Title: Killing Thing
Author: Sita Z
Genre: Angst/Drama
Rating: R
AN: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter :). Please not that this chapter is rated R for violence!
---------------
Chapter 3
...a hand is holding his face down on the pillow, and all he can see is red darkness; he can barely breathe, let alone scream. There are more hands, painfully squeezing his arms and legs as they pin him down on the bed. He tries to struggle, which only leads to more pain as one of them cruelly twists his arm. He can taste his own blood, a mixture of salt and copper, and his head is beginning to pound with the lack of oxygen. The sound of heavy breathing and voices reach his ears whenever he manages to come up for a gulp of air.
"...keep him still... you like that, don't you..."
He feels the bed underneath him move, and suddenly a particularly vicious pair of hands begins to tear off his remaining clothes, taking cruel pleasure in dragging its fingernails across the exposed skin. He feels a rush of cold air as the clothing is ripped off his lower body, and, realizing what is going to happen, kicks out in wild despair. One of his legs comes free, and his foot hits a soft stomach, causing its owner to grunt with pain. For the split of a second he believes he can shake off those hands, but before he can turn around their fingers clench on his arms, and he is shoved back down onto the bed, his cries muffled as his face hits the pillow.
"...goddamn queer... show you..."
He feels the third pair of hands on his waist, its fingernails drawing blood, and hears muffled laughter at his effortless attempts to free himself. No! The word fills his mouth, chokes him, but his face is squashed against the pillow and he can't even open his mouth to take a breath. No, leave me alone, get your hands off me, NO!
And suddenly there is pain, a ripping, searing pain that fills his world, and all he knows is that it hurts, oh God, it hurts, IT HURTS-
Malcolm was woken rather abruptly when a flailing arm struck him on the side of his face, and he opened his eyes to find Trip half-awake, struggling wildly to free himself from Malcolm's embrace. Malcolm let go, and at the same time reached out to touch his partner's shoulder.
"Trip-"
"No!" Trip recoiled and retreated to the wall on the other side of the bed. "Leave me alone!"
Malcolm glanced at the luminous display of the bedside clock. It was only 0434, which meant that he had been asleep for less than two hours. Slowly, he pushed himself into a sitting position, and held up his hands to show that he meant no threat.
"It's okay, Trip," he said, keeping his voice calm, although it hurt his very soul to see Trip like this. "I'm not going to hurt you. It's all right."
Trip's eyes narrowed to slits, and carefully - as if he were afraid any rash movement could set Malcolm off and make him go berserk - he reached out and gathered up the blanket that was bunched on the bed between them, wrapping it around himself.
"Why're you here?" he asked hoarsely, and Malcolm could see that he was still partly caught in his nightmare. The expression on Trip's pale, sweaty face sent a chill down Malcolm's spine. He had seen his partner angry, sad, irritable and afraid, he had even witnessed a sulking Trip and a tipsy, giggly Trip, but he had never seen a Trip who had lost the firm grip on reality that had always been an integrate part of his nature. Now, however, Malcolm wasn't even sure if Trip recognized him for who he was, a person Trip loved and trusted. All Trip might see was someone invading his private space, someone who posed a potential threat.
"You seemed like you could use some company," he replied quietly, watching Trip's face as he said it. Trip didn't move. A vein had started to pulse on his neck, and the look in his eyes reminded Malcolm more of a frightened animal than anything else.
"Trip," he began, and slowly raised a hand, bringing it closer to Trip's shoulder. Trip's own hands came up so quickly that Malcolm barely had a chance to react and pull his hand back.
"Don't touch me!" Trip all but hissed. "I don't care what you think you're doin', but you're not gonna touch me! Get that?"
For a second, Malcolm felt hurt by the venom in Trip's voice - until he took a look at Trip's face, and saw the naked, almost insane fear in his partner's eyes.
Slowly, Malcolm withdrew the rest of the way, and deliberately rested his hands in his lap.
"I'm not going to touch you," he said, his quiet voice belying the turmoil he felt on the inside. "I'm sorry if I frightened you."
Trip stared at him for another moment, then began to move to the foot of the bed, still wrapped in his blanket and his eyes never leaving Malcolm. He got up, and Malcolm winced inwardly when he saw his partner's slow and awkward movements as he walked over to the closet. Trip was obviously in pain, but didn't seem to pay it any attention. He opened the door of his closet, and after some rummaging through its contents pulled out a thick jacket - one of the few articles of cold weather clothing that he owned - and slipped into it, closing the zipper up to his chin before he wrapped the blanket back around his shoulders. Malcolm couldn't understand how Trip could be comfortable under all those clothes (underneath the jacket Trip was still wearing the flannel sweater and a shirt), but his partner's face showed a strange kind of relief once he was safely cocooned in his blanket again. Malcolm doubted that Trip was even aware of another presence in the room as he limped over to his desk chair and sat down, a huddled form in front of a field of stars.
"Trip?" Malcolm asked carefully, and wasn't surprised when Trip didn't even raise his head. He noticed that despite the various thick layers of clothing, Trip was shivering.
"Trip?" He got up as well, making sure to move slowly and keep a distance of a few meters between himself and the other man. "Trip, are you alright?"
Trip kept staring at the floor between his feet, his arms wrapped around himself as if he were in the middle of a snowstorm, trying to protect himself from the icy wind.
"Cold," he whispered, the words barely audible to Malcolm. "So damn cold in here."
Malcolm glanced at the environmental controls. The temperature in Trip's quarters had been raised to 26° Celsius, which was five degrees warmer than the normal room temperature on Enterprise, and still, Trip seemed to be shivering uncontrollably, a trickle of sweat running down the side of his face at the same time.
Keeping a watchful eye on his partner, Malcolm moved across the room to the comm panel next to the door, and pressed a button.
"Reed to sickbay."
"Phlox here," he heard the doctor's voice. "What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"
"Doctor, I think you'd better take a look at Trip," Malcolm replied. Involuntarily he kept his voice down although he doubted Trip would have reacted even if he had shouted. "He said that he's cold, and he's shivering all over."
"I'll be right there." Phlox signed off and left Malcolm staring at the speaker, wondering whether Phlox' curt answer was good news or bad news. Judging from the undercurrent of concern in the doctor's tone, however, it definitely seemed to be the latter.
Malcolm turned away from the comm, and for a moment stood next to the door, unsure what to do next. Eventually, he settled for sitting back down on the bed and feeling around on the floor until he found the various parts of his uniform in the semi-darkness. Might as well get dressed; Malcolm knew there was no way he was going to go back to sleep tonight.
"I've asked Dr. Phlox to come here so he can have a look at you," he told Trip quietly, aware that the bowed figure next to the window was probably not even hearing the sound of his voice. Once again, Malcolm had to try hard to fight the choking feeling at the back of his throat. How was he ever going to be able to help Trip if...
...if he has lost his sanity, a helpful voice at the back of his mind supplied, finishing the thought that Malcolm didn't have the heart to think to its end. Malcolm watched his partner for another few seconds, then bowed his head and rested his face in his hands, wishing his oh-so-brilliant tactical mind would come up with a way - any way - to end this nightmare.
The door chimed and Malcolm raised his head again, slowly getting to his feet. "Come," he said.
Phlox entered, medkit in hand, and a worried expression appeared on his face as he became aware of Trip sitting next to the window.
"How long has he been like that?" he asked without greeting, and confirmed Malcolm's earlier suspicion that this new development had the doctor deeply worried.
"He went to sit over there only a couple of minutes ago," he replied, feeling helpless as he glanced at his partner who in the meantime had started to rock back and forth along with the shivering. "He... I think he had a nightmare. He panicked when he woke up, and insisted that I couldn't touch him."
Phlox nodded, his eyes still on Trip, and set his medkit down on the foot of the bed.
"I'm going to be perfectly honest with you, Lieutenant," he said as he took out a hypospray and recalibrated its settings. "I don't think that the trauma he has undoubtedly suffered is the only cause of Commander Tucker's current condition."
Malcolm closed his eyes; how could this possibly get any worse?
"I've noticed similar symptoms with the rest of the away team," Phlox continued, and Malcolm noticed that he was keeping his voice down, concealing the hypospray behind his hand so that Trip couldn't possibly see it. "They seemed to be physically healthy when they first came back from the surface, although their mental state had me worried from the beginning. Like Commander Tucker, they seemed to be feeling uncomfortable in sickbay so I sent them to their quarters to rest. After a while, however, I was alerted by their roommates, or, in Captain Archer's case, by Subcommander T'Pol whom I had asked to check on the Captain after her shift. " He met Malcolm's eyes. "All four men showed signs of paranoia, seemingly irrational fear, and unawareness of their surroundings. I'm afraid we will have to take the Commander to sickbay."
Malcolm looked over at Trip who was still shaking as if he were suffering from a high fever. "What happened to them down there?" he said, barely aware that his voice had dropped to a whisper.
"I don't know," Phlox said quietly. "I believe I may have some answers soon, but I will need to do extended scans to verify my theory. In the meantime, I strongly suggest that we persuade the Commander to leave his quarters and follow us to sickbay. I assume you'll want to stay with him?"
Malcolm nodded. "He's not going to-"
"I know, Lieutenant," Phlox interrupted him - it was uncharacteristic of the impeccably mannered doctor to do so, and a sure sign that he was upset. "Commander Tucker isn't going to leave here willingly. Lieutenant, if you would..." He nodded in Trip's direction, then indicated the hypospray. "I believe I'm going to need your assistance."
Malcolm nodded, although he hated the idea of "conspiring" with the doctor to trick Trip into being sedated. But Phlox was right; he was probably the only person Trip would allow to come close to him in his current state of mind. Careful to keep his hand out of Trip's field of vision, Malcolm took the injection device from Phlox and slowly approached the trembling man.
"Trip," he said. Trip looked up briefly, then withdrew back into himself, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders.
"Go 'way, Mal."
Malcolm had to strain his ears to understand the words, and although Trip was unmistakably telling him to bugger off, Malcolm's heart soared hopefully at Trip's use of his name, the shortened form that only he would use. Avoiding any quick movements, he got to one knee beside the chair and leaned a little closer so that he was able to look at Trip's face.
"It's alright, love. I realize that you're not feeling well, and we're here to help you. But to be able to do so, we need to get you to sickbay."
Trip only shook his head, turning his face away. "Leave me alone."
"Trip, please." Malcolm exchanged a glance with the doctor, who nodded, silently encouraging him to use the hypospray the armory officer still held hidden in one hand. Malcolm turned back to his partner, deciding to give it one more try.
"Trip, I need you to come with me and Dr. Phlox. Please."
This time, Trip didn't even bother to answer, and only closed his eyes in response. Malcolm hesitated, wishing he didn't have to do this, and then pressed the spray against Trip's neck, giving the injector one quick turn so that the sedative was ejected into Trip's bloodstream. Trip's eyes opened for a split second, showing a startled expression, and then closed again as he slumped forward into Malcolm's arms. Malcolm remained in his kneeling position for another one or two seconds, feeling Trip's heartbeat under his hands. Then he got up, slid one arm under Trip's shoulders and the other one under his knees and carefully lifted his unconscious partner out of the chair. The taller man's weight had him staggering before he could regain his balance.
"I can call someone to come down here with a stretcher," Phlox offered, but Malcolm shook his head. He was trained to carry heavier weights than this, and besides, the idea of letting someone else take care of Trip didn't sit well with him. Right now, all he wanted to do was hold Trip, watch over him and make sure that he wasn't hurt - ever again. Irrational, maybe, over-protective, obsessive behavior, maybe, but it was how he felt.
He followed Phlox out into the hallway, and startled when he took a look at Trip's face in the bright light of the corridor lamps. Every centimeter of Trip's skin seemed to be dripping with sweat, and his hair looked as if he had just come in out of a rainstorm - which wasn't surprising, all things considered; under all those clothes, Trip must be sweating as if in his own personal sauna. What was a lot more unsettling, however, was the deadly pallor of his partner's skin, and the way his lips had taken on almost the same pasty gray as his cheeks and forehead. Almost as if he were...
"Doctor," Malcolm said, and Phlox turned around. "Look at his face. That can't be normal."
"It's not." The doctor took out his scanner, and his face darkened at what he saw on the display. "Just as I'd thought."
"What?" Malcolm asked, unable to keep his growing frustration - and anxiety - out of his voice. "What's going on with Trip? Is he..." Malcolm stopped himself before he could say the words that had sprung to his mind without warning. He is not going to die. "Is he going to be okay?"
"I believe so." Phlox tucked away his scanner. "But I cannot tell for certain yet. We need to hurry."
Malcolm followed the Denobulan down the corridor, resigning to the fact that he would not get any answers from the doctor, at least not right now. To a certain extent, he could sympathize with Phlox' reluctance to share any theories before he had run the necessary tests to prove them; on the other hand, all he wanted was for the doctor to tell him that Trip was going to be all right, that this was only a harmless side effect of... whatever. Malcolm didn't care, as long as this... whatever it was... didn't hurt Trip.
Fortunately, they encountered only one crewmember on the way to sickbay - Ensign Summers, whose eyes widened when she saw her head of department carry an ill-looking Chief Engineer along the corridor.
"Is... is Commander Tucker all right?" she asked timidly. Malcolm forced himself to pull his face into a reassuring smile, although it turned out more like a grimace.
"We hope so," he said, quickening his pace to get past the young woman so she wouldn't see the bruises on Trip's face. The last thing they needed in this nightmarish situation was for the crew to start spreading rumors about what had happened.
Over his shoulder, he saw her watching them as they left, looking as if she wanted to say something, but then she seemed to decide against it.
"See... see you tomorrow, sir."
To his own surprise, Malcolm found it within himself to drag up another smile for her. "Ensign."
He felt her eyes on his back, and tightened his arms on Trip's unconscious body. Malcolm realized he should probably worry about what Summers was going to tell her roommate when she got back to her quarters, but right now the only concern he had was his partner, the man in his arms whom he, Malcolm Reed, had failed to protect.
His arms aching with the heavy weight, Malcolm followed Phlox into sickbay, and at the doctor's request laid Trip down on the rolling bed of the body scanner.
"I've already run these scans on the Captain, Lieutenant Peters and Ensigns Kelsey and Florez," Phlox said while gently removing Trip's jacket and sweater. He laid them aside, and began to pull the sweat-stained shirt over Trip's head. "They all showed slightly different results, although I believe I'm beginning to recognize a certain pattern in their brainwaves. There," he said, working Trip's right hand out of the shirt's sleeve, and placing the limp arm at the unconscious man's side. "That should do."
Malcolm watched him worriedly as he slid the bed into the imaging chamber. "He's not going to wake up in there, is he?"
Phlox shook his head and initiated the scanning process. "The sedative I gave him should last for another two hours," he said. "And it should keep him from experiencing any more nightmares."
Malcolm nodded and leaned against a nearby bio bed, allowing himself to close his eyes for a moment. Suddenly he realized how tired he was; he had been running on pure adrenaline since Trip's nightmare had woken them both, and although he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, it was hard to ignore his aching body and swollen eyes. Probably felt even worse because he had cried; Malcolm couldn't remember the last time he had allowed himself to cry, and had experienced that sore, burning feeling in his eyes afterwards. It had to be years ago. Reed men didn't cry; somehow he had never been able to rid himself off the childhood mantra that had been drummed into him whenever he had failed to live up to his family's expectations. There had been times when it had been hard to follow that motto - his first few months on Enterprise came to mind, those long weeks when he had felt lonely, insecure and weighed down by the responsibility for the safety of 83 living beings - and there had been times when shedding tears had been the very last thing on Malcolm's mind. Like the last six months, ever since he had woken up in sickbay, his body sick with exhaustion and hypothermia, his heart soaring with the knowledge that his world had changed, forever. Completely unexpectedly so, of course, a thing that had caused both of them no little worry and self-doubt in the beginning. Charlie Tucker, the alleged ladies' man (Trip had admitted to him that this image was mostly based on people's assumptions, and that there was depressingly little fact to substantiate it), and Malcolm Stuart Reed, the "uptight" Brit whose love life up to that point had consisted of a number of short, very complicated relationships with a number of very complicated women, whose main complaint about Malcolm seemed to be that he was... well, that he was being too Malcolm. Unable to change anything about that fact, Malcolm had his heart broken time and again, and eventually decided that he was safer obsessing about his work than about some woman who was bound to leave him after a few months for reasons he could not comprehend. The point, however, was, that neither he nor Trip had ever considered themselves to be... whatever today's politically correct term was for "swinging both ways". But there was no denying those blurry hours back in the freezing shuttlepod when they had huddled together under the thin Starfleet issue blankets, had shared their body warmth, rubbed each others arms and legs to get warm, and had suddenly both turned their heads at the same time, their lips touching in a first, gentle, absolutely unanticipated kiss. Malcolm recalled the shock and surprise Trip's eyes that had turned into something like dawning realization, all during that one, frozen second after they had first kissed. Trip had been the first to break the silence, smiling, saying "What the hell" and kissing Malcolm a second time, and Malcolm had kissed back. They had spent their last few hours of air (and, as they had believed at that point, the last hours of their life) cuddled up under the blankets, talking about how your life could change in a single second, and all you could do was stand there and let it happen and wonder why you hadn't realized before. At some point, the talking had ceased for lack of air and consciousness on both sides, and Malcolm remembered that his last thought had been that there were worse ways to die. He hadn't expected to wake up again. It figured, he'd thought, that it would end there; this was, after all, how life worked for Malcolm Reed. You spent all your time searching, and when you had finally found what you'd been looking for, some benevolent deity glanced at their wrist watch and announced that it was about time to go, Malcolm old chap. Where's the joke, the irony if we let you stay any longer? Mission accomplished, I'd say.
But somebody must have fiddled with Providence this time; after all, he had not only woken up again, but had woken up to find himself confronted with a very nervous Trip Tucker, who had stuttered and stammered and finally asked if this was going to be something best forgotten about, or if it was going to continue. And to Malcolm's complete and utter happiness, they had found themselves agreeing on the second option. It turned out to be the best decision he had ever made in his life.
And still is, Malcolm thought, opening his eyes again and staring at the closed door of the scanning chamber. It still is.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a movement and turned his head to see that Phlox had come to stand next to him, watching him with a concerned expression on his face.
"Lieutenant, I suggest you lie down while I complete my scans. You've had a rough night."
Malcolm shook his head. "Thanks doc. I'd rather stay awake at the moment."
To Malcolm's surprise, instead of fussing and scolding, the doctor only sighed and leaned next to him against the biobed.
"Yes. Yes, of course." Phlox paused. "Lieutenant, I'm very sorry about what happened to the Commander. I'd like you to know that I'm here for you whenever you need me."
Malcolm nodded, touched by the open concern in the doctor's voice. "Thank you, doctor." After a brief hesitation he added, "Is... is Trip going to be all right again? Can he be all right again?"
Phlox sighed. "I'm not certain what is causing the Commander's current... physical response, but I'm fairly certain it can be medically treated. His psychological condition, however..."
Malcolm raised his head. "Yes?"
The doctor met his eyes evenly. "Commander Tucker is very likely suffering from RTS. Rape Trauma Syndrome."
Malcolm shook his head. He'd never heard of such a thing before.
Phlox continued to explain, "The victim of a sexual assault will show a number of emotional responses to the extreme stress he or she's been through. I'd call it a coping mechanism, employed by the human mind to deal with a deeply traumatic experience such as rape."
Malcolm swallowed. "Emotional responses?"
"Intense fear, flashbacks, distressing dreams, feelings of depression and detachment... there are many ways in which the symptoms will assert themselves. In cases of rape, the road to recovery is never a straight line."
Malcolm nodded. Somewhere, he'd known all this, but hearing it from the doctor made things even more real, more disheartening. "What... what can I do?" he asked, trying to sound confident, as if he had no doubt in his heart that he would be able to help Trip.
"Be there for him," Phlox replied immediately. "Listen. Tell him that it wasn't his fault, no matter how obvious that may seem to you. I assume you and the Commander are in a loving relationship?"
Malcolm nodded, allowing the tiniest of smiles to steal onto his face. "Yes, we are."
Phlox answered his smile, although the expression was a lot more subdued than his usual bright grin. "That is good to hear. Your support and care will play a decisive role in the Commander's return to health. He needs to know that you feel no differently towards him, that you still want to be with him..."
"Of course I do!" Malcolm exclaimed despite himself.
"I know," Phlox continued patiently, "but you'll have to make sure that Commander Tucker knows as well. It's common for rape survivors to experience feelings of low self-esteem, so you'll need to tell him again and again until he realizes that you're serious." He paused. "You realize, Lieutenant, that you're going to have to be careful about the... ah... physical side of your relationship..."
Malcolm nodded quickly, having no desire to discuss the "physical aspects" with the doctor, Ph.D. in psychiatry or not. "I know."
Phlox nodded. "I'm glad you say so. Lieutenant, I..."
A soft chime from the scan unit interrupted him. The sliding door opened, releasing the rolling bed, and Malcolm went over to his partner's side. Trip was still unconscious, although he appeared slightly more relaxed than he had when the door of the scanner had closed behind him. Malcolm took Trip's left hand in both of his own, and squeezed it gently.
"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he whispered. "Dr. Phlox is going to make you feel better in no time."
He raised his head to see what Phlox was doing. The doctor stood in front of the screen, studying the data with a darkening frown on his face. After a moment's contemplation he pressed a few buttons and the image on the monitor changed, now showing five sets of readings instead of one.
"Doctor?" Malcolm asked.
Phlox didn't turn his head to look at him, his eyes still fixed on the screen. "Only slight discrepancies," he muttered, apparently thinking aloud. "But I don't understand how..."
Malcolm carefully placed Trip's hand back at the sleeping man's side and went over to look at the monitor, where Phlox had now highlighted several parts of the five data readings.
"What is it?" he asked, and finally the doctor met his eyes.
"Commander Tucker's brain scan shows the same irregularities as the other four," he said. "Increased neurotransmitter activity in the limbic system."
"What does that mean?" Malcolm wanted to know.
Phlox' attention was still focused on the scan results. "The limbic system controls memories and emotions, Lieutenant. I'm fairly certain that the away team's distraught state of mind results from the alteration in their brain chemistry."
"But why was there any alteration in the first place?" Malcolm asked. "Are they in danger?"
"I don't think so," the doctor said, and reached out to call up a side menu on the screen. "The abnormal neurological activity seems to be decreasing. If I'm not mistaken, their brain chemistry's about to return to normal, and it seems that this is why they collapsed all of a sudden. I'm afraid I can't tell you what caused the irregularity in the first place, Lieutenant; I haven't collected enough data yet to come up with a hypothesis. This might be an explanation, however, why..."
He broke off, as if he had only just realized what he was about to say. "I'll let you know when I have analyzed the scan results," he finished a little too quickly.
"An explanation for what, doctor?" Malcolm asked, refusing to go along with the doctor's change of subject. "If this has anything to do with Trip, then I want to know."
"Lieutenant..." Phlox turned to look at him, and Malcolm nearly startled when he saw the profound sadness in the doctor's eyes. "I'm not sure if this is something you want to know."
Malcolm said nothing, waiting for the doctor to continue. Phlox averted his eyes, obviously resigning to the fact that Malcolm wouldn't let it go until he had been told what he wanted to know.
"I've analyzed the sample I took from Commander Tucker," he said very softly. Malcolm suddenly found it hard to speak past the lump in his throat.
"And?"
Phlox regarded him for a moment, then, silently, handed him a padd that had been lying on a nearby shelf. Malcolm activated the display and saw the image of three DNA strings, obviously the genetic material Phlox had extracted from the sample, and three matching strings beneath. He read what was written next to the matching images, and his legs suddenly felt too weak to carry him. Malcolm barely noticed what he was doing as he stumbled over to a biobed, and almost fell as he leaned against it. The padd dropped unnoticed to the floor. "Lieutenant..."
Malcolm realized that Phlox had come to stand beside him, resting a careful hand on his arm, but he found himself unable to respond. It was as if all feelings, all thoughts had been drained from his mind, leaving only an empty void behind.
On the padd next to him on the floor, three names were highlighted next to the DNA strings: Lieutenant John Peters, Ensign Martin Kelsey and Ensign Ramon Florez.
TBC...
Please let me know what you think!
