Disclaimer: Many of these are not my characters. This story is for entertainment purposes only.
Author's Note: Given that I cannot find a name for Trip's brother, I have given him one, following the British Royalty theme the family seems to be on. Also, once again, for a refresher {Toby} Inner-Charles unspoken dialogue and [flashback]. Other than that, the style should follow basic convention
Chapter 5: Shading in The Details
Maybe I'm rough around the edges, and stubborn to a fault
Maybe I'm just a little too hot-headed, stiff back bone and all…
--- Chely Wright
Probable impossibilities are to be preferred to improbable possibilities.
---Aristotle
"We've been what?"
Archer tried to explain again, but Trip waved him off.
"Five years?" Trip moaned, burying his head in his arms. They sat in the mess hall now, less able to hear Daniels' screams and pounding. "You're telling me that you and…" He searched around for another word, then gave up. "…me have been seeing each other for five years? I'm lucky if I can get a relationship to last past the five month mark." That explained a lot of Archer's – no, not Archer, this wasn't Archer. It may look like him, talk like him, even think it was him, but this wasn't Archer. "I gotta think of something to call you. You're not my captain…" He held up his hand to forestall a protest, "You're not. I can't call you that, and keep my brain straight. I'm sure as hell not calling you Archer, either…"
"John? That's what I'm used to you calling me." Hope crept into his voice, as though he hadn't accepted that this wasn't the man he was used to either.
No. Nothing familiar, don't want to confuse his brain either. "Jonathan. I've never called him that, before, not to his face, anyway."
Jonathan made a face, kind of like Toby when someone used her formal given name, just not as murderous. "I've never liked Jonathan. It's so formal, so…" He shrugged.
"Yeah, well… other than 'Hey, you. Tall guy,' I can't think of much." Trip toyed with his spaghetti, not hungry any more. "As for your…Charles ought to work. Presumably you are going to mention him, once or twice."
"And you stay Trip." Jonathan looked as though he was going to say something about it not being fair.
"It's who I am, and believe me, I don't need any more confusing on that issue. Besides, my people outnumber yours at the moment, and I don't want to have to concentrate on responding to fifty different names at once." Okay, so it wasn't logical, even according to the logic he was using, it wasn't even reasonable. Then again, Trip didn't get where he was today by being logical and reasonable.
"I count one. Two, if you include the dead girl."
"I do. Which makes it three to one. My magic number." He didn't think it prudent at this point to mention Inner Charles and up the count to four. Bad enough as it was… if Jonathan knew about Trip's little voices…
"Three." Jonathan snorted, shaking his head, and Trip knew he'd won. "You are one nasty negotiator."
Trip grinned. "And I didn't even get started. You should see me at cards."
Jonathan sobered, and Trip wondered what kind of sore spot he'd hit. Archer's one of the few good competitors I've ever had in a card game. What gives?
"Sorry." Jonathan pulled into himself, pensive. "I keep forgetting you're not Trip. Charles. He's good at cards too." He spoke the last sentence so softly that Trip could barely hear it. Sadness infused every word, shouting that there was more to it than just cards. Much more.
Silence settled in for a few more moments, each lost in his own thoughts. Finally Trip pushed his plate aside and stood up. "We've got a lot more work to do if we're going to… Kaci? Crewman?" She'd vanished again.
Way to go paying attention, Tucker. God knows what she's up to; you don't completely trust her, do you?
"Shut up, she's probably way ahead of us, getting the job done. Besides, I'm sure Toby's watching her."
Are you sure? Because I could swear that's Toby over there, making faces at your new buddy. Way to go paying attention. First he doesn't see a flesh and blood person go missing, then he doesn't see an incorporeal one show up. Jonathan looked at Trip strangely, still unused to the sight of a grown man talking to himself. I don't do that over there?
"Trip." Jonathan still spoke softly, but there was less hurt in it this time. "How much do you know about that girl?"
"Who? Kaci? Enough I guess." Not really, though. All he really had on her was the story she told him. And the fact that she was from his timestream. Are you sure? If Jonathan could cross over, couldn't she? Trip had been unconscious enough times for a change to occur. A cold uncertainty settled in; who can I trust?
Well, Toby, obviously, unless another Trip out there just happened to have a dead best friend who wouldn't go away. And was so identical to her in personality for it to make no difference. Given events with Jonathan, that seemed unlikely as well. But who else?
That would be me.
"How do I know that? How do I know anything? I swear this is the most seriously fucked up situation I have ever been in." If only he could get his hands to stop shaking, maybe he could think more clearly. Probably not… nobody thought he thought clearly on the best of days. Hopefully Jonathan would just assume Trip was talking to Toby and leave it at that.
Well, Tucker, unless you're not you, I would hazard a guess that the little voice in your head is still the SAME FUCKING ONE. You've got to start somewhere. Your own head would be a good start.
Would it? Given the circumstances…
I thought I told you not to go down that route, Tucker. That is not what is going on here, now are you going to trust me, or some guy who doesn't know you at all? Now screw your head on straight, or I'm going to do it for you.
"Gotcha." Inner-Charles didn't make threats, he promised. Thank God nobody had pressed charges, then again, he wouldn't, would he?
[ "Oh, God, Gina, what happened?" The place was a mess; looked like back home after a hurricane. Every room was turned upside down, trashed. No sign of Angelo or David. Odd, because they never left.
"Someone broke in, Charles. Angelo and David are at the hospital, Angelo was just hit on the head, but David…"
David, who didn't understand violence in the conventional sense, didn't know to be quiet and it would go somewhat away. He'd seen a stranger, seen his world disrupted and did what came normally to him: screamed a protest. And in response, this stranger hadn't put things right, hadn't tried to calm him, rather had gone to work shutting him up in the most emphatic way possible. He had been barely breathing when one of the other tenants found him, called emergency services.
"Who did this, Gina? This isn't a robbery in the conventional sense, you don't get enough of them any more to count." His own voice sounded odd to his ears. Harsh, unfeeling. "You know who did this, don't you?" It was written all over her face, that she either knew or had an idea. So did he, but needed confirmation. "You were here, weren't you?" He could see the swelling, the redness. She'd been hit too, but hadn't gone to the hospital, had been too stubborn.
She shook her head, denying it. No, she didn't know, had no idea. It all happened too fast, she didn't see anything.
"Then what did you hear?" Sight isn't the only sense that can identify a person, and in many cases the least reliable.
He didn't let go, didn't let up until she told him. Everything grew colder, calmer after that. He nodded, stepped back. Headed for the door.
"I'm sorry, Charles. I know, I've got to be wrong…" He could hear the fear in her voice, fear from what happened, fear of him in the odd, angry state.
He ignored her, kept going. He knew who now, even if she didn't. He didn't care about excuses this time. Not when David was the one hurt. David didn't deserve it, none of it. It's like hurting Elizabeth.
Icy rage powered him through the streets, walking fast, never running. He had a fair idea where to search, where to find. His third choice resulted in success. His quarry sat at a table in the back, grinning and laughing. Knuckles still bruised and raw curled around a cold glass.
"Hey."
Quarry looked up, looked scared. "Easy." A soft, southern drawl. So goddamn familiar, just like that young, innocent looking baby face. Lights still sparking in his eyes. Still very, very dangerous.
Not as dangerous as him, though. Quarry never saw it coming, not until a dominant left hand reached over and twisted that fight damaged hand up and around, calmly snapping the bones in the forearm. Ignoring the screams he reached over farther, grabbed a handful of hair and smashed the attached head into the table.
"I don't know you." He ground his captive's head harder into the table, leaning close to near whisper in his ear. "I never want to know you. Stay away from me, stay away from everybody I do know. 'Cause if you don't, we are going to be come much better acquainted, and I don't think you're going to like that." His opponent's inhuman strength seemed to be failing him. "If you get a call, don't answer it. You've had your chances, you've fucked every single one of them up, and I'm not playing sorry. You just passed the point of no return tonight, brother, and I have no sympathy left. I don't care what your problem is: it's not mine anymore." One last hard shove, then he walked away, leaving his past in a mix of spilled alcohol, blood and tears of incoherent rage. I quit, Dad. No more.]
"Trip?" Jonathan's voice cut in, snapping him out of it. "Looks like I lost you there for a moment. Something wrong?"
"Bad memory." Everything in his tone said 'leave it alone'. One of his basic rules: unless I bring it up, don't discuss my past. Archer'd learned to tiptoe in that territory, to avoid it entirely unless it intruded on the present. This didn't count under those rules, not as far as he was concerned.
"Want to talk about it?" Jonathan obviously hadn't learned Archer's lessons, or didn't think that Trip followed the same rules.
Be fair. How could he assume that when so many other, major things were different. "No." Harsh, cold, not fair at all.
Jonathan took a couple of steps back, and raised his hands, warding Trip off. "Sorry. I didn't mean to offend you." There was another silence before he caught up to Trip again, senior following subordinate. Still, he seemed to be expecting something other than what he got, something more than simple anger and hurt.
Trip sighed, stopping for a moment. "I just… I know you've got no way of knowing, but there's just some things I don't like to discuss. I know, I know, I talk about everything, right? It's a miracle just to get me to shut up. I just…" He didn't finish, just kept going again, shaking his head. Some lessons you learned the hard way, prejudice being one of them. The last remaining one. Anything else, and people didn't' care… this still scared most everybody so deeply that they never faced it. Even I can't, half the time.
"We all have secrets." Again Jonathan sounded so sad, like his memories could be worse than Trip's. It almost, almost left Trip wanting to ask what those secrets could be, but he loved his own too much to return the favour. No way was he going to play the "I'll tell you mine…" game with someone who wasn't a perfect stranger, someone he'd likely be seeing more than two minutes afterwards.
"Yeah." Big ones, little ones. Almost always dark and scary. Part of him wanted to tell, to share everything with this surrogate. After all, if he got things right, he'd probably never see Jonathan after this, wouldn't have to worry. Except… how much damage would he do to his other self, handing out the deepest darkest moments of life? If they shared those things… how would he feel if someone told Archer? There would be damage done: it wasn't knowledge you could gain without it re-shaping your opinions. And I'd rather Archer think I'm an occasional idiot rather than… than any of the possibilities of him knowing. Not just the likelihood of revulsion, of fear, but of sympathy, or worse yet, pity.
I'm nobody's poor baby. He'd rather be hated and alone – he could handle that, had done it before – than have people feeling sorry for him.
"Captain. Thank God you're all right." The new voice made both of them jump, the relief on their faces identical.
"Malcolm." It came out a chorus, there was no one else who could belong to those proper British tones. They turned to face him, stopped cold.
A long gash ran down the side of Malcolm's face, one eye swollen shut. That wasn't the problem, though; the problem was the phase pistol he pointed at them: even at this distance Trip could see it was set on kill.
"Who are you? Step away from him." Malcolm raised the pistol a little more, so that it pointed directly at the centre of Trip's chest. "Captain, I'm…"
"Apparently this is one of those times Daniels succeeded." Trip murmured, hoping Jonathan had been paying attention to that conversation. "Where they succeeded in not getting me assigned?"
Jonathan nodded, slowly. "I'd say so." He raised his voice, used a calming tone he was obviously accustomed to having to employ. "Malcolm, it's okay. He's not going to hurt me. I'm fine."
Malcolm looked more closely at Trip, then his grip tightened on the phase pistol. "No sir. I just don't know how he got here, sir."
"You recognise him, then?" Trip was more than happy to let Jonathan handle these negotiations. Something about this Malcolm disturbed him, more than the fact that he didn't know Trip. It was in the eyes, the posture. Too edgy, too jumpy. He'd seen that look before, knew it wasn't a good one to stare at over the wrong end of a phase pistol.
"He was at the Academy, sir. Rather notorious case, sir. They court-martialed him for theft, he tried to steal the NX prototype right out of the hangar. He assaulted two officers sent to retrieve him. He was also found guilty of several counts of insubordination. I'm surprised you don't remember." Malcolm's eyes (or rather the working one) shifted back and forth between the two of them now. "I do believe he was found not guilty due to mental defect. He's insane, sir." He opened his mouth to say more, screamed. An eight inch blade now protruded the arm holding the pistol. Dropping the weapon, Malcolm turned to face this new opponent, more immediately dangerous.
Trip leaped, knocking the ersatz Malcolm to the floor. A hand reached down, retrieved the pistol, and levelled it at the two of them.
"Thanks, crewman. I owe you one." More than one, if this Malcolm had been about to blurt out what Trip thought he was going to. Kaci didn't even nod, just kept the firearm pointed steadily.
Using Kaci's knife, Trip cut a few strips off of Malcolm's uniform, used them to bind the man's wrists, then his feet. Another one served as a bandage for his wound, then Trip slipped a final one into his captive's mouth as a gag. I'm not letting him say it. Once he had the lieutenant secured, Trip dragged him over to one of the crew quarters, and locked him inside.
"Now be nice, and I'll let you out later." He could see in the lieutenant's eyes that he only confirmed the wide-held opinion. Crazy. Maybe he was, this certainly wasn't rational behaviour…
Context. Right. Any behaviour seen out of context could be misconstrued. And these were hardly normal circumstances. Look what you did with that dream.
Looking over at Jonathan, Trip stifled a giggle. I don't know, could've been pretty accurate, depending on the universe.
Moron. There was a lot of relief in that voice now, as they veered away from dangerous ground. Still, Jonathan looked at him in the scared-rabbit way of his, as though the violence was too much for him to handle.
"Are you okay?" Funny Trip should be the one asking that, given that he was the one who'd almost been shot.
"I thought he was going to kill you." Jonathan sounded close to tears. "What could possibly make him want…"
"Different timeline." Why did Daniels have to be right? Couldn't he once in his interfering life get it wrong? "You heard him, over there I was found to be insane. He thought you were his captain; he was protecting you." Found to be insane, but had he really been? Or was it just a ploy, a way to stay out of prison for all those things he apparently did. Apparently?
Jonathan had the same thought. "Did you, I mean did you do anything like that?"
Now Trip did laugh. "Not only try, but succeed. I had Archer with me on that, we were desperate to see if we could get her to fly. The crazy thing is, we got away with it, and it didn't delay our promotions, either. What? You guys didn't have to do that with yours? The Vulcans didn't try and hold you back, try and scrap it?"
Jonathan sighed. "Yes, they did. They put a lot of pressure on Admiral Forrest, but someone else put more. We haven't exactly been friends with the Vulcans since then."
Oh. Who would… "Lemme guess. Yours truly. So to speak."
Jonathan nodded. "Some evidence of something or other. Something Forrest didn't precisely want made public."
Trip chewed his lip, trying to think before speaking. "You know, I don't think I'm liking myself all that much." Blackmail? He'd never stoop that low unless lives were at stake, or the stakes (and the blackmail) weren't that high at all. Not something so relatively mid-grade as the survival of a research project. I guess that's why I never went into academics.
"No, no. You're a wonderful person. He is." Something lay hidden behind those words, something not being said.
"Wonderful people don't stoop to blackmail to get what they want."
Jonathan back-pedalled further, a difficult feat. "It was for a good cause. It kept the NX program going, got us out into space. That's what you committed theft for, isn't it?"
Trip's jaw tightened. Bad enough to hear he was a bastard, but he didn't like the defence any better. "Nobody got hurt when we stole the prototype. It was just me, and Archer, and Robinson, and we all knew the consequences if we got caught." Another hole in Reed's tale: what had happened to the other two? Had that Tucker lost it when they hung him out to dry? "We didn't make anybody do something they didn't want to. And maybe we're not best buddies with the Vulcans, but we didn't alienate them either. First officer on this ship is a Vulcan. Maybe she was sent here to spy on us, but at least relations are warm enough to warrant open spying." He shot Jonathan a look, anger mixed with hurt. Anger that Jonathan could think that the two actions were the same, hurt that the man – stranger that he was – could think Trip capable of such malicious behaviour.
"I'm sorry. It's just… well, he is a decent guy, really. He's just got a few judgement problems." Jonathan had backed away during Trip's tirade, staying just out of arm's reach. What the…
It dawned, and he almost kicked himself for not guessing sooner. "Does he hit you? Charles?" He knew his own temper, how much he had to fight not to descend into violence when it erupted. And people think I have no self-control. Bad enough he sometimes slipped into verbal abuse but… some lines don't get crossed.
Jonathan shook his head, denial serving as confirmation. It seemed strange, almost impossible. Jonathan Archer, this one, any one, had the physical size and strength to more than handle Trip. Unless…
"Not really. I mean, no. No. Okay? He has his problems…"
"No." It came out a shout, chasing Jonathan back further. "There's no excuse for that, never an excuse. James has problems, James can't control himself, but that's still no excuse. And I'm wagering that there's nothing wrong with Charles, any more than there is with me. No excuse. Never." His hands shook harder now, rage enhancing the effects of the shock. In the back of his mind he screamed. What have you done? It was out now, couldn't be taken back. Words spoken, heard, made real. He chewed his lip harder, tasting blood as his teeth cut into flesh.
"James?" Jonathan eased out of his cringe when he realised that Trip was more likely to damage himself than anyone else. "What about him?"
Trip turned away, not willing to speak. Only one other person on this ship knew about James, knew better than to talk to Trip about it. Their deepest, darkest troubles lay in that direction; neither one was willing to damage the other by asking about the truth. He could feel his legs weakening, the stress too much for his damaged body.
Kaci caught him as he slid down the wall, held his arm and slowed his descent. When he reached a sitting position, she let him go and just looked at him with her patient eyes. I told you about mine.
Fair was fair, and his story could hardly be worse, right? "I don't suppose Charles talks about his brother, much."
Jonathan crossed to the wall opposite Trip, but remained standing. "No, he doesn't. I understand there was some trouble, but that's about it…"
Trouble? Oh, yeah, there'd been trouble all right.
[ "Will Charles Tucker please report to the office?"
Trip groaned, dropping his head to his desk. What is it this time? He could hear the giggles and snickers of his classmates; and why shouldn't they. They weren't the ones just summoned to the seventh circle of hell.
"Charles. I believe Mr. Kendricks was talking to you." Having Ms Langdon as a teacher only made it worse. Other teachers liked him; Ms Langdon didn't like anybody, especially overly bright young boys with – as she expressed it – an unhealthy interest in young girls.
Girl, to be specific, and insofar as he could tell the relationship was only unhealthy for him. These two years since he'd met Toby had resulted in an extraordinary number of hospital visits, but they had been interesting. Added lots of words to his vocabulary, too: words like abrasion, contusion and fracture. Like concussion. He'd learned a lot too. Gravity really did work the same on falling objects, regardless of weight and size, even if one of those objects is a flailing terrified boy. That certain chemicals mixed and left out in the sun can explode. The difference between first, second, and third degree burns, and that doctors can be very sarcastic when they get to know you on sight. And that, no matter what his foibles and phobias, he could be talked into pretty much anything.
"Charles!" Ms Langdon snapped it this time. "Your presence has been requested in the office. You will report there, now."
"How sad for you they abandoned the strap." Toby muttered, not at him, but at Ms Langdon. The teacher may have had everybody else cowed, but Toby backed down from nobody.
"October, that will be quite enough from you." Ms. Langdon did not countenance the use of nicknames -- a fact which needled Toby more than it did Trip.
Toby's feet scraped under her desk; Trip shot her a warning look. He knew what she was trying to do, she wanted to accompany him down there so he wouldn't have to face it alone. In typical Toby fashion, she'd raced right on past the fact that doing so would get her into more trouble than he likely was in. Not that she'd care: any amount of trouble was worth it for a friend.
Not a selfish bone in her body. Oh sure, she had her moments, but nothing really deep enough to count. Not like him. He probably would have stayed silent, and let Ms. Langdon sneer with impunity. Everybody thought Toby had some big brother/hero crush, but the truth was… I admire her.
Slowly he stood up, walked past Ms. Langdon without looking at her. But if the teacher tore a strip off of Toby for insolence… well, he'd have a few things to say about it. Maybe not actually say them -- he didn't have Toby's lack of fear in authority. Another way I wish I could be like her.
Out in the hall, he turned right and began trudging towards the office. Partway, it became clear that the office wasn't going to be his final destination, if he got there at all.
Oh no. No. This isn't…not me… He stopped dead in the hall, wanting to turn and run, knowing he couldn't. Knowing that it wouldn't be responsible behaviour. That was something else that got him in trouble with his peers – his insistence on taking the heat for what he'd done, on doing the right thing – but it was one of the few things about himself that he felt proud of. Quickly he shoved his hands in his pockets, so no one could see them shaking. There could only be one reason for the crowd of students, teacher and administrators milling around the door to the grade-three classroom. "Why me?"
That was the big question, wasn't it? Why him, why did it fall to a ten-year-old to solve a problem that the adults were afraid of? Because he answered himself, treacherously, he's your brother. Which meant what, exactly? That Trip had to clean up everything, had to deal with the undealable?
Just one of the joys of being the eldest. This big-brother stuff wasn't all that big a privilege as far as he was concerned. So far all it meant was a recycled name, and an expectation that he look after everything. That's not what I signed on for. Especially not in cases like this.
"Charles." Mr. Norrington, the vice-principal hurried up, taking Trip by the arm. "I'm sorry, but we really need you to do something. It's your brother, he won't listen, he won't…"
Trip tuned out the rest of it, a familiar litany by now. Was he the only person who saw a pattern here? Maybe this time James had done something worthy of expulsion, and Trip could spend a day not worrying that something would happen, could let it be someone else's problem. Given the exiles, it seemed like this time went beyond the usual screaming match, the hyper-fits. It seemed funny, usually it was the miscreant sent into the hall, not the rest of the class. At the same time, if it was James, it wasn't funny in the least.
"Okay. Give me a couple of minutes, will you?" He watched the adults sag with relief, felt another rush of resentment. All right, so he could generally get his brother down, cool the situation off, but not always. Sometimes… sometimes you just lock the door and pretend you can't hear the screaming. Everything pointed to this being one of those times, but how could you tell someone that the best thing to do was lock the kid in a closet?
He took a deep breath and stepped through the door into a disaster area. Desks lay over-turned all over the classroom, pads were scattered across the floor. Many of them were damaged from impact; more than just a fall was needed to produce that result. The large video screen for class lessons sported a large hole; a desk lay below it, right on a perfect angle for it to be a rebound. Oh, God. It was a prayer, because if James had gotten this bad, this strong…
Something slammed into him from behind, knocking him forward with enough force for whiplash. He felt something cut into his cheek, instinctively turned his head to shield his eye. His attacker rode him down, then grabbed a handful of hair and began smashing Trip's head against the floor. Shouts of incoherent rage affirmed the assailant's identity, as if there had been any doubt.
Trip struck back wildly with an elbow, loosening James' grip just enough to be able to scramble free. With no time to get to his feet, he rolled over onto his back, better able to see, better able to use his hands.
James leapt again, landing on Trip's chest this time, knocking the wind out of his older brother. He raised the stylus in his hand again, and Trip barely had time to get his hands up before it descended towards an eyeball. Hardly dangerous in normal hands, the simple tool suddenly transformed into the deadliest weapon Trip had ever imagined. Anything else – knives, guns, plasma weapons – had never been pointed at him before, had never been so close to actually taking his life. He looked up into the eyes of his brother -- flashing, dangerous crazy eyes --and a single thought filled his entire consciousness: I am going to die.
He should have been scared, became vaguely aware that he should be scared, but wasn't. What he was, was angry. Angry at the universe for giving him a crazy sibling, angry at everybody who felt he was the one who ought to be dealing with. And angry, deeply coldly rationally angry at James himself, who was – at this moment – the actual threat.
Pure reaction took over; he grabbed James' arm and twisted, twisted quick and hard until he heard a snap. The inevitable pain didn't phase James in the least – Trip knew it wouldn't, not with him like this -- but it did force his grip to weaken, if only because his arm could no longer physically operate. Not giving his brother a chance to react, Trip smashed his other hand twice, hard, into James' temple. The force of the blows took James off balance, and this time it was Trip who tackled his brother, grabbing hold of James' good arm and twisting it up behind his back before planting a knee on top of it.
"Stay down." He growled it into James' ear, leaning his full weight onto his knee for emphasis. Even if his condition made him the stronger, James position made Trip's order impossible to ignore. Not that he didn't try, wriggling and thrashing, but Trip was bigger, heavier and was in a position of advantage.
Using one hand for balance, Trip pulled at his shoelace with the other, until he worked it free from his shoe. He tied a slipknot in one end, then looped it around James' captive hand. Only then did he bring James' other arm around, wrapping the smaller boy's wrists tight -- maybe too tight -- but he wasn't about to take chances.
When he had James' arms secure, he climbed off, and used the lace from his other shoe to bind his brother's ankles. Only then did he allow himself a look at James' face, murderous rage matching the profanity and threats spewing from a child's mouth. He reached down, hauled James up and hauled him over his shoulders. James responded by banging his head against Trip's side, trying to find something he could bite. Trip ignored him now, no longer a threat. He walked to the door, not caring what it looked like, and stepped out into the curious, frightened crowd. The mass of people had grown, one in particular caught Trip's eye. Typical. There too late, and scared for the wrong son.
He walked over, deposited James at their father's feet. Blood dripped from his cheek all over his shirt, a clump of his hair still dangled in James' fingers, but it was Trip Charles Jr. feared, as though Trip were out to harm James.
"He needs help. Deal with it." Again, short, sharp words, impossible to be misunderstood. Child more grown up than the parent, with a better understanding of the truth, of reality. He walked away then, not wanting to deal with any of them. He could feel the cold rage draining, could feel the after-affects of too much adrenaline, too much stress, too much fear and loneliness. He knew, just knew that every single one of them would see James as the victim, though he had terrorised all of them. That all the sympathy would be saved for poor, sick, little James, that they'd demand from Trip compassion in the face of hell.
He left the school, not caring that he'd received no permission to do so. I just did what they were too fucking scared to. He deserved whatever small liberties he took right now, to hell with all of them. I'm ten fucking years old, and my brother just tried to kill me. Don't even think about telling me I broke the rules. Tears stung as they mixed into the cut on his cheek, he could feel his entire body beginning to shake now. The only cure was to keep walking, keep going somewhere, to the one person who just might believe that it wasn't his fault and could do something about it. Mommy, I'm scared. ]
He became vaguely aware that Kaci sat beside him now, holding his hand like she had on the ladder. A simple gesture meant to take away hurt, nothing more. But he needed that because pain was about all he could comprehend. Knowing someone was there -- that he wasn't alone -- was the only thing keeping him from coming apart.
Jonathan said nothing at first, just sat quietly, staring. "How could you live with that?" he asked, finally. "How could you deal with that, every day of your life, and not let it destroy you?"
"Honestly, mostly by not dealing with it. Before you sits a daily tourist of de Nile." Even he didn't laugh as the joke fell flat. He could see other questions forming, jumped in first. "He was diagnosed after that. The school insisted on it after all the damage he did, after he posed such a danger to his classmates. They wouldn't let him back until he'd been examined by a doctor." A diagnosis that explained everything to Trip, had been denied by his father until no more denials were possible. Bi-polar Disorder. Rarely did it manifest in kids; it usually waited around until the teenage years or later. Exceptions always existed, however, and James had fallen neatly into that category. Having a name for it made it easier: he no longer had to try to explain away James' behaviour with anything other than the simple truth.
"But still…" Jonathan gazed off into the distance for a moment. "Even if he was treated for it, knowing what he did…"
You don't know the half of it. Bi-polar, Trip understood, but James' jealousy towards Elizabeth still left him angry. So you weren't the baby anymore. I didn't hate you when you did that to me. Another memory flickered in, his father screaming in shock as he watched Trip sitting on the windowsill, easing baby Elizabeth back inside. Not believing when Trip tried to say that he wasn't the one putting her out, even as James watched from the floor beside the window. Only his mother had understood, had held him, told him that it was okay, that he'd done the right thing, and that James was too little to understand. But from that moment on, Elizabeth was well watched: Charles Jr. afraid of Trip, and Trip keeping her safe from James. It had worked out well for her; she'd been overprotected, but never felt unloved. Even James had adjusted, eventually accepting the fact that he could never reclaim his special status, and had settled into a grudging co-existence.
"Anyway, it's not like he was like that all the time." That irritated Trip the most: the way people thought that crazy was a constant state, that a bi-polar was either manic, or depressed. "Most times he was normal, more like you than me. A little hyper some days, a little subdued others, just like everybody else. We got along fine, then." That had been the hardest thing about walking away entirely. Knowing that the James that hurt David wasn't most-of-the-time James. Problem was, he could be that way, and took that risk every time he quit his medication. And Trip had grown past the point of being able to undo the damage that inevitably got done.
He glanced over again at Kaci, saw that she understood what he meant. Just because your family doesn't fit into 'normal' doesn't mean you can't love them. After all, she'd said that they didn't think she existed, not the other way around. At the same time, she knew the other tenet to that: You have to consider yourself, sometimes. Even if it hurts. He felt a sudden rush of gratitude that whatever circumstance had set this mess up, it had left her here too.
He decided to try his legs again, pulled himself up. They felt steadier now, as though a rest had been all they needed. Not perfect, but doable. He started back down the corridor, down again to main Engineering. He heard the others fall in behind him, didn't really care.
"It's just that… what you told me explains so much about Charles. He's always kept that from me, but I can see…"
Trip's jaw clenched again, irritation flooding back. "You're making excuses for him again, aren't you. 'Poor little Charles, had to grow up with all that craziness.'" He rounded on Jonathan, up into his face. "Well that was my past, and I didn't grow up into a person that hits people. They gotta be hitting me first, or threatening someone I care about. I may not be perfect, but I sure as hell see people as more than things."
"How can you make those kind of judgements about someone you've never met?" Jonathan held his ground, but looked like he was going to cry. Trip could actually see tears forming in the man's eyes, but felt no desire to be nice.
"Same way you can. You haven't met my brother, you haven't met his brother, but already you're willing to dismiss James as an unredeemable nutcase." At least Trip had enough experience to make that decision. He felt like crying himself out of pure frustration. How many times would he have to go through this shit; no wonder he never talked about it. "He's my brother. I love him like crazy, but I don't put my life in danger because of him. And I sure as hell don't blame his actions on anyone else. Not Mom, not Dad, and I damn well don't blame the victim."
"But I do provoke him sometimes…" At least Jonathan no longer denied the undeniable.
"Bullshit. Fucking bullshit. If he can't handle his own reactions… what the fuck is he doing in Starfleet anyway?" Maybe they had different rules over there, certainly sounded like they didn't have a problem with fraternisation. I don't care. Even if it's not against regulation, it's still wrong. He remembered a conversation with Toby from a couple of weeks ago, regarding rules and morality. That there were universal standards on some things, whether anyone liked to admit it or not.
Jonathan shook his head and turned away, as though Trip could never understand. You're right, I can't. He knew about the psychology of abuse – despite what people thought, he did have interests other than engineering – but had never understood the total lack of survival instinct. Anyway, how could someone who obviously had the guts and self-confidence to become a Starfleet captain be so lacking in basic personal confidence?
You made it all the way to commander. Yeah, but not by letting people beat him up. Indecision fell into a different category, more self-censorship than anything else.
I'll take responsibility for my actions, but other people shouldn't suffer because I have no self control. That tenet formed the cornerstone of his personal philosophy, covered most of his moral standpoints. The only problem was when people did get hurt, because no matter how much responsibility he took, he couldn't always make it better. He didn't actually try to hurt people though.
The journey continued, in uncomfortable silence.