Title: Thursday's Child
Author: Sita Z
Rating: T
AN: Thanks for the feedback!
Volley (thank you! Yes, I have to admit, I think Soval makes for a nice addition to the Enterprise crew ;) ), trisuns5 (hey, you kept reviewing, thanks :)! Sorry about the short chapter, and keep focusing on happy endings... who knows, it might help ;)!), Gabi (Sicher hat er ihm die richtige Injektion gegeben, und Malcolm muss sich jetzt für den Rest seines Lebens um einen bettlägerigen Trip und die beiden Kinder kümmern... hört sich doch ganz nett an, oder ;)?), stage manager (okay, here we go, more about Trip), Luna (I agree with you about humans in general... sorry you had to wait, but at least you'll get to read several chapters at once :) ), Tata (hmm, this cloning thing is beginning to sound interesting... on the other hand, I just saw "The Island" (great movie, BTW), so maybe not. Wouldn't want my clone killing me and rewriting the story... -worries about her latest train of thought- Anyway, thanks for reviewing, keep telling me what you think :)!), Emiliana Keladry (thank you... and I agree, carelessness can be just as bad as actual cruelty), JadziaKathryn (thanks!... I'll have to admit, I've always had a soft spot for Soval, even in Season 1 ... somehow I just like the guy), Virgo (thank you... maybe things will become a little clearer in this chapter!), Trips Girl (hmmm... we'll see about Trip. So, what did the cats say about this chapter?), Exploded Pen (Thanks for the e-mail, and I'm happy you like the story! Sorry, but I can't answer your questions about Trip... would kill the suspense ;) ), KaliedescopeCat (thank you... yes, death might be better than life as a mindless shell. It's a difficult subject, though), The Libran Iniquity (uh-oh... what a nasty mental image... I've always imagined the guy looking a little like Bones from TOS Enterprise ;). Well, anyway, let's not go there... here comes the Aktualisierung), Maraschino (it would only be fair, wouldn't it? Although life's hardly ever fair, especially in AU universes... well, we'll see. Thanks for reviewing!)
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Chapter 18
Sitting on a chair next to Trip's bedside, Malcolm watched Nurse Chang as she prepared a basin with warm water. He didn't have to ask what she was doing; the shampoo and towel arranged on the table next to Trip's bed told him that she was about to wash her patient's hair. He watched as she slid a pillow under the nape of Trip's neck, propped his head up and set the basin down on the bed behind him. Trip let it happen, his eyes trailing idly across the room. From time to time, they would focus on Chang's or Malcolm's face, resting there for a while before resuming their aimless journey. Their empty expression never changed, but Malcolm still found it hard to accept that Trip should not even be aware of his presence. No matter what the doctor said, Malcolm had seen Trip react to the sound of voices, had seen him reach out and touch Chang's hand when she changed him. He could not believe that it was a mindless living corpse doing these things. He refused to believe it. Somewhere in there, he thought, there was a part of Trip that was still aware of his surroundings, maybe even trying to communicate. And he was determined to stay right here until he understood what Trip wanted to tell him.
Glancing over at the door, Malcolm saw Corporal Garton, no more than a silhouette behind the white privacy curtain that surrounded Trip's bed. Garton had been rather miffed when Skitra allowed Malcolm to stay in the IC unit, insisting on chaining Malcolm's right wrist to the chair he was sitting on. Malcolm didn't care. He had been surprised that the doctor would allow him to see Trip at all, when it was less than a day ago that he had come in here for the first time. In fact, Malcolm had gained the impression that, Vulcan or not, the old doctor was feeling guilty. More than once, he had found Skitra watching him with a strange expression on his face, opening his mouth only to close it again, with the air of a man who can't quite bring himself to speak his mind. Maybe the doctor had been about to apologize, deciding against it when he realized that there was really nothing to say.
Malcolm returned his attention to the bed, watching Chang as she dipped a washcloth into the basin and ran it over Trip's head. Trip had closed his eyes, and Malcolm thought that he had fallen asleep but suddenly Trip's lips curved upward in a smile. Hardly able to believe what he was seeing, he looked up at Chang, who was smiling as well.
"You like that, don't you?" she said to Trip, spreading shampoo on his hair and massaging it in. Trip seemed to relax under her hands, the smile never leaving his face. Chang caught Malcolm's eyes.
"He loves having his hair washed," she said, as if there was nothing unusual about the fact that Trip was actually smiling. "Enjoys the physical contact, I believe."
"But..." Malcolm stared at Trip. "I thought he wasn't aware of his surroundings?"
"Oh, I'm sure he is," Chang said, her smile fading. "He enjoys having company, for one thing, and gets anxious when someone turns off the light. I believe he's afraid of being left alone in the dark. And he's always happy to see you."
Malcolm thought of Trip's never-changing expression, his empty eyes. "How do you know?"
"He can't express his feelings like a normal adult person would," Chang said. She wet the washcloth again and started to rinse the shampoo out of Trip's hair. "He can't tell you that he enjoys your visits and wants you to come back. But..." The washcloth went back into the water, leaving a trail of white bubbles when she lifted it out again. "He seems to calm down when you're here. Crowther and his men, on the other hand, seemed to scare him. He flinched away from them." Chang's expression darkened. "It's not as though he didn't realize that they were pushing him around."
Making sure all traces of shampoo were gone, Chang set the washcloth and basin aside and reached out for the towel. Trip let out a contented sigh when she began to dry his hair, like someone enjoying a relaxing massage.
Malcolm swallowed. "So... he still has feelings?"
"Yes, he does." Her eyes were sad. "Maybe he'd be better off if he didn't. Like this, he'll always feel it when he's treated with cruelty or indifference."
Malcolm opened his mouth, about to ask her if she knew what was going to happen to Trip, back on Earth. If the Joint Forces were planning to send him to a nursing home, or leave it to Lieutenant Reed's nonexistent family to take care of their disabled son. But he never finished the question, interrupted by a sudden wailing of sirens.
"Attention, this is the Captain speaking," Patricks' voice filled the room. "Everyone to their stations, this is not a drill."
Both Chang and Trip had flinched at the sudden noise, and Malcolm craned his neck to see what Garton was doing. The Corporal had left his chair, standing close to the comm unit on the wall. He seemed to be speaking to someone, but his voice was droned out by the alert signal.
Trip let out a frightened whimper, and Malcolm turned back to his friend. To his surprise, Trip's eyes came to rest on his face in an instant.
"It's alright, Trip," Malcolm said, trying to keep his own apprehension out of his voice. "Everything's okay."
Even though the noise and sudden tension still seemed to be frightening him, Trip grew calmer at the sound of Malcolm's voice. His eyes were wide, as if mutely asking what was going on.
"Keep talking to him," Chang said. "Try to calm him down. I'll ask the Corporal what's going on."
She left Trip's bedside, reaching for the curtain, but it was pushed aside before she had even touched it. Ignoring her questions, Corporal Garton strode over to Malcolm's chair and bent down over the handcuff.
"Captain needs you on the bridge, Tucker," he said, pressing a small electronic key against the lock. It opened with a soft hiss. "Get up."
"What's wrong?" Malcolm asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Chang stroking the hair out of Trip's forehead, talking to him in a low, soothing voice. "Why does Captain Patricks need me on the bridge?"
Garton pulled him to his feet. "I said move, Tucker. Captain says it's urgent."
Malcolm resisted the urge to ask what he was talking about, realizing that he wasn't going to get any answers from the Corporal.
As he was led over to the door, a thought occurred to him that made him stop in his tracks.
"Is it my ship?" he asked, struggling not to let any trepidation show in his voice. "The Enterprise?"
The Corporal jerked him forward, ignoring Malcolm's question. "Move it."
The look on his face, however, belied his indifferent answer. The muscles in Garton's jaw were working, and Malcolm could easily see that the man was nervous. Worried, even. He bit his lip, casting a brief glance over his shoulder at Trip, who seemed to have calmed down again.
I'll be back, he promised silently, wishing he could say the words aloud. Somehow, he knew, Trip would have heard and even understood what he was telling him.I'll be back. And if it is indeed Enterprise, then maybe there's a chance that I'm going to get you out of here. Both of us.
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The trip to the turbolift only took a few minutes, but to Malcolm it felt as if the two corridors between sickbay and the turbolift doors stretched over several kilometers. When the bulkhead closed behind them his legs were trembling, and he had to lean against the wall for support. Walking from his bio bed to the IC unit was one thing, but being dragged along the corridor at pacing speed was bound to leave him shaking and weak. Skitra, of course, had objected to his patient being marched out of sickbay, snapping at Garton that Malcolm was not up to that sort of exertion yet. The Corporal, however, had not been impressed, muttering something about "Captain's orders" and ignoring the doctor's protests.
Malcolm closed his eyes, feeling the wound at the back of his head beginning to throb. If Enterprise was the reason why he was needed on the bridge ("-and what other reason could they have?" the small, optimistic voice at the back of his mind whispered), then he couldn't afford to let down his guard. If he was going to face Captain T'Pol in a minute, who had no idea that "Lieutenant Reed" was lying in a bed in sickbay, then he needed to stay alert and think. And quickly so.
A dig in the ribs startled him out his thoughts.
"Don't go to sleep, Tucker." Garton took his right arm. "We're here."
The doors opened, and Malcolm could barely keep himself from stumbling as the Corporal jerked him forward. His surroundings began to blur, and he blinked hard, his head throbbing worse than ever.
"Jeez, Garton, you could have gotten him a wheelchair or something," Captain Patricks' voice said somewhere to his left. "He looks like he's going to pass out any minute."
"Sorry, Captain." Garton sounded bored.
Malcolm forced himself to breathe deeply until the worst of the dizziness subsided. Patricks took his arm, leading him over to a chair.
"Sit down, Tucker. Your Captain wants to speak to you."
Malcolm allowed himself to be seated, his heart pounding in his chest. This wasn't a trick; the strained tone in Patricks' voice told him that the man was telling the truth. Enterprise had come.
"Captain, they're hailing us again," the communications officer said. "Do you want me to-"
"Wait!" The Captain leaned closer to Malcolm, lowering his voice. "Listen, Tucker, what happened to Lieutenant Reed wasn't my fault. I had my orders and there was nothing I could do. You're going to tell your Captain that you've been treated well."
Patricks obviously meant to sound intimidating, but Malcolm noted a nervous twitch in the corner of his mouth. In the meantime, his vision had cleared up again, and his heart skipped a beat as he looked past Patricks at the main view screen. Enterprise was looming over the small scout vessel like a menacing shadow, reminding him of a Klingon bird of prey. No wonder Patricks was worried. Wildfire's weapons were no match for Enterprise's armory, and neither was her engine.
Malcolm bit his lip. He couldn't allow Patricks to provoke a fight.
"I'm going to tell her the truth," he said quietly. The Captain held his eyes for a few seconds, then turned away.
"Open a channel."
Enterprise disappeared, and a second later T'Pol's face appeared on the screen.
"Lieu-"
"Captain," Malcolm interrupted her, his right hand clenching the armrest of his chair. "I'm sorry Lieutenant Reed couldn't come, but he's... not available at the moment."
T'Pol's left eyebrow twitched, but her dark eyes betrayed no emotion. Malcolm held her gaze, willing her to read his mind. He felt sweat build on his forehead, and hoped that Patricks was going to put it down to his weakened condition.
Come on, Captain...
Her eyebrow slowly returned to its normal position.
"That is unfortunate," she said calmly. "Are you well, Mr. Tucker?"
Malcolm briefly closed his eyes. He could feel his adrenaline rush fading, evoking another bout of dizziness.
"I'm fine," he said, blinking hard. "I-"
"He was hurt when we brought their shuttle aboard," Patricks interrupted hastily. His fingers closed painfully around Malcolm's shoulder. "It was an accident. My doctor had to perform an emergency operation, and he's been under observation in sickbay ever since. Captain, I'm only going to ask you one more time: what exactly do you want?"
T'Pol ignored him as if he had not spoken at all. "Mr. Tucker, can you tell me where Lieutenant Reed is?"
Malcolm nodded. Patricks' fingers dug deeply into his shoulder, but Malcolm ignored the pain and went on.
"They gave him the injection," he said quietly. "He's in sickbay at the moment."
T'Pol's expression didn't change, but Malcolm knew her well enough to see the shock in her eyes. Patricks grabbed his shoulder even harder, obviously resisting the urge to give him a good shake.
"Captain," he said, "I had my orders. I'm sorry about your crewman, but there was nothing I could do. Both of them were treated well; Mr. Tucker can confirm that. Now-"
T'Pol drew herself up in her chair. "Captain Patricks," she interrupted, acknowledging the man's presence for the first time. "You may have come to the conclusion that my decision to come here was not authorized by Starfleet or Joint Forces Command. Still, I wish to settle this matter peacefully if there is any way of doing so. I want both of my crewmen returned to my ship, and I'm holding you responsible for their safety. Do I make myself clear?"
Malcolm stared at her, only now understanding the implications of Enterprise coming to their rescue. Of course, Command couldn't have ordered T'Pol to pursue the Wildfire, but somehow his weary brain had managed to shut out the fact that this was actual mutiny. Threatening a fellow Captain was not only going to cost T'Pol her captaincy, it was going to get her court-martialed. And not only her, but her senior officers as well.
"Captain," he said, "you shouldn't-"
T'Pol cut him off. "I cannot recall taking orders from you, Mr. Tucker," she said, her eyebrows arching. "Captain Patricks, you have half an hour."
"I don't-" Patricks began heatedly, but T'Pol didn't seem inclined to listen. She nodded at someone outside the screen's visual range, and the connection was cut, Enterprise reappearing where her face had been only a second before.
"Captain."
Malcolm turned around and saw Garton coming closer, the man's right hand resting on the holster of his phase pistol. His eyes had narrowed to slits.
"Garton!" Patricks snapped.
"The arrogant bitch never said anything about sending them back in one piece," the Corporal said, drawing his weapon. "Why don't we teach her-"
"Put - that - away!" Patricks wrenched the phase pistol from Garton's grip and threw it to the Corporal's feet. "Are you out of your mind?"
The man stared at him, his chest heaving. "You're going to give in, aren't you?" he asked. "Just like that. I should have known. You're not fit to be a Captain, and I -"
"That's enough, Corporal," Patricks hissed. His forehead had turned white with anger. "You're confined to your quarters until further notice." Garton didn't move, and Patricks took a step towards him. "I said get out!"
With a last hate-filled look, the Corporal turned around and walked to the turbolift. Patricks looked at his bridge crew.
"Is there anyone else who would like to see the ship blown to pieces?" he asked, his voice rising. "Anyone else who'd like to question my orders?"
His officers suddenly seemed very fascinated with their consoles, none of them meeting the Captain's eyes. Patricks' hands clenched to fists.
"Dawson!" he snapped, and the security guard next to the door drew to attention.
"Sir?"
Patricks jerked his chin at Malcolm. "Take him and that idiot down in sickbay to a shuttlepod," he said. "Have someone fly them back to their ship. Anyone got anything to say about that?" he said in a louder tone of voice, addressing his bridge crew who still wouldn't meet his eyes. None of them said a word.
"Great. Now get a move on, Dawson!"
"Aye, sir!" The man stepped closer, pulling Malcolm to his feet. "Move it."
Before the turbolift closed behind them, Malcolm got a last glance of Captain Patricks standing next to his command chair. The man's fingers had closed around the backrest, his knuckles turning white as if he were having a hard time keeping his hands from shaking.
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The next fifteen minutes went by in a haze. Sitting on a biobed, Malcolm watched as Chang and Skitra got Trip dressed and ready for the flight back to Enterprise. Trip seemed upset by the commotion, refusing to lie passively as he usually did and pulling his hand away when Chang tried to guide it into the sleeve of a sweater.
"Come on!" The nurse seemed nervous herself, and grabbed Trip's wrist a little harder than necessary. "Stop it!"
"No!"
Malcolm froze at Trip's cry of protest. He tried telling himself that he was imagining things - it couldn't be, Trip couldn't have told the nurse to leave him alone - but the word had been clear and articulate. Trip had said "no".
Chang turned around, her eyes wide. "Doctor?"
Skitra was staring at Trip, a strange expression on his face. "It has got to be an automatic response," he said. "He did not want to be touched, and his mind came up with a familiar reaction to an unwanted situation. Fascinating."
"And what are we going to do about it?" Chang asked. "I can't get him dressed if he keeps coming up with those automatic responses."
Skitra ignored her sarcasm. "Mr. Tucker, if you don't mind. I believe we require your assistance."
Malcolm slid off the biobed, his legs wobbling slightly as he walked over to Trip's bed. The painkiller Skitra had injected him with hadn't completely worn off yet, leaving him dizzy and weak.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
"Talk to him," Skitra said. "Tell him that everything is alright and that you are both returning to your ship. It will calm him down to hear it from you."
Malcolm stopped short at that. "But he doesn't understand what I'm saying..."
"Just do it," the doctor responded curtly. "Your Captain did not give us much time, and I shouldn't want you to be late."
Malcolm nodded, sitting down on the edge of the bed. If Skitra said this was going to help, then he was certainly not going to argue.
"It's okay," he said, closing his fingers around Trip's hand. "Nothing to worry about. We're going back to Enterprise. But first you need to get dressed." He took the sweater, holding it out to Trip. "Here. We don't want you to catch a cold, right?"
Trip had stopped fidgeting at the sound of Malcolm's voice. His eyes came to rest on the sweater, and after a moment's hesitation he reached out and took it. Behind his back, Malcolm heard Chang's quiet voice: "Another automatic response, doctor?"
"It seems so," Skitra said calmly. "I believe you can finish dressing him, Nurse."
She complied, and to Malcolm's surprise Trip submitted without a sound of protest. While Chang slipped the sweater over Trip's head, Malcolm glanced at Skitra and saw the doctor watching his patient with an expression close to worry on his wrinkled face.
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Skitra insisted that Malcolm sit in a wheelchair on the way down to the shuttlebay, ignoring his patient's protests that he was fine.
"You are not "fine", Mr. Tucker," he said acidly when Malcolm refused to sit down. "Even by your admittedly vague human standards, "fine" does not include a concussion, a hairline fracture of the skull and a broken arm. Now take a seat or I am going to have to sedate you."
Malcolm found himself too weak to argue and gave in, allowing Chang to push him down the corridor towards the turbolift. Somewhere at the back of his mind, a small voice insisted that he should feel worried, excited or at least relieved that Enterprise had come, but his feelings seemed to have drowned in an overall weariness. His head injury was pounding at the back of his skull, and despite his protests over the wheelchair Malcolm knew that he wouldn't have made it halfway to the turbolift. He didn't even find it within him to decline politely when Chang wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. He was so tired.
Trip stayed silent on the way to the hangar, allowing the doctor to guide him into the lift and back out into the corridors. Ensign Dawson trudged along a few steps behind them. He didn't appear too happy about both doctor and nurse insisting to come along, but seemed to know better than to argue.
The hangar doors opened, and Malcolm awoke with a start. He hadn't even noticed that he had nodded off. Looking around, he saw that like Enterprise, Wildfire had two shuttle pods, standing next to each other on the trapdoor openings in the floor.
"Where's our shuttle?" he asked, looking at Dawson. "Captain T'Pol is going to want it back..."
Dawson shrugged. "Not my problem. Besides, I believe Captain Patricks ordered it to be taken apart for spare parts. Wasn't much more than a pile of rubbish when we took it aboard."
Malcolm opened his mouth, but Skitra cut him off. "Now, Mr. Tucker, we are running short of time. Nurse, please help him climb into the shuttle."
Malcolm shook his head, lifting himself out of the wheelchair and climbing through the hatch before Chang could slip a supporting hand under his arm. Not surprisingly, another dizzy spell ensued and he all but collapsed on the shuttle's rear bench. Through a blur, he saw Skitra guiding Trip through the hatch and seating him on the bench across from him.
"That will be all, Ensign. Dismissed."
Malcolm blinked. The old doctor had returned to the hatch, but instead of climbing back out again, Skitra had one hand on the inside handle as if he were about to close the door.
"Doctor," Dawson said, clearly taken by surprise. "The Captain told me to fly them back to their ship..."
"Well, that is exactly what I am going to do," Skitra responded testily. "As you can see, neither of my patients is any potential danger at the moment. I shall not require your assistance."
"But doctor, you can't fly that thing!" Dawson shook his head, making as if to climb inside. "I've got to-"
"I said dismissed, Ensign." Skitra's voice had turned positively icy. "I went through pilot school just like you did, and believe me, my test results were considerably better than yours. Now step back." He glared at Dawson until the man took a hesitant step backwards. Then he glanced at Chang. "I trust you to keep everything in good order, Mei-Ying."
If the nurse had noticed anything strange about the doctor's tone, then she didn't let it show. "Yes, doctor."
"Good." Skitra closed the hatch. For a moment, he just stood there, regarding Malcolm with a strange expression on his face. Then he opened his medkit and took out a hypospray.
"What-" Malcolm began, but the doctor ignored him.
"Hold still."
Malcolm winced when the cold end of the hypo touched his neck. Its contents emptied themselves into his bloodstream with a soft hiss, and only a few seconds later he felt the pain at the back of his head subside. Whatever the doctor had injected into his neck seemed to wash his weariness away, leaving him more awake than he had felt in days.
The old Vulcan regarded him calmly. "Better?"
"Yes," Malcolm said, involuntarily reaching out to touch the spot where a red-hot spike had been drilling into his skull only a moment before. "What did you do?"
"Just a rather strong analgesic," Skitra replied. "I'd prefer not to give you any more drugs than necessary, but I need you to be able to take the helm. You do know how to fly a shuttle, don't you, Lieutenant?"
Malcolm froze at that, but the Vulcan continued as if he hadn't noticed. "I'd rather prefer not to have to pilot it myself. I believe we would end up colliding with Enterprise's port nacelle, and I do not think Captain T'Pol would take kindly to that sort of damage, would she?"
Malcolm hardly understood what the doctor was saying, his heart racing in his chest. "How... how do you..."
"I've known for quite some time, Lieutenant. But do not worry. If I wanted to betray you, I could have done so long ago."
"But... how?"
The doctor raised an indulgent eyebrow. "Well, for one thing Starfleet officers don't usually show signs of past malnutrition or have whip scars on their back. Besides, Mr. Tucker has had several nightmares during his stay in my sickbay, obviously reliving the events leading up to your capture. He kept calling out for someone named "Malcolm". I believe your name is Malcolm Reed, isn't it?"
Malcolm nodded, still feeling as if he had fallen down the rabbit hole. "But... you said he couldn't speak or..."
"We are running short of time, Lieutenant," Skitra interrupted. "Please, take the helm. I need to talk to your Captain."
TBC...
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