hoped - that his friend was about to go to sleep, but then he noticed Trip's shoulders twitch and realized with a sinking feeling that Trip was crying. At first, it was only a slight trembling of the shoulder blades, but then the shaking got harder, and Trip began to retreat even further into the corner, pressing himself against the wall. As Archer watched, the image began to blur before his eyes, and without thinking about it he raised a hand to wipe off the tears that were threatening to spill. Drawing the back of his hand across his eyes in an almost angry movement, he blinked, telling himself to get a grip. Standing out here and falling to pieces wasn't going to help Trip in any way. Trip needed someone he could trust, someone who held him and told him it was going to be alright...

Archer was already about to punch in the code that would open the door to decon when a hand settled on his arm.

"Captain, what are you doing?"

"He's crying," Archer said without looking back at the doctor, proceeding to press the first two numbers of the code. "I'm going in there."

"No Captain," Phlox said quietly and Archer turned his head. "It wouldn't do any good if you went in there now. I know it's hard being forced to stand by and watch, but I'm afraid the Commander would not... respond to your efforts. Your presence would only agitate him even more."

At the clinical tone of Phlox' words Archer felt a surge of anger. "Don't talk about him like that! He's not one of your animals! I was against locking him up in that thing from the start, and I won't just leave him-"

"Captain." Phlox still wouldn't let go of his arm. "For the benefit of my patient I cannot allow you to go in there now. It would do no good. Mr. Tucker is not being himself, and I doubt he would react positively to your offers of comfort. You wouldn't even be able to get near him. He won't let you."

Archer stared down at the code panel for another moment, then drew his hand back. "But he needs help," he said, wincing at the hoarseness of his voice. "We can't just turn our backs on him."

"I understand your feelings, Captain, but I'm afraid there's not much we can do. I've tried a therapeutic approach, but I wasn't able to get through to him at all. He doesn't even trust us enough to eat. I won't have any choice but hooking him up to the drip as soon as he falls asleep. He's dehydrated already." Phlox hesitated, staring down at his folded hands. "Captain, I'm sorry, but we'll have to bring the Commander back to Earth."

Archer swallowed hard. He'd known that sooner or later Phlox would say this, but all the same he'd hoped he wouldn't have to face this, to give this particular order.

"So there is nothing you can do for him?" he said, the words sounding more like an accusation than he'd intended them to. "You've got a Ph.D. in psychiatry, there must be something."

"I could always try to treat him here on Enterprise," Phlox said, slowly walking back to the counter. Archer followed him, and together they came to stand in front of the surveillance screen where Trip was still huddled in his corner. "However my knowledge of human psychiatry is limited since I was trained to deal mainly with the Denobulan psyche." He looked up, and Archer saw deep regret in the doctor's eyes as he continued. "I hate to be so blunt, Captain, but I must ask you to keep in mind that treating the Commander here on Enterprise would include a lot of... inconveniences. Both for Mr. Tucker and for the rest of us."

Archer frowned. "Inconveniences?"

Phlox turned his gaze back to the screen. "As I said, I won't be able to keep him sedated for a longer period of time. We would have to keep him in decon for the duration of the treatment, and if he keeps refusing to take food, I would have no choice but to force-feed him. Hooking him up to the drip is only a temporary solution. I'll be honest with you, Captain, it could take years for the treatment to take effect, if it does at all. Under these circumstances I strongly recommend taking the Commander back to his home planet."

If it does at all. The words echoed in Archer's mind, but he wasn't able to accept the implications. Not yet. "You mean he... you mean this could be irreversible?"

Phlox didn't answer, but simply folded his hands and lowered his head. Archer glanced back at the screen. Trip hadn't moved, but his shoulders were still shaking, and it hurt Archer almost physically to know that there wasn't a single thing he could do to help his friend. The only thing he could do was bring him back to Earth, to a place where he would be locked up in another cell, surrounded by strangers who didn't know him as a person, but only as one medical case among dozens of others. Without another word Archer turned around and slowly made his way to the door. He knew what he had to do now, but he also was aware that giving this order would always feel wrong with him, no matter what the rational part of his mind said.

"Captain," he heard Phlox' voice behind him and turned around again. The doctor was leaning against the counter with his back to the monitor, still wearing that expression of sorrow and compassion on his face.

"I'm sorry to bring this up now, but we also have to consider what to do about Lieutenant Reed's condition."

Archer looked over at the curtains around Malcolm's bed. "Is he okay?"

Phlox hesitated. "Physically he is recovering as well as can be expected," he said then. "His state of mind however has me quite worried. He's asleep now, I gave him a sedative half an hour ago when I noticed that he was deliberately keeping himself awake. I've tried to get him to talk to me, but he would answer only yes or no, and wouldn't respond to any but the most basic of questions. All of this is mostly a natural reaction to the trauma he's been through, but when I checked on him earlier, I noticed that the needle of the drip had been loosened. I can't be sure, Captain, but I think he did it on purpose."

The doctor's words hit Archer like a slap in the face. "Are you saying he's... suicidal?"

Phlox paused, apparently weighing what he was about to say next. "Not necessarily, Captain. I think Mr. Reed is experiencing very strong, irrational feelings of guilt triggered by his suicide attempt down on the planet. I also noticed symptoms of a beginning depression. The Lieutenant seems to be very angry with himself."

Archer bit his lip. "You mean removing the needle was some form of... self-punishment?"

Phlox nodded. "I think so."

Archer was silent for a moment. "Do you think he... will he be alright?" Do you think he's losing his mind was what he'd intentionally meant to say, but he bit down on the words before they could leave his mouth. He wasn't even going to consider that possibility.

Phlox, however, saw right through him, of course. "I am quite sure Lieutenant Reed's... confusion is only temporary, Captain. His sanity is not in danger. However it will be some time until he will be able to return to his duties, or even resume every-day interaction with the crew. I'm doing everything I can to help him."

Archer nodded, regarding the doctor for a moment. "I know you do."

Phlox held his gaze for another moment, and Archer saw that behind the doctor's mask of professionalism there was deep regret and frustration at not being able to help. He knew he'd been projecting some of the anger he felt onto the doctor, and hoped Phlox would understand. As he always did. The Denobulan was one of the few people aboard who seemed to understand that even a captain wasn't unbreakable. Or invulnerable.

Pressing the panel to open the sickbay doors, Archer stepped out into the corridor and automatically began to make his way to the turbolift, even though he didn't really intend to go there. He didn't know where he was going. The image of Trip cowering in that corner, crying in that desperate, helpless way was hanging before his mental eye, making it impossible for him to see where his steps were leading him.

It could take years for the treatment to take effect. If it does at all. He repeated the words in his mind, over and over again until they became meaningless. If it does at all. So this was going to be it as far as Trip was concerned? Take him back to Earth, have them lock him away in some room with no sharp objects in it, call a few times to see how his treatment was coming - if it does at all - and then forget about him, push him out of their minds so it wouldn't hurt so bad? And Charles Tucker would probably be sitting in corners for the rest of his life, completely alone, for something in his mind had chosen to see the world as its enemy, and wouldn't let anyone come near him to help.

Another image came to his mind, suddenly and without warning. He, Malcolm and Trip, sitting at the campfire back on that green little world light years away, toasting marshmallows and cracking jokes at each other while the sun went down and darkness began to fall. He remembered Malcolm lecturing them on the actually-quite-wonderful English weather, Trip grinning sheepishly as he related his short but memorable time as a boyscout, and saw himself, listening to his friends' good-natured bantering with the contented air of someone who knew that things were going to be alright.

If it does at all. Again, Archer felt something hot stinging behind his eyelids, blurring his surroundings while his throat constricted in an almost painful way. Without realizing what he was doing he wiped off the wetness, but his eyes were still filling, and he couldn't seem to stop it happening. Get a grip, he told himself, what if some of the crew see you like that, a captain can't, a captain doesn't. But he couldn't order it to stop, and he couldn't pretend the pain wasn't there like he usually did.

In the meantime he'd passed the turbolift, and was wandering down some mercifully deserted corridor, passing bulkhead after bulkhead in search for a place where he could be alone. At the end of the hallway there was a small briefing room, and Archer entered, sitting down at the table next to the window. He wasn't a man used to letting his feelings out, and so his own sobs sounded strange to his ears as they echoed through the empty room. But if crying was the only way to ease some of that terrible pain hurting in his chest, then so be it, captain be damned.

It just wasn't fair. It wasn't fair, taking his friends away from him, hurting them so bad that they didn't want to go on living anymore or escaped into insanity, and it wasn't fair that there was nothing he could do about it. Destroying that generator and sending these monsters back to wherever they'd come from hadn't changed a thing. It hadn't stopped Malcolm from picking up that shard or pulling out the needle, and it didn't allow him to go into the decon chamber and take Trip in his arms, hold him while he cried and tell him that no one was going to hurt him here. Archer tried to convince himself that it had changed things, that they'd probably saved the lives and sanity of hundreds of future victims by blasting that ugly building from the face of the planet, but it didn't help. Those victims were only hypothetical, and his knowledge of the strangers being gone was only one of T'Pol's theories, very likely based on dozens of logical conclusions but nothing to derive reassurance from, let alone satisfy a deep primitive desire for revenge. Of course he knew that they were gone, but still, remembering those perverted protocols he'd been forced to watch the other night he wished they'd at least found some bodies, anything that told him these people were really, truly dead. Had paid for the atrocities they'd committed, if one wished to put it that way.

But no act of vengeance was going to help Malcolm forget about what had been done to him, or miraculously make Trip see that he was surrounded by people who wanted to help him, not enemies who were trying to trick him into believing their lies. It could take years for the treatment to take effect, Phlox had said, and while Archer knew that the doctor was not in the habit of lying to anyone, he was also aware that Phlox had tried to sound optimistic for his sake. In all likelihood Trip wasn't going to lose this fear of everyone and everything for a very long time, maybe never, which quintessentially meant that his friend was going to be alone for the rest of his life. Really alone. Remembering the Trip Tucker he'd known for more than ten years, the impulsive outgoing man who had the talent of making friends with almost everybody, Archer felt the knot in his chest tighten up again. It was so cruel that this should happen to Trip of all people. And he, Trip's friend and Captain, couldn't do anything to help him. Not a single thing. He felt like slamming his fist onto that table, venting his anger and pain by throwing the chair against the wall, but he did neither, staying where he was and allowing the tears to fall. It was no use.

A small swishing noise from across the room caught Archer's attention, and automatically his hand went to his face, wiping off the tears so whoever entered the room wouldn't see him crying. But he needn't have bothered. T'Pol stood in the doorframe, and she would have sensed that something was wrong even if the room had been pitch-dark.

Archer got up. "T'Pol," he said, clearing his throat and trying to sound as if there was nothing unusual about him being in here at this time of the day. "Is there something I can do for you?"

T'Pol raised an eyebrow, but it wasn't the usual tongue-in-cheek gesture of reproach, nor the quizzical look she always gave anybody who displayed "irrational human behaviour" in her presence. Instead there was an expression of concern in her eyes as she came closer, stepping up beside him in an almost awkward manner.

"Captain," she said quietly, studying him for a moment before turning her gaze away. Archer realized that he must be looking quite a sight, eyes all red and puffy from crying. He cleared his throat once again, then turned to look at the calming image of the stars flying past outside.

"T'Pol if you don't mind I'd rather be alone at the moment."

In a way he hated himself for being so blunt about it, but right know all he felt was the simple wish to be allowed to let out some of the feelings he'd been holding in for so long. T'Pol didn't leave, though, nor did she say any of those well-intended, useless words of Vulcan wisdom.

"Captain, I want to make a request."

At her formal tone of voice Archer turned around again, meeting her eyes. "A request? Concerning what?"

T'Pol paused, confusing him even more. Usually the Vulcan science officer spoke her mind right away, never hesitating for any reasons whatsoever. Still, when she continued, her words sounded slightly halted, as if she were feeling uncomfortable about something.

"I do not know whether he informed you, Captain, but I spoke to Dr. Phlox this afternoon, asking him to give a thorough diagnosis of Commander Tucker's current condition. Captain... it is very likely that no conventional psychiatric therapy is going to help him."

"I'm aware of that, T'Pol," Archer said quietly, looking back out the window. T'Pol paused again.

"On Vulcan," she said then, her voice seeming to come from far away, "there are other methods of healing. Methods of healing the mind. They're very different from other medical disciplines. Mainly, they're based on a procedure called 'mind meld'."

Archer turned his head to look at her. "Mind meld? I've never heard of such a thing."

T'Pol continued evenly, but Archer still had the distinct impression that she didn't really like talking about this. "It is not surprising that you haven't, Captain. It is not something Vulcans discuss in public. It... is a very private thing."

Archer held her eyes for a moment. "This mind meld... what is it about?"

"Vulcans are touch-telepaths. We have the ability to... enter someone else's mind by touching the neural nerve ends in the face of another person. In the mind meld you join thoughts, and communicate telepathically with you melding partner."

There was silence for a moment. Then Archer spoke up again. "Are you suggesting to do that... mind meld with Trip?"

T'Pol's eyebrow twitched slightly, but her voice sounded as calm as ever when she answered. "I think it is the only way to help Commander Tucker. He will not respond to any spoken words, thinking that everyone here is conspiring against him. In the meld, however, communication works in a different way. There is no room for any hidden truths or deception. In the mind meld you look directly into another person's thoughts, and only a very skilled telepath would be able to deceive another by "lying" mentally."

Archer sat down in his chair, not taking his eyes off her face. What she was telling him sounded strange, unbelievable, but still triggered a wild irrational feeling of hope inside him. What if this was really a way to help Trip, to do so without locking him up, giving him drugs or handing him over to some strangers back on Earth who didn't even know his name? He swallowed.

"Can... can it be harmful? It sounds quite a dangerous thing to me, tinkering with another person's mind."

T'Pol clasped her hands behind her back. "I will not be untruthful about this, Captain. There is a certain risk to the meld, especially in a situation when one of the partners has no telepathic abilities. No to mention the ethical implications."

"Ethical implications?"

T'Pol's voice sounded very calm as she continued. "You know as well as I do, Captain, that in his current condition the Commander is neither able nor willing to give his consent to my performing the meld. On Vulcan it is considered one of the most heinous crimes to force someone into a joining of thoughts. I do not make this request lightly."

Archer bit his lip when he realized what she was telling him. The decision to ask him about this must have cost her a lot. "But... suppose someone isn't able to give their consent? A sick person, or a... confused one? Doesn't that make it different?"

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "There have been cases when Vulcan healers had to perform a meld without their patient's consent. But they probably did not encounter much resistance once they had entered the patient's mind, since Vulcans mostly react to logical arguments and would not fight a physician who is trying to help them. This case is different. And I am not a healer, Captain. But I am willing to try."

Archer looked at her, and saw that her jaw was firmly set, indicating that she wasn't feeling as calm as she seemed to be. He could only guess how many inner battles she'd fought before coming here to make this request, and the simple statement "I am willing to try" revealed a lot more than that. Archer made a decision. He didn't know if it was even his place to make any decisions in this case, but he was the Captain. He had no choice but accept responsibility for something he hardly knew anything about.

"Did you talk to Dr. Phlox about this yet?"

"I did, Captain, and while he had certain... objections concerning the general risks the procedure implies, he said it was "worth a try"."

Archer nodded slowly. It didn't feel right to make this decision without even trying to talk to Trip first, but he knew just as well that it would be no use.

"Alright, T'Pol," he said. "You have my permission, but... be careful."

T'Pol met his eyes. "I will."

Please let us know what you think!