Title: Thursday's Child
Author: Sita Z
Rating: T
AN: Thanks for reviewing!
Tata (thank you! There'll be more about the situation with the Joint Forces at the end of this chapter), JadziaKathryn (Yes, that's Malcolm, all right ;). Thanks for reviewing!), stage manager (thanks, and you'll get more Trip in this chapter ;)!), volley (Yes, he is... you know me, I'm a sucker for happy endings ;) ), The Libran Iniquity (Disney, right. Although I have to admit I've never seen "Alice in Wonderland"... yes, Malcolm better watch out for people sneaking up behind him with a hypospray in their hand ;)... nice mental image, though), Gabi (Stimmt, Archer kann Malcolm sicher auch viel männlicher auffangen als T'Pol -g- Natürlich hast du deine Spuren hinterlassen... die ganze "Sev"-Sache war schließlich dein Verdienst. Muss man auch mal sagen :)...), MuseUrania (Yes, poor Malcolm - he barely escaped the JF, and now the doctors have it in for him ;)...), trisuns5 (Glad you like Skitra... he was a lot of fun to write, kind of like a Vulcan Bones McCoy ;) ), Trips Girl (Birthday present? I know I'm a little late, but anyway - Happy Birthday! So, how're the cats doing? Mine brought me a dead mouse this morning... ew ;) ), Emiliana Keladry (Yes, it was time for things to calm down a little... thanks for reviewing!), Maraschino (Yeah, two doctors on Enterprise, at least temporarily... poor Malcolm ;)! ), Exploded Pen (I didn't torture either of the boys in this chapter (well, a little Malcolm tortureat the beginning, but that doesn't count), so the Jedi mind control must work... scary thought ;) ), Rinne (I'm glad you've enjoyed it so far - please let me know what you think of the rest!)
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Chapter 20
"And now stretch your arm, Lieutenant, like this."
Malcolm watched Phlox demonstrate the movement, his arm tingling like pins and needles from their previous exercises. In a feeble imitation of Phlox' example, he extended his arm so that it was bent at a 100° angle.
"I said stretch, Lieutenant! Your muscles can't recover if you don't keep at it!"
Malcolm gritted his teeth. "I'm trying, Doctor, but it just doesn't - aarrgh!"
Pain flared up in his tortured muscles, and for a moment all he saw were bright, dancing spots in front of his eyes. Phlox, letting go of his now-straightened arm, clucked in disapproval.
"Now, now Lieutenant, I'm sure it didn't hurt that bad. Let's try again, this time without my help, hm?"
"Some help," Malcolm muttered, but obediently stretched his arm again, finding that it hurt a little less than the first time. Or at least that was what he told himself.
"How often do I have to do it?" he asked, trying not to sound too pathetic. Phlox patted his shoulder, wearing a smile he seemed to be preserving especially for physiotherapy sessions with unreasonable patients.
"Keep at it, Lieutenant. Dr. Skitra asked me to meet him for dinner, but I'll be back in a short while to check on your progress."
Malcolm watched him leave, and almost expected to hear him humming to himself. Glumly, he set about stretching his arm a third time, thinking that somewhere deep down all doctors seemed to have a sadistic streak. Or maybe it was just revenge for having to listen to their patients' moaning and groaning all day.
Again, pain shot through his arm, and Malcolm sucked in a sharp breath. Now that his muscles were getting used to the exertion, it did hurt less than before, but that didn't mean it felt like butterflies and roses. Rather like someone piercing his skin with very sharp needles, actually.
Trying to ignore the cries of protest from his muscles, Malcolm looked away from his arm and across at Trip's bed. The privacy curtain was half-drawn, but Malcolm didn't have to look at Trip's sleeping form to know that he was still deep in drug-induced oblivion. During the last day and a half, Trip had barely ever moved, let alone made a sound. Only the bio monitor above his head indicated that he was still alive; that, and the bright red blood flowing through the tubes that were connected to the filtering device. Phlox and Dr. Skitra, however, seemed confident that everything was just fine, and Malcolm saw no reason to doubt their expertise. After all, Trip was only sleeping, not gazing emptily into space.
In the meantime, the agony in his muscles had eased off to a dull throb, and Malcolm continued to stretch his arm and pull it back to his chest. Physiotherapy or no, it was nice to be rid off that bloody cast. Maybe, in a day or so, he would be able to go back to his quarters, if Phlox allowed it.
A soft beeping caught his attention, and Malcolm glanced at the screen over his bed to check if he had somehow set off one of the alarms (he had done that before by moving around too much when he was supposed to be resting). Then he realized that the sound wasn't coming from his bed at all.
His mouth had suddenly gone strangely dry. Malcolm slid off his biobed, careful not to jostle his aching arm, and walked on bare feet over to Trip's bed where the alarm had gone off. As he pulled back the curtain, he saw that Trip was no longer resting quietly, but was shifting, turning his head from one side to the other.
"Trip!"
Malcolm laid a hand on the other man's arm. Trip sighed, murmuring incomprehensible words, and it took Malcolm a moment to realize that he was talking Kareedian. He tightened his grip on Trip's arm.
"It's okay, Trip." Malcolm tried for a calm tone of voice. "Everything's alright."
"K'veh sa'ari!"Trip's eyes flew open, and Malcolm felt a slight tugging as the other man tried to free his arm."Let... let me go!"
The expression in Trip's eyes came close to panic, and Malcolm let go, torn between dismay at Trip's obvious fear, and excitement. Trip had spoken - not incoherent words that he wasn't even aware of himself, but a real sentence. And despite their panicked expression, his eyes were no longer empty, but awake and very aware of Malcolm's presence.
"It's alright, Trip," he repeated. "It's me, Malcolm. I'm not going to hurt you."
Trip stared at him, and Malcolm saw the fear in his eyes turn into confusion.
"M-Malcolm?"
Malcolm nodded, smiling. "That's right."
Trip frowned. "You were hurt."
Again, Malcolm nodded. "But I'm feeling a lot better now."
Trip closed his eyes, as if he needed a moment to digest the new situation. Then he looked back at Malcolm.
"They... they gave me an injection..."
Carefully, Malcolm returned his hand to Trip's arm, and this time, the other man did not flinch away. "I know. You... haven't been yourself for a while, but you're going to be fine."
Trip shook his head. "I don't understand." His eyes traveled down to his arms, widening when he became aware of the tubes. "What... what are these for?"
Some of the panic had returned to his voice, and Malcolm realized in an instant that Trip had probably never seen an IV before. He caught Trip's hand before he could pull out the plugs.
"Don't, Trip, these are intravenous catheters. They're for filtering the poison out of your blood."
Trip eyed the implants suspiciously, but he didn't try to pull them out again. "Okay."
Seeing that Trip was still rather tense, Malcolm continued. "We're back on Enterprise, Trip. Captain T'Pol came for us. We're on our way to Earth."
Trip frowned. "But... what about the Joint Forces?"
Malcolm hesitated. He still had trouble coming to terms with the things T'Pol had told him about: the reconstructed archive files, messages that had been sent to the Orion Raiders so many years ago, and 'Command's attempts to cover up what had happened no matter at what cost. He had lain awake for most of the night, trying to understand the things the Captain had explained to him in a quiet, unemotional voice, trying to wrap his mind around the idea. At some point he had fallen asleep, only to wake up again and find himself as confused as he was before. Malcolm supposed it was going to take a long time until he fully understood exactly why JF Command had wanted him disposed of.
He shook his head. "I believe they've got other things to worry about right now."
He noticed Trip's inquiring look, and said the words he had come to loathe during the last two days. "I'll explain later."
Trip regarded him for another moment or so, then raised a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. His body language told Malcolm that he was tired, exhausted, and still more than a little confused. No surprises there; Malcolm guessed that the last thing Trip remembered was Skitra approaching him with a hypospray in his hand. No wonder he had panicked.
Malcolm noticed Trip licking his lips in an unsuccessful attempt to moisten them.
"Would you like some water?" he asked.
Trip nodded, and Malcolm padded over to his bedside table, returning with a glass in his hand.
"Here." He handed the glass to Trip.
"Thank you." Trip raised his head and leaned forward so he could guide the glass to his lips. Before he could take a sip, however, the IV tubes got in the way and some of the water landed on the bed sheets.
"Wait," Malcolm said. "Let me."
He straightened the tubes so that the flow was even again, then took the glass, supporting the back of Trip's head with his left hand and holding the glass to the other man's lips.
"There you go."
Trip took a few careful sips, swishing the water in his mouth before he swallowed. Malcolm watched him, shuddering inwardly when he thought of what a mean taste the combination of sleeping for two days and being pumped full of drugs must leave in your mouth. After a few more sips Trip indicated that he had had enough, and Malcolm stood the glass on Trip's bedside table.
"Feel better?"
Trip smiled, although the expression was a little strained. "Yes. Thank you."
Reaching out behind himself, Malcolm drew himself a chair and took a seat at Trip's bedside. His arm was still throbbing, protesting against the exertion he had put it through, and he cradled it closer to his chest.
"Are you alright?" Trip asked quietly.
Malcolm nodded. "I'm fine."
His answer was met with silence, and Malcolm looked up to find Trip's eyes resting on him. Only then did he realize that Trip's question had not been about his aching arm.
"I'm alright, Trip." He paused. It wasn't quite the truth; not really. Oh, his injuries were healing fine, and except for an extended physiotherapy program the worst part of the road to recovery lay behind him. Not to mention the small fact that he was safe, no longer having to worry about the Joint Forces' persecution. Malcolm supposed all of this could be called fine. But it was not how he felt inside.
"You're angry with me," Trip stated. His voice was very calm, but Malcolm jumped as if he had shouted.
"No! Why would I..." He trailed off when he suddenly recognized the truth of what Trip was saying. It was true, he was not all right, he was angry; with himself, with everyone else, with life in general and even with Trip, although he knew that he was being unjust and bitter. But the feeling was there, and Trip had recognized it for what it was before Malcolm had even become aware of it himself.
He met Trip's eyes, at a loss what to say. "I... it's just..." He shook his head, hating himself for even trying to voice these feelings. It didn't seem right in the face of what Trip had done for him, when all he should be feeling was gratitude and relief. But Trip expected an answer, and Malcolm knew he could not brush him off with a platitude. "It's just that... I wish you hadn't... you hadn't given up your life just like that. For me. I'm not angry, but I... why would you do such a thing, Trip? When they came to give you the injection, why didn't you tell them the truth?"
It came out like an accusation and Malcolm winced, realizing how he must sound. Whining, ungrateful. Not worthy.
"I wanted to," Trip said, so quietly that Malcolm had to strain his ears to understand him. "Just before the Vulcan injected me with the poison, I wanted to tell them that I'm not Lieutenant Reed." He looked away, but not before Malcolm saw the shame in his eyes. "But I couldn't. I was too afraid when he came at me with the hypospray. I was so terrified, it was as if my mind had gone completely blank. But..." He closed his eyes. "At that moment... if I had been able to... I would have told them."
Malcolm laid a hand on Trip's arm, waiting until the other man turned his face back to look at him. "I wish you had," he said then. "I'm not going to lie and say that I wasn't terrified of them finding out that I wasn't Charles Tucker." He forced himself to go on, determined to dig to the very roots of this, leaving no half-truths between them. "Often I couldn't sleep, thinking of what was going to happen if they found out. After... after I'd seen you, I was even more terrified at the idea. I hated myself for thinking that way, and sometimes... sometimes I was angry with you. For letting them do such a thing to you when it should have been me." He held Trip's eyes, hoping his clumsy way of expressing himself would still get across his next point. "Your life is not worth less than mine. And you have two children to take care of. If anyone should have been lying in that IC unit, it should have been me."
Trip merely shook his head. Suddenly, unexpectedly, Malcolm found himself raising his voice.
"And why not? Because it was your duty to protect me? Because I'm the master?"
He bit his lip immediately after the last word had slipped out, feeling his cheeks flush with shame. He had no right to say such a thing.
Not able to meet Trip's eyes, he turned away. "Trip, I'm sorry. I..."
"Malcolm..."
Malcolm looked back at Trip, astonished to find a smile on the other man's face.
"Just shut up, will you?"
Malcolm stared. And stared some more. Then he closed his mouth again.
"Good." Trip was still smiling. "Because I want you to listen to me. Maybe what I did was stupid, and maybe I would have told them the truth if I hadn't been too scared to think, I don't know. But when I told Captain Patricks that I was Lieutenant Reed I wasn't thinking about duty. I was thinking that I couldn't let my friend die. And you would have died. So I had no choice. Does that answer your question?"
Malcolm opened his mouth and closed it again, barely aware that he was doing a pretty good goldfish imitation. "I... I guess so," he managed finally.
Trip nodded solemnly. "You know," he said, "I hate to say so, but as a master you're a hopeless case, anyway."
Malcolm was about to do the goldfish again, but suddenly he felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He couldn't help the chuckles that escaped him, and saw Trip grinning as well. The sound of their joint laughter seemed to wash away his anger, leaving only contentment and a slight sense of wonder behind. No more than a few days ago, he had been in hell, unable to cope with the combined physical and emotional pain that seemed to drain him of his will to live. Now, however... he might not be at his best at the moment, and would not be for some time to come, but he was feeling all right. If only for the time being, he was feeling really, truly all right.
He smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Trip nodded, his grin turning into a more serious expression. "It was meant as one."
Malcolm reached out and laid a hand on Trip's arm, squeezing slightly before he let go again. Trip smiled at him, then glanced at the glass of water.
"Would you...?"
"Of course."
Malcolm helped him drink some more, careful not to jostle the tubes connected with Trip's arms. He couldn't help but notice the way Trip's cheekbones stood out, or the tendons on the back of his hands each of which was clearly visible under the skin. Being too thin to begin with, Trip had lost more weight than he could afford.
"I believe I've got some messages to relate to you," Malcolm said, placing the glass back on the table and smiling at Trip. Discussions about the details of his friend's less-than-perfect condition could wait until Phlox was back. "We got a call from Earth yesterday."
Trip propped himself up on his elbows. "Sara and Sammy?"
"They're fine," Malcolm said, seeing the worried expression in Trip's eyes. "A little disappointed that they couldn't talk to you in person, of course. But they were happy to learn that you're going to be alright. As were your parents." He picked up the padd that Phlox had left on Trip's bedside table. "Sara and Sammy sent you get-well cards. Here."
He switched on the display, and together they looked at the two drawings. One of them was very neatly executed, depicting a dark-skinned boy and girl who were smiling and holding something which Malcolm assumed were ice-cream cones. The caption read "Love and kises, Sara", in carefully drawn pencil letters. The other drawing was quite the opposite, a wild bunch of lines and the occasional remotely human-like shape with random appendages sticking out of them. The caption had been squeezed into a corner, written in experienced handwriting: "We couldn't quite fit everything that is going on in here into a few lines, but Sammy is looking forward to telling you himself when you come home. Please get better, Trip, and remember that we love you. Your mother and father"
Mrs. Tucker had been reluctant to leave a written message, but after Malcolm had assured that it was alright she had added the few lines to Sammy's picture before sending away the electronic copy. Out of the corner of his eye, Malcolm saw Trip mouthing the words as he read the message. His face was absentminded, eyes tracing the letters and drawings.
"They asked me to tell you that the kids are doing fine," Malcolm said when Trip looked up again. "Sammy caught the flu a week ago, but he's up and about by now. Your parents took both kids to see a doctor, and she said it will take a while for their metabolism to get completely used to the new environment. But with Phlox's vaccinations there should be no problems."
Trip nodded and glanced back down at the pictures, his face a mixture of affection and another emotion Malcolm could not quite identify.
"That's good to hear."
"Trip?" Malcolm asked carefully.
Trip raised his head. "It's just... " He hesitated. "I don't even know my parents, and they're doing all of this to help me... I don't know how I can ever repay them."
Malcolm shook his head. "I don't think you have to, Trip."
Actually, he thought, remembering Mr. and Mrs. Tucker's urgent questions how Trip was doing, I believe if you even mentioned such a thing to them, they'd smack you on the head and tell you to stop being stupid.
Trip still didn't look convinced, but he was interrupted by the sickbay doors sliding open before he could say anything. Malcolm half-turned around on his chair, and saw Captain T'Pol enter, followed by the two doctors. T'Pol's eyebrows shot up when she looked past Malcolm at Trip.
"Mr. Tucker. It is good to see you awake."
Phlox and Skitra took this as a cue to hurry to Trip's bedside, the Vulcan doctor checking the monitor and filtering device while Phlox interrogated his patient.
"How do you feel, Mr. Tucker? Any headaches? Feelings of dizziness?"
Trip ignored the doctor's questions, staring at Skitra as if he were seeing a ghost. "What is he doing here?" he asked, and pulled his arm away when the Vulcan reached out to check the implants. "Leave me alone!"
Malcolm opened his mouth, but Skitra stopped him with the tiniest of headshakes. He clasped his hands behind his back, moving away so Trip could see that he meant no harm.
"I understand your fears, Mr. Tucker, but I assure you that there is an explanation for my actions aboard the Wildfire. I never meant to do you any harm."
Trip frowned at him, clearly not believing a word of it.
Phlox picked up the thread. "Dr. Skitra risked a lot when he used a different substance that wouldn't do irreversible damage to your mind. I believe he deserves to be trusted."
"A different substance?" Trip turned to the Vulcan.
"Indeed," Skitra said. "A Vulcan toxin that causes temporary amnesia. I am sorry that I left you believing it was the real poison, but I could not say anything in Captain Patricks' presence."
Trip stared at him, digesting what he had heard. "So you saved my life," he said then. "Why?"
Skitra raised an eyebrow. "I'm a Healer, Mr. Tucker. It was the logical thing to do." He turned back to the monitor, though not without another look at Trip. "May I continue my examination?"
Trip nodded. "Thank you," he said quietly, and Skitra acknowledged it with a silent nod.
Malcolm watched the doctors fuss over Trip, readjusting the filtering device and checking the catheters. Trip seemed to have relaxed again, and Malcolm suddenly became aware of how cold his bare feet had grown. He was about to return to his own bed when T'Pol touched his arm.
"Lieutenant, I'd like to talk to you for a minute."
"Of course, ma'am." He followed her into Phlox' tiny office at the far end of the room. Once inside, T'Pol closed the door and gestured at a chair.
"Please, take a seat."
Malcolm complied, resisting the urge to say that he'd rather remain standing. He knew it would get him nowhere.
"Thank you for taking the time, Lieutenant." T'Pol clasped her hands behind her back. "I did not think it advisable to tell you in front of Mr. Tucker, considering that he has only just woken up."
Malcolm straightened himself. "Is there something wrong, ma'am?"
"If you are referring to "wrong" meaning "out of the ordinary", then I believe there is, Lieutenant. However, there is no need to worry yourself. You and Mr. Tucker are safe."
Malcolm frowned. "I'm afraid I don't understand, ma'am."
T'Pol regarded him calmly. "You will remember that I sent my findings about the Joint Forces' dealings with the Orions to Admiral Selin at JF Headquarters."
Malcolm nodded. "You told me so."
T'Pol acknowledged this with a tilt of her head. "After receiving my message, Admiral Selin conferred with several members of his Command staff, and they decided to release the information to the media." She pulled out a small data chip and inserted it into the monitor on Phlox's desk. "This is a copy of the latest news broadcast on Earth."
The screen came to life, and the voices of an angry crowd filled the room. Malcolm saw a mass of people crowded in front of a building, some of them holding up signs or makeshift banners. Their shouting was too loud for him to understand the words, but it took only a brief look at their contorted faces to catch the drift. A stone whizzed through the air, and one of the windows shattered, soon followed by another. Over the noise from the crowd, the newscaster commented that the police had only barely been able to keep the mob from forcing their way into JF Headquarters. "Several high-ranking Joint Forces officers only narrowly escaped a lynching, not least because some of the security forces simply refused to stop the crowd from entering the building."
T'Pol touched a button and the image froze, stopping several of the flying stones in mid-air. "I'm showing you this so you get an idea of the current situation. I believe humans would describe it as chaotic."
"I'll say." Malcolm glanced back at the screen. Seeing the mad fury on those frozen faces, he felt a touch of sympathy for the people inside the building. The mob wouldn't care, but not all of them were guilty. "So what's going to happen now?"
T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "Earth's Central Government has arrested several of the officers involved, and has confiscated all JF data recordings to see if they correspond with the evidence I sent." She paused. "Four of the main suspects disappeared a few hours after the media had broadcast the news. The government is looking for them all over the planet."
"Singer?" Malcolm asked quietly.
"Indeed. He and three of his fellow officers managed to escape before they could be arrested."
I bet he's had his fake passport hidden away in a desk drawer for years. Just in case. Malcolm shook his head. Singer clearing off was no surprise, but to tell the truth, he didn't really care. Having the culprits "brought to justice" after so many years wouldn't really change anything, and least of all would it bring back the Lost Ones.
"What are our orders, ma'am?" He hesitated. "Does Admiral Selin know about... about the incident with the Wildfire?"
"He does." T'Pol's voice sounded perfectly calm. "And he agrees with me that I only did what was logical. There will be no judicial inquiry whatsoever. We are to return to Earth and contact Starfleet Headquarters to deliver our mission report."
Malcolm found himself grinning with relief. The idea of Enterprise's senior crew facing court-martial had been weighing on his conscience for the last few days, tormenting him whenever he got too enthusiastic about their return to Earth. T'Pol's off-hand statement put his mind at ease.
Malcolm's eyes returned to the angry demonstrators on the screen, the stones hurled at the Headquarters' windows, and his smile faded at the sight.
"What about the Joint Forces?" he asked. "What's going to happen to them?"
T'Pol regarded him for a moment. "That," she said, "remains to be seen."
TBC...
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