Title: Killing Thing
Author: Sita Z
Genre: Angst/Drama
Rating: PG 13
AN: Please note that this chapter is rated R for violence!
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Chapter 5
Lieutenant John Peters lay awake, staring at the white ceiling. For some reason, the light in here was dimmer than in sickbay's main room, and the curtains that surrounded the four beds cast strangely shaped shadows on the walls and ceiling. His eyes traced the shadows as he listened to the soft breathing of Martin and Ramon, and finally came to rest on the IV hanger next to his bed. There was no tube leading from the hanger to either of his hands, and John supposed that he couldn't have been in here for very long. Usually, only long-term and/or dangerously injured patients were hooked up to the drip, and it was reassuring to know that he came under neither category.
John shifted a little, and noticed that he was wearing sickbay pajamas, those mint-green gowns that never quite lost the slight whiff of disinfectant. He remembered the smell from the two times he'd stayed in sickbay overnight; once after he'd received a rather nasty burn when handling a malfunctioning phase pistol, and a second time when he'd come down with the Argelian flu. Both times he'd fallen asleep with a distinct smell of citrus and soap in his nose, an odor he'd come to associate with this place.
Martin exhaled deeply in his sleep, almost a snore, and John realized that he was still tired, his head aching dully at a place right behind his left eyebrow. The last time he'd felt that way had been after Louisa's birthday party two months ago, when he'd been roped into that ridiculous drinking game. This time, however, he could not remember any drinking games involved...
An away mission. Yes, he remembered that much. An away mission with Captain Archer and Commander Tucker... for some reason, John flinched inwardly at the thought of the Commander. Something... something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the more he thought about it, the more he could feel it, a large, hard knot sitting deep in his chest. Something was terribly wrong, and it had to do with the away mission, although John could not remember what it was...
"All set?"
Martin Kelsey grinned as he turned away from the weapons' locker, excitement written all over his freckled young face. Then again, John would have been surprised, had it been otherwise; it was only to be expected that his very first away mission had Martin bouncing off the walls.
Ramon Florez, who stood next to him, smiled his nervous smile. "You'd better lock that door again, Martin, or the boss will have your head when we get back."
"Oh. Right." Martin turned back and slammed the door of the locker shut, punching in the security code. Both Ramon and John had flinched at the loud bang, and now shared a look of long-suffering patience. As Martin's roommate had said on several occasions, "that man could wake up the dead just by folding up his uniform".
On their way to the shuttle bay, Ramon kept checking the settings of his phase pistol, carefully inserting it into the holster each time only to pull it out again a few seconds later. John smothered a smile. As a Lieutenant, he'd been part of more than one away team in the last fourteen months, but he remembered very well how awed he had been the first time his feet had touched alien ground. No wonder Martin and Ramon were feeling a little nervous, each in their own way.
John himself had to admit that he would have passed this time, if Reed had given them any choice. Although they were technically of the same rank, as Chief of Security the other Lieutenant still outranked him, and John knew better than to protest when he was assigned to the team. No one protested when they were assigned to an away team, and besides, his reason for not wanting to participate were... not something he wanted to share with anyone. And especially not with Lieutenant Reed.
When they entered the shuttlebay, Captain Archer and the Commander were already waiting next to Shuttlepod I's open hatch.
"Hey, guys," Tucker said, grinning at them. Ramon and Martin answered his grin (although on Florez' part it turned out more like a nervous grimace), but John did not smile back.
"Commander," he replied.
If Tucker had noticed his cool tone, then he didn't let it show. "Well, we'd better get goin'," he said, ducking through the hatch only to stick his head back out again. "You comin', Cap'n?"
The Captain grinned and held his hand out toward the open hatch. "After you, gentlemen," he said.
"Yes, sir!" In his enthusiasm, Martin almost stumbled as he climbed inside, and blushed furiously when the Captain caught him by the arm to balance his fall.
"Take it easy, Ensign." Archer smiled. "We're not leaving without you."
"Thank you, sir." Still somewhat red in the face, Martin slunk to one of the rear benches and took a seat next to Ramon, who, despite his nervousness, was apparently trying his hardest not to grin. Captain Archer closed the hatch behind himself, but instead of sitting down he went to the pilot seat and tapped on the backrest.
"Let me take her out this time, Trip," he said. "Been months since I've had the chance to practice."
Tucker grinned and gave up the seat. "Sure thing, Cap'n."
John, who was sitting in one of the chairs behind the pilot seat, turned away when Tucker sat down next to him. He kept his gaze fixed on the helm, as if trying to memorize every move when the Captain powered up the thrusters, and carefully avoided the Commander's eyes.
The stars appeared before the front window, and John heard Martin gasp softly in the back. Again, he found himself fighting a grin. It were the same stars Martin saw every morning when he got up and looked out the window, but that dampened the young ensign's enthusiasm not in the slightest. Martin seemed determined to enjoy every single minute, and his excitement was contagious. John watched the approaching surface of the planet below, suddenly feeling excited himself. If he could only avoid Tucker... he might even enjoy this mission.
John closed his eyes, his hands clenching the sheets. Things were coming back to him, rushing towards him with increasing speed, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He remembered their trip down to the surface, Martin's stare when they had first met the alien dignitaries... recalled how the unfamiliarly strong gravity had tugged at him when they had followed the Ru'khi to the embassy. John had kept his hand on his weapon holster, carefully scanning their surroundings, but no threat had declared itself and when they had taken their seats at the banquet table, he had almost allowed himself to relax. Almost.
"On behalf of my team, I'd like to thank you for a wonderful dinner, Minister." Captain Archer raised his glass to the alien woman who was seated next to him. Minister Ma'kih was easily twenty centimeters taller than he, her skillfully piled-up hair adding to the impression, but she managed to make it seem as if they were on eye-level when she raised her own glass in response.
"Consider it a welcoming gift to you and your escort," she replied. Her voice was as deep as a human male's, but with a sonorous timbre that was definitely female, alien or not. "We're delighted that you agreed to come for a visit."
John sighed inwardly; dinner had been enjoyable, more so than he had expected it to be, but he was growing rather weary of the seemingly endless exchange of courtesies. To the Ru'khi, it seemed very important to stress that Captain Archer and his team were guests on a visit, and so far, the word "dilithium" hadn't cropped up at all.
Almost as if they were ashamed of doing business at all, John thought. The other Ru'khi at the table had kept a respectful silence while eating, and so Archer's "escort" had followed their example, concentrating on their food while the Captain and Ma'khi exchanged diplomatic phrases.
With a ritual gesture, the Minister placed her glass on her plate and rose from the table, the Captain and Tucker doing the same. The other Ru'khi, even those who had still been eating, repeated the gesture, and John signalized to Martin and Ramon to get up as well. Obviously, dinner was over.
"Captain Archer, if you please." The Minister gestured for the Captain to follow her. "The embassy grounds are most pleasant for a short walk."
John wasn't too happy, seeing the Captain leave in the company of Ma'khi and several of her administrators, but the Minister had made it very clear that any negotiations would only take place without the "escort" present. It did seem as though the Ru'khi considered business something that was best done behind closed doors.
"Well, seems as if we're on our own for a while."
Tucker. John looked up and saw that the Commander was leaning against a nearby column, grinning at Martin and Ramon. "Havin' fun?"
The two ensigns smiled back and nodded. "Yes, sir."
John said nothing. He wished Tucker had gone with the Captain, but of course, he was part of the "escort" and as such not welcome at the negotiation table.
"The Cap'n told me Ma'khi was gonna take him to the Hall of Negotiation, so this might take a while," Tucker continued. "How 'bout we go and have a look at the park outside? From what I've seen it's really nice."
Martin opened his mouth, but John cut him off. "Thanks, Commander," he said, not caring if he sounded contemptuous. In fact, contempt was all he felt for the man. "We'd rather stay here."
Martin and Ramon gave him surprised looks.
"I'd like-" Martin began, but John silenced him with a glare.
"We're staying here," he repeated more sharply.
The Commander regarded him with raised eyebrows. "Somethin' the matter, John? There's no danger in havin' a look around."
At Tucker's use of his first name, John felt a hot surge of anger, but he managed to control it.
"I think it's better if we stay here, sir. Florez, Kelsey and I, I mean."
Frowning, Tucker opened his mouth as if to add something, then he shrugged. "Well, suit yourself. I'm goin' for a walk. See ya later, guys," he added to Martin and Ramon.
With that, he turned around and left, walking towards the big glass doors that led to the park. John watched him, and noticed that his hands were clenched to fists. How dare he talk to me like that? an angry voice hissed in his head. How dare he even stay on Enterprise... either of them?
John was barely aware of how his resentment had spiked up in only a few seconds, turning first into anger and then into rage. He stared at Tucker's retreating back, and suddenly felt the wish to wipe that insulting, imbecile smile off the man's face. Show him what the likes of him deserved.
"John?"
He pulled his eyes away from Tucker, and looked at Ramon. The young ensign seemed worried.
"Are you alright, John?"
John exhaled deeply. "Yeah," he said. "I'm fine."
Now that Tucker was gone, the sudden rage had become easier to control. John caught Ramon's confused look, and realized how strange his behavior must seem to the others. Back on the ship, he'd been careful to never let on about his dislike of Tucker - or their own Head of Department, for that matter. He knew that most people wouldn't tolerate his view of things, getting him into serious trouble if they went blabbing to the wrong person. And as long as he didn't have to interact with the two men other than taking Reed's instructions and turning the other way when he saw either of them in the messhall, John supposed that he was fine. Starfleet's policy of "Live and let live" was quite alright with him, as long as he could keep his distance.
A few minutes ago, however... John couldn't remember ever feeling so mad before. He supposed that was the right word for it; he had come close to hauling off and smashing his fist into Tucker's grinning face. Only thinking about the man brought his anger back to the surface, and he turned away, striding towards the stairs.
"John!"
Martin came running after him, slightly out of breath as he fell into pace next to the Lieutenant.
"John, are you okay? Look, why don't we go with Commander Tucker, it's-"
"No." John cut him off and quickened his pace. Realizing how brusque he sounded, he added, "You can go, if you like. I'm staying here."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Martin and Ramon exchange a glance. Then, after a moment's hesitation, both men followed him to the broad marble staircase that led to the second floor.
John had no trouble recalling the conversation that had followed, upstairs in their suite. He hadn't been planning to answer Martin's and Ramon's questions, had never intended to tell them exactly why he had refused to go with Tucker. But the words had left his mouth before he could do anything about it, seemingly on their own accord. And he had been angry... angrier than ever before in his life.
"I saw them in the observation lounge."
John turned away from the window and met two puzzled pairs of eyes.
"Who are you talking about, John?" Ramon asked, rather carefully, as it seemed.
"Reed and Tucker," John replied curtly, having no desire to go into the details. "I couldn't sleep, and so I decided to go for a walk in the corridors. For some reason, I went into the observation lounge, and that was when I saw them."
"Doing what?" Martin's face was one big question mark.
John sighed inwardly. "Kissing," he said. Combined with the memory of what he had involuntarily witnessed, the word left a bad taste in his mouth. "I saw them kissing."
Martin's mouth dropped open. Ramon only blinked, but his voice betrayed surprise when he asked, "Are you sure?"
John nodded curtly. At the time, it had come as a shock to him, and he'd lain awake for most of the night, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Lieutenant Reed, a man he had respected and even admired, was actually a... a faggot. Being in Security, John had never really had anything to do with Tucker, but Malcolm Reed was the last man on the ship he would have expected to be... bent that way.
"Wow." Martin seemed to have found his voice again. "I mean, I never would've thought either of them to be... You should listen to some of the girls talking, they're crazy about Tucker." He chuckled. "Wouldn't they be disappointed to know that he's snogging the boss instead."
Ramon didn't seem to know whether to smile or not, and eventually settled for a nervous snort. John turned away, pressing his lips together.
"I think it's disgusting."
Martin stopped chuckling. Silence followed, and John, feeling a new wave of anger wash over him, continued.
"I don't see how Starfleet can allow people like them to rise to the rank of Commander - or Lieutenant, for that matter. They're supposed to set an example for the crew!" He let out a humorless laugh. "Let's just hope no one follows that particular example."
Another stretch of silence followed his remark, then Ramon asked quietly, "Did they see you? I mean, that time you walked in on them."
John shook his head. "No."
They were silent for a while. John stared out the window without really seeing any of the alien trees and buildings outside, his mind occupied with the rage boiling inside him whenever he thought of Tucker and Reed. Back on the ship, avoiding them had seemed like a reasonable solution, but suddenly, for a reason unknown to himself, he found himself wishing he had done something a lot sooner. Talked to the Captain, maybe. Sent a message to Starfleet Command. Or taken matters in his own hands, as the new, hate-filled voice in his head suggested in a low whisper. Yeah, maybe that would have been the best solution. He doubted those incompetents back at Starfleet Command would have listened to him, and Archer would have booted him straight out of his ready room. The Captain? Take action against his best buddy, even though he was fucking another guy - or, as John was inclined to believe, any other guy who caught his fancy and was willing? Ridiculous.
"You know..." Ramon's voice broke the silence, and John half-turned his head to look at him. "I don't really think it's a problem. As long as they keep quiet about it..."
"You a queer yourself?" John wasn't quite sure where the spiteful question had come from, but now he couldn't take it back - and on second thought he didn't really want to, either.
"What?" Ramon's dark cheeks flushed with anger, and he half-rose from the chair he'd been sitting on. "I really don't know what's gotten into you, John!"
"I'm going to tell you what's gotten into me!" John snarled, his hands clenched to fists and shaking. He wanted to smash something, hurt someone, do something to finally release the mad fury that was pounding inside his head. "I've got a goddamn faggot for a boss who's probably slept his way to the position where he is today, and I'm working for an organization that doesn't even try to do something about that sort of thing happening among their senior staff! That's what's gotten into me!"
Ramon took a deep breath, but before he could say anything in response the door opened and Tucker, of all people, stuck his head inside.
"Is everything alright?" he asked. "I thought I heard someone shoutin'."
Blind rage took over, and before John really knew what he was doing he was at the door, grabbing Tucker by the front of his uniform and yanking him into the room. The Commander, taken by surprise, reacted a second too late, and John slammed him against the nearby wall, hard enough to knock the air out of both of them.
"I'll - show - you," John panted. "Show you-"
Tucker pushed him away, forcefully enough so John stumbled and would have fallen if Ramon hadn't caught him. "Are ya crazy?"
Tucker's face was a mixture of anger and shock. Shaking off Ramon's hand, John went back at him, pulling his fist back to smash it into Tucker's face. This time, the Commander was prepared for the attack and blocked it, grabbed hold of John's arm and shoved him away again. He yelled something, but it was drowned out by the mad pounding in John's ears. Martin had gotten up from his chair, staring with his mouth hanging open.
Heavily breathing, John turned around to Ramon who was still standing there, his hands clenched to fists at his sides. He looked like a scared and angry animal, ready to attack but not sure about when and how.
"You didn't answer my question, Ramon," John said. A very distant part of his mind noted how strange his voice sounded, almost as if it didn't belong to him. "Are you?"
Ramon met his eyes, and John saw his own madness appear on the young ensign's face, contorting the normally soft features. For a second, John believed Ramon was going to punch him, but then, unexpectedly, the ensign pushed past him and attacked Tucker with a viciousness that left the Commander completely unprepared. They went down in a tangle of arms and legs, Ramon landing a hard punch in Tucker's face before the Commander managed to shake him off.
"What's wrong with you?" Tucker shouted. Blood ran down the side of his mouth as he tried to get back to his feet. "What are you d-"
He never finished his sentence. Both John and Martin came at him at the same time, and all John was aware of was the loud pounding in his head, that mad fury sending hot bolts down his spine every time he delivered another kick or punch, and he knew that nothing, absolutely nothing would stop him now...
John lay in his sickbay bed, frozen. He remembered all of it; the wild satisfaction as they had screamed themselves into a frenzy, Tucker on the floor, trying to protect his face with his arms... the mad and arousing feeling of absolute power. And then... he and Martin, dragging Tucker to his feet and throwing him on the bed... the sound of tearing fabric... and finally Tucker screaming and screaming.
Oh God... oh my god... what have we done? What have I done?
John suddenly found it hard to breathe, and tried to sit up, pressing both hands against his chest. What had happened on the planet... what they had done to Tucker... it was his fault. The madness, the rage... it had been he who had instilled it in the others, who had allowed himself to be carried away by an anger he still didn't understand. Yes, there had been feelings of dislike, even resentment ever since he had known about Tucker and Reed, but he had never - never - even thought of hurting anyone.
Mercilessly, the memories of what he had done returned in all clarity... the violence, the feeling of control that had stimulated him, the cruel pleasure he had taken in the pain he inflicted on his victim... John choked back a sob. That wasn't him. How could he have done something like that when merely thinking about it made him want to vomit? How could such a thing happen at all?
He lay back on his pillow, warm tears running down his temples, and never even noticed when the door opened.
"Lieutenant, you're awake!"
The doctor's round face appeared in John's field of vision, but he only turned his head away. Phlox checked the readings on the bio monitor, then turned back to his patient.
"Your vital signs are stable, Lieutenant. How are you feeling?"
John shook his head, wishing the doctor would go away. Right now, he couldn't bear to look at anyone, let alone speak to them.
The doctor continued, in a more subdued voice, "I assume you remember what occurred on the planet, Lieutenant."
John turned his head, expecting - almost hoping - to see anger and disgust in the doctor's eyes; it was what he deserved, what he felt for himself. Instead, however, all he detected in the strange blue eyes was an expression of sadness and... pity.
"It was my fault, doctor," he whispered. His voice sounded hoarse, barely audible, but he continued. It seemed very important to get this point across. "I... I made them do it. I don't know why. It was my fault."
Phlox rested a hand on his arm. "I understand that you're upset, Lieutenant, but right now it is imperative that you rest. Your body has suffered a shock, and it will take some time to recuperate from the trauma. We can talk later."
John only stared at him, then turned his head away. "I'm sorry," he whispered while tears were still streaming down his cheeks. "God, I'm so sorry."
Phlox said nothing in response, and a moment later John felt something cold touch the side of his neck. His eyes began to drift close and he embraced the feeling, allowing oblivion to claim him and take him out of this hell... if only for a short time.
TBC...
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