Title
: Killing ThingAuthor
: Sita ZGenre
: Angst/DramaRating
: PG 13AN:
Sorry for the delay, and thank you for your reviews!Please note that this chapter is rated R for language and sexual content!
Chapter 10
It had been painful. More than that; it had been agony.
Of course, Trip had known that it would hurt. It had even seemed fitting that it wouldn't be completely painless. In a way, he had expected the pain to be a cleansing sensation, like washing an infected wound with alcohol to kill all the dirty, hurtful things inside. The pain would scour him clean of the hurt, would leave him raw and empty for a few, blissful seconds before he gave himself up to oblivion.
It was these few, painless seconds Trip had been thinking about as he carefully filled the colorless substance into the hypospray; the darkness that would follow them had only seemed a fair part of the deal. Darkness and oblivion were the necessary consequence if you wanted to get rid of the hurt inside, and at that point, Trip would have tried anything.
When it came, however, a second after he had released the colorless substance into his veins, the pain was not - was anything but - liberating. He had never felt anything like it, as if a knife were laying his veins open from the inside, piercing his muscles and cutting his nerves into shreds. He had tried to scream, his hands clawing at the cold metal grating of the floor, but his throat seemed to have swollen, something huge and hard blocking his airway and muffling his voice. The poison had burned its way through his body, and those few seconds he had been waiting for had been nothing but plain agony. No release, no "letting go", just pain and fear of what the poison would do to him before it finally allowed him to die. And, if he was being quite honest, also fear of death itself. If the process of dying was that terrible, he did not even want to know what awaited him in the unknown beyond. Trip remembered gasping for breath, trying to fill his lungs with air again, even though he had known it would only prolong his agony if he fought the poison. Quite suddenly, however, it had seemed desperately important that he fight, that he did not give up. That he stayed alive.
And then it had been over. There had been no moment of relief, no staring down at his lifeless body from above, only a sudden, instant blackness before he had been woken by the cold feeling of yet another hypospray against his neck.
Trip lay with his eyes closed, aware of the pain that was only a far-away throbbing now. Vaguely, he remembered someone taking him in here, hands lifting him onto this bed, voices talking in muffled tones. Several times, they had addressed him, asking if he was in pain and if he remembered what had happened, which seemed a stupid question. Of course he remembered. The pain had etched those endless seconds in the Jefferies tube on his mind, and he wasn't going to forget any of it; the agony, his desperate struggle, the knowledge that he was going to die.
Suddenly, Trip felt the urge to laugh. There he had been, thinking that it couldn't get any worse, that everything was better than going on the way he had, and then he had gone and dug himself even deeper into the shit which had already come up all the way to his chin. It was pathetic, the more he thought about it. Failed to kill himself, and now that he was here, alive and exactly where he had not wanted to be, he realized that he would not be able to pluck up the courage to try again. Or, more precisely, the heart to do it again. The simple and pitiful truth was that he did not want to die, something he had realized as he had dug his fingers into the deck and gasped to catch one more breath before the poison finished him off. He wanted to live, as much as he hated himself for admitting it. And he did not want to face that pain again.
Trip exhaled deeply, his laugh of before almost turning into something else.
Oh yes. Messed up big this time, Tucker.
"Can I see him?"
More than anything else, Malcolm wanted to make sure with his own eyes that Trip was, if not all right, at least alive and safe.
"I'm afraid I can't allow you to go in there just yet, Lieutenant," Phlox said, heavily sitting down on a chair. "Right now, Crewman Barry and Ensign Li are taking him to the IC unit. I want to be sure his vitals are completely stable before he receives any visitors." He glanced at Liz Cutler, who was busy putting test tubes back into the sample container. "Thank you for your assistance, Crewman."
She smiled. "I'm glad Commander Tucker is feeling better."
Uncharacteristically, Phlox only nodded in response without answering her smile. "Indeed."
Liz studied him for a moment, as if she wanted to ask something. Then she seemed to decide against it, picking up the sample container and turning to the door.
"I'll take those back to the science lab, doctor. Just call me if you need me, okay?"
This time, the doctor did smile, although it was only a weak rendering of his usual bright grin. "I will. Thank you, Crewman."
The sickbay doors closed behind her, and Archer looked back at Phlox. "Is he awake? Did you talk to him?"
"Commander Tucker did wake up after we had filtered most of the coolant out of his blood," the doctor replied slowly. "He was somewhat "out of it", as you would put it, and did not say much."
"Coolant?" Malcolm repeated, a cold feeling spreading in his stomach. "He injected himself with..."
"Liquid plasma coolant, yes." Phlox' lips thinned. "I expect he used a hypospray from one of the emergency medkits."
Malcolm and Archer exchanged a look. Both of them had instructed newcomers how to handle starship equipment, and remembered very well the lesson that was drummed into every engineering greenhorn: Never, absolutely never touch plasma coolant, and if you do inadvertently touch it, get to a doctor straight away.
Although the substance was not acidic, it was highly poisonous, and had the unfortunate characteristic of infiltrating the skin even at brief contact. Coolant poisoning could turn out very unpleasant, even fatal, if it wasn't treated in time. Trip had known this, of course, doing his utmost to escape them so any medical help would come too late.
Before either of them could think of something to say, the door to the IC unit opened and two of Phlox' medical staff came out.
"His readings are stable," Ensign Li, a thin Asian with a mop of black, barely Starfleet regulation hair reported to the doctor. He threw a side-glance at Malcolm and Archer before continuing, "He still seems rather confused, though."
Phlox stood up. "That is to be expected. Thank you, Ensign, Crewman." He dismissed the two of them with a nod, then looked at Malcolm and the Captain. "You can go to see him now."
"Do you want me to wait-" Archer began in Malcolm's direction, but Malcolm shook his head. Truth was, he was rather relieved not to have to go in there on his own. Archer nodded, and, followed by Phlox, they went over to the door of the IC. This time, it was not locked, and Malcolm felt his hand tremble slightly as he pressed the panel on the door frame. Having no idea what he was going to find in there, he automatically assumed the worst, and had to force himself to step into the dimly lit room.
When he saw Trip, Malcolm's first thought was that he had found his assumptions to be confirmed. Trip's face was of a pasty gray color, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen; an inflammatory reaction to the poison, Malcolm assumed. Tubes were coming out of his arms, snaking their way both to an IV bag and a strange, box-shaped gadget attached to the bio monitor, probably a filtering device of sorts. What was even worse, however, were the restraints that secured Trip's hands to the bed rails, effectively immobilizing his arms.
The sight of Trip, sick and strapped down on a bio bed, was almost more than Malcolm could bear. He turned around to Phlox. "Are the restraints really necessary, doctor?"
Phlox regarded him calmly. "Indeed, Lieutenant. Commander Tucker has proven that he is suicidal, and I'm not willing to take any chances."
In a horrible way, the doctor's words made sense, and Malcolm decided to let it go, walking over to the bed instead. Trip's head turned on the pillow, blood-shot eyes focusing on the three approaching figures.
"M-Malcolm?" His voice was barely recognizable. Malcolm, surprised and immensely relieved that Trip had spoken at all, rested a hand on Trip's arm.
"Yes, it's me," he said quietly. "And the Captain's here to see you as well."
Trip turned to look at Archer, who had stepped up on the other side of the bed. "Cap'n..." He closed his eyes, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. "God, I'm so sorry."
"You should be," Archer said. His tone was gentle, but there was no amused or forgiving glint in his eyes. "Malcolm here and I ought to kick your butt for the stunt you pulled back there."
Trip nodded, a tear snaking its way down his cheek. "Yeah," he whispered. "I guess you should."
Malcolm reached out and wiped away the tear, very gently. "Why would you do such a thing, Trip?"
Trip shook his head. "I dunno." His accent thickened, as always when he was upset. "Guess... guess I wasn't thinkin'." He turned his head to look directly at Malcolm. "I let you down, Mal. I'm so sorry."
Malcolm had no idea what to say, and so he simply reached down to take Trip's hand, squeezing it gently. Trip turned to meet the Captain's eyes.
"Cap'n-" he began, but Archer cut him off.
"Don't say sorry, Trip," he said, a harsh undertone in his voice. "Sorry won't change anything. What I want to hear from you..." He leaned forward for greater emphasis, resting his hands on the bed. "All I want to hear from you is that you're never - NEVER - going to try such a thing again. Understood?"
Trip nodded. "Promise," he said hoarsely.
"Good." Archer straightened up again and rested a hand on Trip's shoulder. "You scared the hell out of me there, Trip. Don't you ever do that again."
The Captain's hand remained on Trip's shoulder, and Malcolm watched the mute exchange between the two men, Trip asking for forgiveness and Jonathan saying what Captain Archer hadn't said aloud, how glad he was to have his friend back.
Finally, Archer drew his hand back, after a last, gentle squeeze to Trip's shoulder that conveyed, if not an absolution, at least a reassurance that for now, things were okay between the two of them.
"Get some rest," Archer said, then glanced at Malcolm. "I guess the two of you have some talking to do."
The message was unmistakable, and at any other time Malcolm would have been embarrassed. At the moment, however, he knew it was Jonathan talking, the man who had tried so hard to befriend him in the past ten months, and Malcolm accepted it with a small nod.
Phlox came to check Trip's readings one more time, adjusting the filtering device and fussing with the IV before he followed the Captain to the door. Malcolm noticed that Trip was avoiding the doctor's gaze, tracing the blanket's creases with his eyes while Phlox worked.
He's ashamed
, Malcolm realized, another thought crossing his mind before he could stop it:And he bloody well should be.
Now that he knew Trip was out of danger, shock and horror were slowly being replaced by another feeling. It took Malcolm a while to realize that it was anger, mixed with relief and deep gratitude that Trip had survived. Still, anger was definitely part of it, and Malcolm found himself thinking that the butt kicking Archer had mentioned might not be such a bad idea, after all.
Yes, indeed... I should kick his sorry arse from here into next week for putting me through this.
"Malcolm?"
His thoughts must have reflected on his face, for the question came rather timidly. Malcolm raised his head and saw Trip watching him anxiously.
When he didn't respond, Trip continued softly, "I jus' wanted you to know that I'm terribly sorry for...all of this..." He tried to raise a hand, but the restraint stopped him, and so he moved his chin instead, the gesture including his bed and the entire ICU. "For doin' this to you, I mean. I..." He bit his lips, and had trouble keeping his voice steady as he continued, "These past few days, ever since...ever since we came back from the planet, I couldn't think of anythin' but what... what they did. I knew I was bein' a bastard, but... it was always there, y'know? Wouldn't go away, no matter what I did." He averted his eyes. "In the end, I couldn't take it anymore. I just couldn't. I'm so sorry, Mal."
Malcolm noticed the tears that had formed in Trip's eyes, and the way the other man was trying to hold them back, as if allowing them to fall would make him weak in Malcolm's eyes. Part of Malcolm wanted to talk no more, take Trip into his arms and reassure him that it was okay to cry, but there were still things that needed to be said.
"You could've told me all of this before." He searched Trip's face, and found only pain and regret. "You could have talked to me, you know. I would have listened."
"I know." Trip lowered his eyes.
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
When there was no answer, Malcolm reached out and cupped a hand under Trip's chin, gently turning his head so he could look at him.
"Why couldn't you talk to me, Trip?"
For the first time, Trip didn't flinch away from his touch. "I... don't know. I didn't think you'd even want to look at me. I didn't see how you could stand to do so, after..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
Malcolm stared at him. "Trip, you don't think I blame you for what they did?"
Trip said nothing, which was an answer in itself. For a moment, Malcolm only sat there, then, before any thought of Phlox could stop him, he reached out and undid the fastenings of the restraints. Once Trip's hands were free, Malcolm lowered the safety rail and sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching out and pulling the other man into a hug. There was a second of tension, then Trip relaxed, and a moment later Malcolm became aware of careful hands slipping around his waist, returning the embrace.
"Trip," he whispered, stroking the sweaty hair. "Why would you ever think I'd blame you?"
"I shoulda fought them." The soft statement was full of self-deprecation, even loathing. "I shoulda..."
"What, Trip?" Malcolm said as calmly as he could. "What should you have done?"
"I shouldn't have just let 'em do it!" Trip was shouting now, although the sound was muffled against Malcolm's shoulder. "They held me down an' I... I... couldn't move..."
"There was nothing you could have done, Trip," Malcolm said, barely aware that he was raising his voice as well. "Nothing. Those men are trained fighters. There was no way you could have stopped them."
A wet warmth on his shoulder told him that Trip was crying, although the other man was still desperately trying to hold back the sobs. "They kept sayin' that... that I was a goddamn queer and a slut and that I wanted it to happen, and I... I keep thinkin', what if they were right?"
Malcolm's temper flared as he listened to Trip softly repeating the foul slurs, and for a short moment found himself wishing he had broken Peters' neck instead of the man's nose. Keeping a tight grip on his anger, Malcolm continued to run his hands up and down Trip's back, talking into the disheveled blond hair.
"They weren't. You didn't want for any of this to happen. Whatever they said, it only shows how low they really are. You did nothing wrong."
"But..." Trip's next words were so soft that Malcolm didn't catch them.
"I'm sorry?"
"I... I reacted," Trip whispered. "When... when they... I..."
"You had an erection," Malcolm stated calmly. Phlox had talked to him about this particular subject, explaining to him how important it was that it didn't go unmentioned, only to become the source of misguided guilt later on. "That's perfectly normal. It was a reaction of your body to physical stimuli, and not in any way an indication that you enjoyed what was going on. Or consented to it."
Trip said nothing in response, and Malcolm could only imagine how much it had cost him to mention it at all. Trip, despite his out-going, sociable personality, was a deeply private person where intimacy was concerned, and to admit what had happened to him during the rape had to be one of the hardest things he had ever done.
There didn't seem anything left to be said at the moment, and so Malcolm only sat there, stroking Trip's back as he cried and continuing to do so long after the sobs had ebbed away.
He listened to the sound of Trip's breathing next to his ear, and tried not to think of what he would have done if they had been too late. His anger of before had disappeared - staying angry couldn't change what had happened, and he wasn't going to push Trip away, not now. Not when he was finally letting go, allowing himself to acknowledge the pain and anger and rage he had kept inside all this time.
Eventually, Trip stirred, and Malcolm loosened his grip so they could look at each other. Trip's face was still pale, his eyes red and puffy from his crying and the poison's after-effects. Malcolm instinctively reached out to smooth away a wayward strand of hair, and Trip smiled - very faintly, but a real genuine smile. He reached out and touched Malcolm's uniform where his head had been resting.
"Got ya all wet. Sorry."
Malcolm smiled in response. "That's all right." He reached out and took Trip's hand. "Just as long as you promise me the same thing you promised Captain Archer."
Trip nodded. "Yeah," he said softly. Malcolm, realizing he wasn't finished, waited for him to continue. Finally, Trip said quietly, "Look, I... I know I was bein' a damn bastard, an'... an' if you say you... don't want me back, I'll accept that. I just wanted to... to say thank you, for bein' there."
Malcolm stared at him, not sure whether to laugh or cry. When he finally answered, there was a bit of both in his voice. "Of all the daft ideas you had, Mr. Tucker... do you really think I'd drag you out of that Jefferies Tube and wait for the doctor to save your sorry arse just to tell you I didn't want you back?"
Another smile, not quite so faint, crept onto Trip's face. Malcolm considered, then, carefully, he leaned forward again, took Trip's face into both his hands and kissed him. It was a very gentle kiss, only their lips touching, and Malcolm felt himself reminded of the first time they had kissed, back on that deathtrap disguising as a shuttlepod. In a way, this felt just the same.
When they broke apart, he found himself smiling like a fool, a warm feeling spreading in the pit of his stomach. He knew that all was not fine; only a look at Trip affirmed him that this was not over by a long time. But still, he had held Trip and they had kissed, and for now, that was quite enough.
TBC...
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