Disclaimer: I own neither Enterprise nor its characters. This is for entertainment purposes only.
Author's Note: Thank you, to everyone who's taken the time to read and review this for me. Merci beaucoup, tout le monde. Which is about the extent of my French skills. Which makes me glad I don't live in Maillardville. But that's just random. And a great many thanks to my wonderful betas, silvershadowfire, gaianarchy and kate98 who were willing to wade through this for me.
And no, I haven't abandoned my other stuff… there's just a hiatus while I hunt down silvershadowfire's plot-bunny who has decided to abscond with my Squirrel. That, and I love a great bad-guy.
Chapter 3: Divisions
He heard a buzzing, but ignored it. The bugs couldn't get him here. He was safe here. Then the angel's voice and something else. Not God… God didn't sound like that – either of Him. But no matter what it was, his angel would protect him.
"What the hell is going on here?" Malcolm's roar woke him fully, and Trip jerked, instinctively clinging to Hess.
"Oh, grow up, Malcolm." Hess patted Trip's hand reassuringly and extricated herself. "We weren't up to anything. Now what do you want?" She stood protectively between them. There was no question whose side she was on here… if Malcolm tried anything he'd be breathing bubbles.
"We were looking for him." Malcolm gestured at the bed and Trip. "Imagine my surprise when I find him here." From the sound of his voice, Malcolm wasn't surprised at all, only angry.
"Given the situation, you shouldn't be. Now, what do you want, Malcolm?"
"Captain Archer wants to see him."
"Not without me, he doesn't." Even from here, Trip could see the dangerous glint in Hess' eyes. All she needed was a flaming sword, and the image would be complete.
My angel. But he couldn't ask this. He couldn't ask her to put herself in the way.
"I don't think…"
"You're forgetting the full extent of mine and Commander Tucker's relationship. If Captain Archer wants to speak with my client in any capacity, he will do so only in my presence."
"There's only one type of client you end up in bed with," Malcolm muttered.
Hess' hand moved so fast that Trip didn't even see it, only heard the smack of flesh against flesh, and saw the blood dripping from Malcolm's lip. Malcolm just stared at Hess in shock.
"If you ever make that sort of insinuation again, I will personally limit your ability to speak, permanently."
Malcolm glanced back and forth between Hess and Trip. "What is going on here?"
Hess glared at Malcolm, saying nothing.
"You wouldn't understand." Trip's voice was soft, still scared. Malcolm knew him and Hess, and still jumped to the wrong conclusion. How could he ever understand the sheer terror of…
Malcolm studied Trip's face, then shook his head. "Captain Archer still wants to see you. He wasn't too happy when he couldn't find you."
"No." No, Jon wouldn't be. Jon didn't like it when he couldn't get a hold of people when he wanted. Trip bowed his head. I just couldn't stay there. You guys don't know what it's like. Really, most guys didn't. They couldn't imagine the sheer horror and panic of being held down and forced to… He gagged, and Hess sprang back to his side.
"It's okay." She glared at Malcolm. "Tell Captain Archer," she spat the name out like it was poison, "that we'll be there."
Malcolm's face was unreadable. "I'll tell him." He sounded subdued though, as if thinking about something else. He turned and left, and Trip collapsed against Hess, burying his head in her side.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm sorry I'm so much trouble. I don't mean to…"
"You're not trouble." She rubbed his back, reassuringly. "You're just someone who needs help. That's my job. I'm supposed to help people." She sighed. "But we'd better hurry, because they're going to be expecting us."
He waited until her back was turned, then quickly swallowed a couple of his pills. He did need them. He wouldn't survive without them. He couldn't even deal with Malcolm, so how could he face Jon?
By the time they made it to the ready-room, he could feel them kicking in. Good. Jon hated quivering wrecks, which is what he would be without them.
He walked in and sat down where he was told. Jon didn't look happy to see Hess.
"I wanted to speak to Commander Tucker. I didn't say 'bring a friend.'"
"You will not be speaking to Commander Tucker without my presence. Furthermore, I will determine what questions he will or will not answer, is that clear, Sir?"
"I don't really have a choice in the matter, do I?" Jon sounded sarcastic.
"Not if you want this conversation to continue." Hess didn't even blink.
"I've done some checking. Apparently Starfleet was unaware of your record when you were accepted." Now Jon turned to Trip.
"I didn't tell them." His own voice was flat, dull.
"Obviously." Jon glared. "Admiral Gardener wasn't any happier to hear the news than I was."
"No, Sir."
"I'm supposed to arrange for a Captain's Mast, and if necessary, recommend charges for court-martial."
Trip said nothing, but Hess jumped into the space. "On what grounds? He was neither legally nor ethically bound to disclose the information."
"He lied on his…"
"No, Sir, if this is in regards to his youth conviction, he did not. The point of expunging a record is to remove the consequences of such an act from the offender's future. If you have a problem with that, Sir, I suggest you write your congressman. However, as the law stands, Commander Tucker has done nothing warranting a court-martial."
Jon opened his mouth. Hess kept going. "And if you proceed in this course of action, I will have no choice but to bring charges against Starfleet in general, and you and Admiral Gardner in specific. Both civil and criminal charges including slander – if necessary libel – and malicious prosecution."
That's lots. Trip looked back and forth between the two. They were starting to fade on him. Oh.
"Have you considered asking your client what his opinion in the matter is?" Jon turned to Trip. Then he stopped and stared.
Funny. Not funny for a laugh, but funny strange. Jon didn't normally stare.
"Trip?"
Me? He supposed it must be about him.
"Commander Tucker." Now Jon sounded angry at someone. Wait, that's me too. It didn't hurt though. That was the thing. I feel nothing. Not happy, not sad, not scared, not brave. Not like T'Pol felt nothing, though. She just hid and ignored her feelings. I don't feel.
"Sir!" Hess moved down, her face now directly in his line of vision. "Oh, God… what's wrong?" She grabbed his wrist and pressed down with two fingers. "What did you take?"
How'd she know that? "Medicine. Supposed to."
"I thought you refused medical treatment."
"What kind of medicine, honey?" Both Jon and Hess at the same time. It would be nice if they'd slow down and take turns. Not that it mattered.
"For me. Doctor."
"Which doctor, honey? Phlox? Was it Doctor Phlox?" Hess squeezed his hands, as though trying to get his attention.
He shook his head. Of course it wasn't Phlox. This was from before.
Hess looked almost panicked. He wasn't sure why. It was his medicine, it even said so on the bottle. "How old was it? When did you get it?"
He shrugged. Behind Hess, Jon looked furious. That wasn't good. "Of all the stupid goddamn…"
"Shut up!" Hess turned on Jon. "One more word and I'm filing a restraining order." She turned back to Trip. "We need to get you to the doctor, okay?"
He shook his head. He didn't need the doctor. He'd taken his medicine. He'd be okay now. He'd be good. He'd just sit.
Jon didn't listen. Jon called Phlox, then came back. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"I said…"
"You shut up, Lieutenant. Trip," Jon grabbed him by the shoulders and shook. "What did you…"
"Get out!" Hess pulled Jon away. Amazing, since she was so small and he was so big. "I am filing a restraining order. If you come within a hundred feet of him, I'll have you arrested."
"Go for it." Jon broke free and went back to Trip. "What kind of a…" He stopped making sense after that. He was speaking, but they weren't words. Trip stared instead at the stars out the window. They were pretty. Streaking by, all warped. Engine. A warp engine. Faster than light, light looks fast. He blinked slowly and watched them. They were like fireflies. Star in a bottle. But that made no sense. Nothing ever did. Two things buzzed, one high, one low. They wanted his attention.
He turned, and blinked again. Why did they want his attention?
Someone else came in. Phlox. Funny looking doctor, but good. Except, he didn't want another doctor. Doctors didn't work. Doctors all said different things, but none worked.
Doctor did something, said something. Jon said something back. Nicci said something. Doctor shook his head. Then Nicci went into his pockets – his, not Doctor's, not Jon's. Gave something to Doctor. Doctor looked worried.
Why? It was medicine, his medicine. A doctor said he needed it.
Jon grabbed his arm, levered him up. Started walking towards the door. Trip tried to follow, but he couldn't move that fast. Jon was too fast.
Jon dragged him to Sickbay, dropped him on a table. Doctor started fussing, and Nicci hovered. Then Doctor gave him something from a hypospray, and he went to sleep.
(dds)
I wonder what he did this time? Jimmy found himself responding to another page from the captain. It had to be Trip; it could only be about Trip. Big-Brother'd done it again, and now Jimmy had to deal with the fallout. Jimmy sighed. It shouldn't be like this, but it wasn't really Big-Brother's fault. He just didn't have any judgement. Like those fires. Trying to tell everybody that James did it, when it was Trip's clothes that smelled like smoke and Trip that had all the fire stuff. Fire movies and monster movies. And so upset when no one would believe him. So he went and started cutting pieces of himself, saying that maybe then people could tell the difference, 'cause they could look at the scars. No wonder Mom and Dad took him to those doctors.
That lawyer he'd had must have done something about that, too. Otherwise, with Trip's medical history, how would he have made it into Starfleet? Probably did the same thing they did at Jimmy's trial, and blamed Jimmy for everything.
'Cept he's my big brother. Didn't that mean that Trip was supposed to be the responsible one? Jimmy rang the doorbell to the captain's ready-room, trying to guess just what was up this time.
"Come in." No, Captain Archer didn't sound all that happy.
Jimmy opened the door and went in. Archer sat at his desk, his expression darker than the sky outside the window.
"Sit down."
"Yessir." Best to be extra polite here. After all, until he knew what Trip had done, there was no sense going down the wrong road. That was a big difference between them. Trip seemed to have no connection between his mouth and his brain. He'd just jump in without checking to see if there was more than an inch of water in the pond.
"Can you tell me anything about this?" Archer took a small bottle out of his desk drawer and placed it on the desk. Jimmy recognised it immediately.
"I didn't know he still had anything like that."
Archer raised his eyebrows, waiting for Jimmy to continue.
"Well, I told you when he was younger, he used to have these attacks? The doctors stuck him on those, said they'd help with the symptoms. But he used to say he hated taking them. He said they made him fuzzy." Jimmy wasn't positive what happened, but he could guess. You took some, didn't you? Without even thinking that drugs changed as they got old. Typical Trip. No judgement whatsoever.
"I think you'd better tell me more about your brother." Archer's tone brooked no disagreement.
Jimmy shifted in his seat. "What did you want to know?"
"From the sound of things, everything. Apparently, I don't know much." Archer sounded irritated at the prospect. Jimmy pitied the guy. Here he'd thought he'd had a friend, and it turned out that the 'friend' was a complete stranger. And even stranger than that.
"Well, I already explained how we look alike. Mom and Dad figured that a two year gap was pretty good… I guess there's some psychological studies about that. Trip was always a little strange, I guess. I mean he'd get lost in things. He'd start doing something, and you could stand there and talk to him, and he'd never even know you were there. It would be weird things sometimes, like screws. He had this collection of screws, and sometimes he'd just sit on his bed sorting and studying them. Sometimes he'd find one from another country – like these ones that he said were from Canada because they had a funny square depression in the top instead of the usual slot or star shape. He knew all the names for the different types – the technical names – and would tell you what each one was used for." Jimmy thought for a moment. "It was like when he found something that caught his attention, he became obsessed. When he started diving, he used to spend every moment he could underwater." Jimmy shuddered. "I hate being underwater. But Trip loved it. Sometimes his tanks would be running on empty before he'd come up. Mom and Dad would scream at him because they were so worried, and he'd just tune them out. It was kind of scary when he'd do that. It was like you didn't even exist to him anymore. Like you weren't real."
"He told me you robbed a liquor store. That's how you ended up in prison." It seemed that Archer did have a specific story he wanted told.
"We were kids. I mean, I was just fourteen. I couldn't even drive. But Trip always let me hang out with him, and… we weren't the best group of kids, any of us. I forget whose idea it was, but I remember that Trip came up with the main plan. He insisted on having the gun – one of the other guys said I should carry it, because I'd get in less trouble, but Trip wouldn't let me." Jimmy grew quiet. "I never thought he'd actually shoot anybody."
"What happened?"
Jimmy coughed. "Well… it's all kind of confusing, Sir. Everything happened so fast. And everybody was yelling, and then Trip shot the clerk…" Who started screaming louder than anybody.
"And then, later, Trip cut himself a deal. He got a better lawyer than I did, and I didn't want to tell on him. I mean, he was my brother, and I didn't want to get him in trouble." Then to see Trip up there on the stand, saying those things he said. That was a complete betrayal. "I was just a kid." He said the last so softly he could barely hear himself. Then he cleared his throat. "After that, I never saw him again. I mean, we weren't even in the same facility, and he…" Jimmy took a deep breath. "…he wouldn't see any visitors. He wouldn't see Mom and Dad. That hurt them so much." They'd even asked Jimmy if he could write Trip a letter and see if he could get his brother to listen. After all, they'd been close. All Mom and Dad wanted Trip to know was that it was okay, and they still loved him. But the letter came back, along with a letter from Trip's lawyer to refrain from any further contact. Trip just cut his family off, just like that. The only person he'd ever talk to was Elizabeth. It was years before Mom and Dad heard from him, and that was just a quick call after their little sister died. Bastard system didn't even want to let me go to her funeral. But he'd fought and petitioned, and they took him under guard. It wasn't too hard to get away then, but like he told Big-Brother, he didn't want to spend the rest of his life in prison. Which is what you set me up for. And what kind of a justice system was it, anyway, when they didn't even want to let you go say goodbye to your baby sis?
"I always got the impression that Trip got along with his parents."
Jimmy looked sad. "When he was younger, I guess he did. But you know teenagers… I don't think anybody gets along with their parents at that age."
Archer gave a short laugh. "Probably not. And what I do know about Trip, he does tend to take things to extremes."
Jimmy nodded. "That much hasn't changed then. It's like I said: he'd kind of become obsessed with things. There was never any middle ground." Jimmy sighed. "Maybe that's part of his problem. He never could find a happy medium."
"I wish he could, sometimes." Archer said, softly.
"Yeah. All I know is that it wasn't easy being apart from him. I mean, all my life my big-brother had been there, and suddenly I was in jail and he wasn't there anymore."
"That must have been hard." Archer sounded sympathetic.
"It was. It ain't fun in there… the movies don't even come close. Even in Juvvie… you couldn't even imagine what goes on. Not really."
"Then Trip didn't go to a juvenile facility?" Now Archer sounded a bit surprised.
"No… it's weird. The deal was as a juvenile, but he ended up in an adult prison. That freaked out Mom and Dad… especially when you consider."
"Consider?"
"Pretty blond boy in a place like that?" Jimmy chewed his lip. "He musta picked up some nasty tricks just to survive. I know."
"And you were even younger." Archer seemed lost in thought for a moment. "Thank you, Mr. Tucker. This has been informative."
"Jimmy, please." He stood up and put out his hand. Archer took it.
"Jon. After all, you're not a member of my crew, I can hardly ask you to keep calling me 'Sir.'"
"What's happening to us, by the way? I'm assuming you can't keep us hanging around?"
"Who? Oh. We're rendezvousing with a Vulcan vessel. It will take you to Vulcan, and from there, I guess it's up to you. Enterprise is still an exploration vehicle. They expect us to go out, not back." Archer smiled a little.
"Well, Jon, I guess I can't ask for more than that." Jimmy smiled back. "In fact, that sounds real good to me."
Archer seemed to think of something else. "Why don't you join me for dinner? I've got a ton of questions for you, but right now I've got things I have to get to."
"That would be an honour, Jon. Hopefully I'll be able to answer them." Probably more than Trip ever had, that was for sure. Oh, brother…
(dds)
He felt like somebody'd stuffed his mouth full of feathers. His fingernails hurt. His head had a plasma torch aimed at each temple, and right between his eyes. He was, unfortunately, alive and once again able to feel.
He opened his eyes and found the lights of Sickbay staring back at him. Yes, he was definitely alive – damn doctor had done it again. He wanted to puke, but he still hadn't eaten anything.
He rolled his head over to look at the door. Jon stood there, but Hess blocked his way. Wordlessly, she handed him a padd. Jon read it, glared at her and then at him, then stormed off.
He rolled his head back and closed his eyes again. He wanted to sleep some more. But he was too uncomfortable to sleep. 'Don't close your eyes. Don't turn out the light.' Sleeping wasn't safe. You never knew what would happen if you fell asleep. That was why he was so good at going without it. He'd learned to, learned to adapt. Sleep light. Don't turn it out. He'd get no sleep here. Not with the animals and the fuss. Everybody thought he was a heavy sleeper, but that was just a fake-out. The slightest thing could wake him. It could be somebody. And you never knew what somebody might do. What you did was figure out who that somebody was, first. Wake quick enough, and you'd have time no matter what. Don't let them sneak up on you. How could he have forgotten those rules?
Simple. He'd let himself believe that he'd never need them again. He'd let himself believe that he was a good person surrounded by other good people, and good people didn't need to worry about things like that. I fell for my own game. Maybe the law said you couldn't bring up 'prior bad acts,' but wasn't your identity all about what you'd done? You didn't escape things like that.
"How're you feeling?" Hess came to his side and stood there, watching him. "That was kind of scary; I thought we were going to lose you."
"I'm sorry. I just can't… I can't…"
"Shhh." She laid a hand on his forehead. "They're not coming anywhere near you."
He stared at her, not comprehending, not believing. How? And why should James care?
"I've got restraining orders against both of them, which means if they come anywhere near you, they can be thrown in the brig, even if I'm the one to do it."
"Who?" Who was 'they?' James, that made sense… but 'they' meant more than one.
"Your brother and Captain Archer."
Why Jon? Then it hit him. Jon belonged to James now. He believed James and, like everyone else who did, would never see the truth. "Oh."
"I'm sorry, I know you don't want to do that, but…"
"It's okay." No, it wasn't really, but what could you do? Jon wasn't Trip's friend anymore, not if he'd sided with James. And if you're not my friend… There was no such thing as neutral, not in a situation like this.
He sat up, carefully. He didn't want to stay here. Normally the infirmary was semi-safe, but Phlox had to listen to Jon about most things. Maybe not on the straight medical issues, but if Jon wanted to talk to Trip, Jon would talk to Trip. You can't stay awake all the time, Nicci. Even she needed to sleep, even if it was only a couple of hours every night.
"Hey. Hold on there, mister. Doctor Phlox doesn't want you going anywhere." She grabbed his arm, steadying him.
"I can't stay here." He needed safer ground. He needed somewhere that nobody would think to look for him, where he could hide out.
"You had a near-fatal overdose of anti-depressants." Hess tried to get him to lie back down again.
"Paper won't stop James." If he didn't care about killing people, why should James care about a restraining order?
"It's an excuse. So far, he hasn't done anything we can lock him up for, but we can with that. And if he doesn't violate it, that's even better for you."
"Hess, you don't understand." Trip turned pleading eyes to his last remaining friend. "He'll get to me. If he knows where I am, he'll get to me." I know you like to think you know everything, girl, but you don't know this. For which I am eternally grateful. "He knows ways of doing it."
"James?"
"Or Jon." Look at the number of times Jon had overridden Phlox and badgered a patient. Or risked their lives, like he did with Hoshi. Jon gets his way. Funny, he'd never noticed that before.
No. No, whatever Jon might have done in his life, whatever side he chose, he wasn't like James. At least Jon always had a reason you could defend and had the soul and conscience to feel guilty for having done it, if it turned out that he had been wrong. Look at what he went through after throwing that pirate in the airlock. You shoulda let me take care of it. They wouldn't have needed the airlock – Trip had learned enough ways of garnering cooperation. Look after me, and I look after you. You either did favours, or you were the favour. He'd done both – it was amazing how much a person would help you out when the drill was right next to their eye. Death wasn't scary, pain was. And people were like sharks – sensitive about the eyes.
Trip shivered at the memory. He could still hear the whine of the drill and feel the heat of it in his hands. He hadn't felt anything at the time, as though he wasn't even there, as though it wasn't even real. But now… now, he could almost see the blood and bone and the spatter that had never happened. He hadn't actually done anything, but… would I? It was nice to think that he wouldn't have, that he would have backed out, but he knew better. Because you always knew you could be on the other end as well, feeling the hot breath on the back of your neck and trying not to listen to the grunts, even as you were too scared and alone and hurt to scream. And knowing that it wouldn't matter anyway – even if you did scream, nobody would care.
That was your part of the deal, he reminded himself. He'd chosen the adult facility… it was either that risk ending up in the same place as James.
Mom… He hadn't let them see him, didn't want them to see what he'd become and what had happened to him. He didn't want them to see the blood and the bruises, and the way he sometimes limped when he walked. Bad enough that both their sons were locked away; they didn't need to know all the details and circumstances. When he got out, the thought of a reunion was too painful. How much did they blame him? James was still in jail. Wouldn't his presence remind them of that and the fact that Trip was the one who put him there? Besides, he wasn't the same person anymore. You wouldn't know me. He'd put on ten pounds of solid muscle and had a punch that guys twice his size had learned to respect. He'd learned other new skills too – skills he found himself using later, when he least expected. Where the hell do you think I learned to pick locks and disable security systems? They didn't get that specific at E-school. But at
school… well, everybody knew something, right? And Trip was always willing to learn; even prison couldn't grind that trait out of him.
"Mister Tucker," Phlox came rushing in, just in time to stop Trip from sliding off the bed. "You shouldn't even be sitting up, you're in no shape to go running around the ship…"
"I'm in no shape to stay here, Doc." Trip shook himself loose and got down. "If you're smart, you'll let me go. And don't ask where, because Jon can't make you tell what you don't know."
"Commander…"
Trip shook his head. "Tell Jon I quit. He'll have the letter within the day."
"No, Sir, don't do that." Hess looked shocked. "You don't want to do that. This is your life."
"I know. But it won't be." He felt calmer now that he'd said it. Maybe it was because it was said, now. My career is over. He could accept that and move on. If only it didn't hurt like hell. "We rendezvous with that Vulcan ship in a week, right?" He'd found out what was happening with the refugees – he'd hitch a ride with them and James could stay here with his new best-buddy. He used to be mine.
"They can't take it away from you, Sir." Her lip jutted out, and her jaw quivered. "You can get a transfer… I'll go with you. I wouldn't want to be here if you weren't, anyway…"
"You gotta let me go sometime, Hess." He stepped away from her, trying not to think about what those words did to her heart. "Sometimes… sometimes you can't fix what's broken. You just gotta scrap the part."
"You are not a piece of machinery! You're my friend!" She hit him, her frustration bubbling to the top.
"Then do me a favour. Let me go. Don't make me feel guilty that I've held you up, or put you at any kind of risk." He quickened his pace, trying to see through the tears that threatened to burn through his eyes. But I am your friend, girl. And I'm not going to let you throw away your one shot because of a loser like me. She deserved better than this. She deserved better than some useless coward of an ex-con with no future and no hope. And she had a start on it… look at the way Malcolm reacted this morning. He's good for you girl, better than me.
"Why?" She caught up with him, refusing to listen. "You're the only friend I've got, really. Why should I…"
"I'm not. And if I am, I shouldn't be." He found himself shouting. "You've wasted enough time on me as it is! Do something for yourself, for once! You can't save me! Nobody can!" He shoved her, knocking her backwards onto the floor. She hadn't even tried to defend herself, not expecting violence, not from him. He left her behind, getting out of there while she stared after him, tears in her eyes now. Good. Maybe she could see him for what he was, not what he pretended to be.
I hate you. The words weren't directed at Hess, at Jon, or even at James. They were meant for only one man, the only one who could hear them. I hate you, Charles Tucker III. I hate you so much… you've ruined my life. He did let the tears fall now, there was no reason he had to keep up appearances. He'd lost everything, now. There was just one thing left to do.
(dds)
"He did what? Thank you, Doctor. No, I don't think so. No." Jon turned away from the com shaking his head. "Sometimes…"
"Trip again?" Jimmy took a sip of his water and nodded. "I know what you mean. There are times when you're sure he's a genius and others when you wonder if he even knows how to think."
Jon nodded. "I never thought I'd see the day he'd turn on Hess, though. Those two have been best friends for longer than I've known him." He seemed almost contemplative. "And I never thought he'd be stupid enough to get violent with her."
Jimmy raised an eyebrow quizzically.
"Hess has been known to beat up on MACOs just for practice. Your brother might have a good punch, but the trick would be landing it." Jon looked at Jimmy pointedly. "She may look small and fragile, but a lot of people have learned the hard way how deceiving that is. She grew up with five older brothers and they taught her every dirty trick they've ever learned. And when you consider that a large amount of her family is in law-enforcement, that's a lot of training."
Jimmy snorted. "Big-Brother hanging out with a family of cops. Now that's something I wouldn't have thought of." It was good information to have though.
"I'll bet." Jon shook his head again. "Now that I know what I do, it surprises me, too."
"I guess he just didn't tell them," Jimmy smiled wryly. "But what's the story with this?" He laid a padd on the table. "A restraining order?"
"I got one too. Hess can be a little overprotective at times." Jon swallowed a gulp of iced tea. "She seems to think that I'm somehow a threat to the health and welfare of her 'client.'" Jimmy could hear the quotes around the last word.
"Client?" Jimmy jerked his head back in confusion. "I thought she was an engineer."
"Double degrees," Jon smirked. "Yeah, as hard as it is to believe, she pulled off a Law Degree from Stanford as well as Engineering at UC Berkeley." Jon sounded almost disgusted at the fact that the girl had managed such a feat. "Every time your brother gets into trouble, she tries to pull him out of it. Of course, half the time she's the reason he's in trouble to start with…"
"Amazing." So even out here, Trip had landed himself some heavy-duty legal counsel. That explained the friendship, too… it must be nice having a lawyer you didn't have to pay. Though why he'd chosen now to destroy that set-up, Jimmy couldn't imagine. But that's Big-Brother for you. The worst sense of timing in the universe. Like the time he walked in on Mom and the next-door-neighbour… Jimmy'd found him sitting out in the garage, dismantling a bike and muttering to himself. Mom had been understandably upset: Trip was supposed to be at school, not coming home sick in the middle of the day without telling anyone. It had taken hours for Jimmy to find out what was wrong, and Trip had been mortified when Jimmy wanted to know more about what 'Mom and Mrs. Gauge' had been doing. In fact, Trip didn't talk much for days after that, except to himself.
It was pretty disturbing the way Trip did that, too. Sometimes it was just muttering, but other times it was loud, coherent sentences, like he expected an answer back. And sometimes he would answer back, and the scary thing was that when he did he was usually saying that it was Jimmy who was crazy. But I never talked to myself. Or walls, or trees, or any number of things that Big-Brother used to talk to. Mom and Dad even had him tested for schizophrenia at one point when Jimmy mentioned that it was worrying him, but the doctors said that wasn't it, and to wait and see if he grew out of it. I guess he did, or else people around here don't care.
"Trip always was a little strange, though. I think I said." Jimmy took another bite of his steak. "This really is excellent, you know. You have a great cook."
"Thank you." Jon looked almost proud, like he'd cooked it himself. "I had to pull a lot of strings to get Chef out here… Headquarters really didn't want to let him go."
"I can imagine." With food like this, no wonder Big-Brother was getting soft. They didn't feed us like this in prison. Of course, if they did, everybody'd be breaking the law just to get in. But now… now it was Big-Brother out in the cold, and Jimmy with his feet under the captain's table. I wonder what you're eating tonight.
(dds)
Bang. Bang, bang! The sound of protesting metal echoed off the bare walls as Trip hammered on the empty cargo container. Hayes with all his fancy gear never thought of this. Tried and true. Trip punched the container again and again, ignoring the pain in his knuckles and the impact energy that raced up his arm and into his shoulder. Cargo containers didn't give, so all that energy came back on you, taught you what it was like to hit something solid. And bare knuckles, not gloves, so you toughened your hands up and gave them a taste of what a landed punch felt like.
Besides, it was cold in here, so he had to keep moving. One spare little space heater didn't add a lot of warmth to the area; the little unit wasn't designed for a task like keeping things warm between the inner and outer hulls. But with luck, they wouldn't look for him here, wouldn't think that he'd hide out somewhere like this.
Just like home. Except for the amount of space, this area had a lot in common with his old prison cell. Poorly lit, poorly heated, and poorly decorated. The only light he had came from a trouble-light he'd hung from one of the beams – shadows served as his source of company. But this was his space now, his new space, one that James hadn't violated. And if he does, I'll violate him. There were rules, after all, and one of those rules was that you didn't mess with another guy's space. James knew those rules, so he wouldn't be surprised at the consequences.
It's a new day, brother, and a new game. The use of James' own term seemed fitting. He'd just cut his last tie to civilisation: he didn't have to obey those rules anymore. Congratulations, you broke me. You win. Let James lie and charm. Trip would be honest. Brutally.
"And what did that thing ever do to you?"
Trip jumped and then turned to glare at the intruder. "I might have known you'd find me. What the hell do you want, Malcolm?"
Malcolm shrugged and stepped through the gap in the wall, replacing the panel behind him. "Your little minion was worried about you. I'm sorry I took so long, but I took the liberty of checking the airlocks first."
"Tell her to mind her own business. And you can do the same with yours." Trip glared, feeling the sweat run down his face, despite the cold. He wiped his elbow across his forehead, and glanced back at the container again. Ready for round two?
"Ah… but this is my business." Malcolm settled down cross-legged on the floor. "A missing crewmember, possibly suicidal…"
"I'm not a crewmember. I told Phlox to tell Jon I quit." He started up again on the container, hammering even harder now.
"Oh. Well, then you're a possible security threat. After all, you do know all of these systems forward and backward. If you are feeling disgruntled, who's to say that you wouldn't cause catastrophic damage to the ship?" Malcolm's voice clearly said it was an excuse even he didn't believe.
"What the hell do you want, Malcolm?" Trip punctuated the question with a flurry of quick shots. One thing about those training sessions: they'd improved his speed.
"To make sure that you're okay. I know you think that nobody cares…"
"Nobody should care. That's the problem, Mal. All you guys thinking that you can help me… well you can't. I'm not worth the help, anyway." Trip tried out a combination. "You're getting yourself mixed up in something you don't understand."
"Why wouldn't I understand it?"
"Because it's another world, Mal." A world that decent people could never hope to understand.
"So's Vulcan, but I can deal with T'Pol."
"Vulcan runs on logic." It didn't run on hatred and revenge. Look after me, and I'll look after you. Of course there was the codicil of 'cross me, and you'll live to regret it.' If a Vulcan used violence, it was an instant response to a situation. They didn't hunt you down for something you'd done yesterday or a week ago. They didn't wait with a homemade knife until you let your guard down and turned your back.
"So?"
"Don't do this to yourself, Malcolm. Jon's not my friend anymore, so it probably wouldn't be a good idea for you to be."
"How do you know that?" Listening to Malcolm, this conversation could have been an everyday chat over tea and crumpets. He really didn't get it.
"I know Jon. We'd been having trouble as it was. Me, this… it's the last straw." Malcolm's first loyalty had to be to his commanding officer. It was the way Malcolm had been raised, and the way he'd been trained.
Malcolm studied him, quietly. "Hess is right. You are suicidal."
"What the hell are you talking about, Malcolm?" Trip stopped hammering the drum to stare.
"Remember, I've seen it before. Combative, abrasive… pushing people away and cutting the ties… they're classic symptoms. You're getting prepared to play the martyr again and sacrifice yourself to save everybody else." Malcolm took a small box out of his pocket and Trip recognised it immediately.
"How the hell did you get…"
"Now, these look nasty." Malcolm ignored him, opening the box and seeming to examine the contents. "Do they really work?"
Trip said nothing.
Malcolm took one of the rings out of the box, and turned it over in his hands. "Elegant, really. Quite the craftsmanship."
"Yeah, they work." They weren't much really, just pieces of wire wound into rings with sharp barbs on the outside to dig into flesh when you punched someone. Brass knuckles with a twist. The first guy to get it with them had been shocked. They didn't cut deep, but they weren't meant to. He'd fashioned them to flay the skin off of somebody's face, or to get through a thin layer of clothing. They weren't designed for self-defence; they were designed to punish.
"You've used them?"
"Yes." He'd used them. More than once. They'd become his signature – when someone got ripped to shreds, everybody knew that person had pissed off Trip's 'guardian angel.'
"Would you again?"
Trip looked away. I wish I could say I wouldn't. But you never knew what the circumstances were going to be. I never thought I'd see James again, either.
Malcolm threw the box at him and he caught it. "Why can't you answer that question?"
"I…"
"Still have a conscience?" Malcolm sighed. "Did I ever tell you that I ran away from home when I was sixteen?"
Trip shook his head. "No. You didn't."
"It's another world." Malcolm threw Trip's words back at him. "On the streets. My first night out, I was beaten and robbed when I tried to find a place to sleep. I had people threaten to kill me because they wanted my jacket, or my shoes. I ate things that I don't even want to think about now. I know every single one of you used to look at me and wonder how I became an armoury officer. After all, I'm hardly the biggest or strongest candidate for the job… I'm not even the fastest or the smartest. Do you know how I beat Hayes? A MACO? The 'best of the best?'"
Trip shook his head. "I assumed you got lucky."
"Because Hayes was a MACO. He was a professional, and he expected me to be a professional, too. I broke the rules, used techniques that weren't in the book. Some of them aren't in any book. The only way you learn them is when someone tries to kill you with them." His voice hardened. "So, you see I do know what it's like to sleep without sleeping, and to try to get the other guy before he gets you." Malcolm smiled slightly. "That's why I always liked that scene."
"Scene?" Trip wrinkled his brow at the shift in conversation.
"Raiders of the Lost Ark. Where Harrison Ford shoots the guy with the sword? You don't waste time on fancy tricks and threats. He says he's going to kill you, you kill him first."
"You ever gone looking for someone to give him a beating?" That was the difference. Letting yourself become part of the violence.
"Not in the last six years." Malcolm said calmly.
"What the fuck? Come on, Mal… you've never done that." Not in a million years. Mild-mannered Malcolm? No way.
"Yes, I have." Malcolm didn't even change expression. "My sister-in-law showed up at my door one day with her kids – her husband had gotten drunk and hit her and them. This is Madeline's husband's sister… so she wasn't even really family. But he'd picked a really bad time to do it, because I'd been fighting with Starfleet bureaucracy about weaponry for Enterprise – something I was right about, incidentally – and had one cadet in my group with a real attitude, and I couldn't really pound on him. So I went over there, and I expressed my displeasure in no uncertain terms."
Trip blinked. Only Malcolm could describe it that way. "And no one pressed charges."
"No. But then would you want to admit that you beat on your family?" Malcolm smiled slyly. "And then got your ass kicked by someone like me?"
"No." Trip admitted. "No, I wouldn't. But at least you had a decent reason. I used to do it because I was asked to, or because I knew I would be asked to…"
"And what were the consequences of saying no? How does anybody know what they'd do when faced with that situation? 'What is morality in any given time or place? It is what the majority then and there happen to like, and immorality is what they dislike.'" Trip knew it was a quote, but was unwilling to hazard a guess as to who had originally said it.
"Alfred North Whitehead." Malcolm supplied. "British mathematician and philosopher. Everybody follows the rules of the society they live in, or pays the consequences. In your society, the consequences were rather severe."
"Yeah." Severe was one way to put it. "But that's just an excuse, Mal… I mean…" Damnit, he was starting to cry again. He couldn't do that, crying was a weakness.
"You know, my uncle used to say that the terms 'sixteen' and 'stupid' were synonymous. It took me a while to realise what he meant. We like to think we have judgement at that age… but we don't have it in the least. And from what I hear, you went from a bad situation into more of the same. Maybe even worse."
Trip shook his head. No… not worse. Maybe some of the things were worse, but overall… They didn't try to kill me every night. They didn't try to make me think I was crazy. They weren't my little brother. That made it easier, knowing that the face that looked down on you didn't match your own. And when things were over, you could sleep at night, you didn't have to lie awake and wonder if the enemy was coming back. And once you learned that there were rules… well, there were rules. With James, there had been no rules, no consistency. That's where a lot of the terror came from. You never knew when, you never knew how.
"Don't tell me James actually…" Finally, something seemed to shock Malcolm.
"No." No need for Malcolm to finish the sentence, Trip knew what he meant. "Not to me."
"To other children."
Trip turned away. He couldn't look at Malcolm anymore. He couldn't look at anybody anymore. "I never told. By the time I found out, I didn't tell anybody anything anymore. I knew he'd lie… I knew that even if the kids said who it was, he'd say it was me. And how could anyone tell the difference?"
"And you knew that he'd kill you."
Trip nodded. That shouldn't have mattered, though. "I'm just a coward. That's all. I'm too afraid of my baby brother to do anything to stop him." He laughed nastily and turned around, spreading his arms wide. "Look at me! I can't even deal with it now! Running to ground… setting myself up a hidey-hole and letting him get away with whatever he likes. He runs me. He owns me."
"He doesn't own you." Malcolm stood up and crossed his arms over his chest. "The fact that you're here, the fact that you care enough to try and keep your friends out of danger… you're fighting him the best you can."
"'The best I can' would be putting him in the morgue," Trip muttered.
"Could you? Could you really look your brother in the eye and kill him? Knowing that you were there to commit murder, knowing that you'd be going to prison again, this time for the rest of your life?"
Trip shook his head. "That's why…"
"That's why he's the psychopath and you're not. Because you do know the difference between right and wrong, and you do care. Look at you. You're beating yourself up for things you did years ago to people that could hardly be called 'innocent.' And between you and that nut, you've blown everything out of proportion."
"Nut?"
"That creature that looks like she escaped from a manga drawn by someone on hallucinogens. The one that would use a sledgehammer to pound in a finishing nail."
Trip crumbled. "She probably hates me more than anybody. What I said to her…"
"Bounced right off that armour plating she calls a head. Mostly. I was threatened with dismemberment if I didn't find you and talk some sense into you, and I'm not saying which member."
Trip started laughing, partly at the joke, but mostly from pure hysteria. "I can't believe she'd do that. Well, I can, but I can't…"
"She cares. She probably cares more about you than she does about me."
Trip's head snapped up. "Are you saying…"
"I thought that would get your attention," Malcolm said dryly. "I've got ears, I do hear rumours every now and then. What I'm saying is that you're her 'Boy.' There are three creatures in this world I would never risk doing harm to, because it would mean my life. One is that rabbit, another is that cat, and the third is you."
"Good, because that's my cat." Trip's expression grew a little distant. "I just couldn't keep him where I was staying… and by the time I got a place where I could, he'd been with Hess for too long. It wouldn't have been fair to take him away."
"For the cat, or for Hess?"
Trip chuckled softly. "Both of them, I guess. Besides, he's better there."
"Better?"
"I had a cat. Before him, when I was a kid. He ate some poison or something, or maybe James fed it to him. I wouldn't put it past him. Well, it wasn't really my cat, just a neighbourhood stray…" Trip felt his chest catch, "But I'd feed him under the porch – Mom and Dad wouldn't let us have pets like that in the house – and after awhile he let me hold him and pet him," tears started to stream down his cheeks, "and then one day, I went out, and he was lying under the porch, and he wasn't breathing… his eyes were wide open and he was staring at me, but he wasn't breathing. I was ten… you know how you are at ten, anything's possible. I remember… I was thinking that maybe I could bring him back, like they did in Frankenstein to the monster… bring him alive again if he was hit by lightning."
"Which is why you were up on the roof." Malcolm's lips hardened into a thin line. "That story's all over Enterprise by now."
"See? Everybody out there thinks I'm crazy. Hell, Mal, I think I'm crazy. But the point is, I was scared to have a cat. I kept thinking that if I kept him, he was going to die. I know… I know, it's a stupid thing, right? Especially with James locked up safe and far away. Except I don't know if James killed my cat… maybe it was something I gave him."
"Or maybe it was something he found," Malcolm reasoned. "But as long as the story stays with your brother's version, everybody will think you're crazy. You say Captain Archer doesn't like you anymore… but how is he supposed to get a good impression when the only source of information he has is James? I thought there was more to the story, but then I've actually read Shelley's novel. Frankenstein was never trying to create a monster. I didn't figure you would be, either."
"Why not? I'm the horror movie freak. I'm the guy who likes watching films full of dead and undead bodies…"
"Who risks his life to rescue kittens. Who cries at sad movies. Who'd rather stick his hand in a meat grinder than disappoint a kid."
"Who used to open people's faces with these things." Trip flourished the box."Used to. The key word there is used. I remember reading a book one time, and it had an afterword by a rather famous horror writer. Anyway, he started by saying that there were people that looked at those who read horror fiction and thought 'what is wrong with these people?' But his conclusion spoke of those who wouldn't read horror fiction, and he speculated that maybe they were afraid of death in some way, or were somehow so unimaginative that they couldn't consider what lay beyond. He finished by asking 'What is wrong with these people?'" Malcolm smiled. "I rather agree with him, actually. There is absolutely nothing wrong with enjoying horror fiction, provided that you understand that it is fiction."
"Remember the cat?" Trip smiled cynically.
"You were ten. I would imagine you've outgrown that sort of thing."
"Yeah." The smile twisted even further. "Now I'm the monster."
"Just because…" Malcolm paused, appearing to think for a minute. "Well, okay, I'll admit that having someone else's brain probably might qualify… but remember you got it before you died."
Trip turned away again. Don't remind me of when Jon was my friend. How could he blame Hess? Hadn't he chosen his assignment in order to be with his friend? Admittedly, I wasn't leaving anybody behind…much. Maybe Hess felt the same way. She was wrong, of course, and any idiot could see it. But I'd never call you any idiot.
"Besides, you've changed. You're clearly not the person you were then, and anyone who can't see that is a fool."
"Are you calling your captain a fool?" He hadn't meant to say it, and he certainly didn't mean for it to come out as bitterly as it did.
"In this matter, yes. If he truly believes that you're the same person that went into prison…"
"Don't forget who I was Inside. And I was considered an adult." I knew what I was doing. Trip turned back for the attack.
"I had a commanding officer once who didn't figure I should have this job. He told me that I was too decent a person, and that anyone who worked in Security had to have 'a little dirt on their soul.'" Malcolm shrugged. "I said I had some people who would give him a reference, and provided him with an old address and a couple of old 'friends' with a description. I remember when I saw him after that. He had me summoned to his room and when I went there, he looked at me and asked if I really had lived there. When I said 'yes,' he told me I was 'dirty enough.'" Malcolm smiled slightly. "I would have asked for more details, but the nurse told me that visiting hours were over."
"You know, the more I hear about you…" Trip shook his head.
"None of us are angels, or we wouldn't be able to survive the things we have out here. Even Captain Archer has his secrets."
"Not like mine," Trip muttered.
"Probably not," Malcolm admitted. "But that doesn't mean he doesn't have them. Nobody's perfect. If we were, we wouldn't be human."
"You keep trying to be," Trip pointed out.
"Yes." Malcolm nodded, and uncrossed his arms. "I do. And you keep trying to be a saint, or a hero. Rescuing the princess, saving the world, striking a blow for freedom… you're a crusader, which is, incidentally, what gets you in so much trouble. Maybe if you weren't so noble, Captain Archer wouldn't have been so shocked."
"Maybe if I hadn't been such a bastard, he wouldn't have had to be."
"Why do I get the idea that one day I really am going to have to shoot you? And people think I'm gloomy and depressive. We are who we are. We can't change the things we've done; all we can do is not repeat those mistakes from this point forward. Which isn't to say that we won't make more." Malcolm sighed. "After all, look at some of the things we did in the Expanse. You were probably the best behaved out of all of us."
"Which doesn't say much," Trip started punching the drum again.
"Which is exactly my point. We shouldn't be judging you on something you did while still technically a terrorised child, and not judge ourselves on things we've done while sober, responsible adults."
"You have been talking to Hess."
Malcolm laughed. "I told you I was. If anyone's created a monster…"
"She doesn't listen well, I'll give you that."
"No, she just doesn't do what you tell her. I'd say she was listening rather well." Malcolm stepped up to the drum and moved it out of Trip's range. "Like I said, she cares, and she was worried. And from the looks of things, she had reason to be."
"I thought… I thought I'd left all that behind me, you know? I thought I was finally becoming someone that people could trust… that I had finally escaped. And now… You don't understand Mal. I can't go out there. If I go…" Trip shook his head. He could feel himself hyperventilating again. "He's there."
"So's Hess. So am I. We're your friends. So's Captain Archer…"
"Jon's not my friend. Not anymore."
"How do you know that?" Malcolm said, irritably. "You've hardly even talked to him since your brother got here."
"Yeah, but… with everything… you don't understand… James…" James could convince anybody of anything. James could convince people that the sun would rise in the west. "James won't let me go. You, Nicci… anyone who sides with me… He won't… he won't allow it." He could feel his tongue tangling around the simple words.
"There's limited air in here." Malcolm's face became stern. "These areas weren't designed to be lived in."
"I know." It was one reason why not a lot of people would think to look in here. "I'll… I'll be okay, Mal."
"Right."
He didn't see it coming, the low shot to the ribcage followed by an elbow to the head. He just felt the pain, then saw the light-show in his eyes, and then nothing.
