Title: Killing Thing
Author: Sita Z
Genre: Angst/Drama
Rating: PG 13
AN: Thank you for the feedback, it's very much appreciated :)!
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Chapter 11
Malcolm sat on his chair next to Trip's bedside, watching his partner sleep. Trip looked peaceful, if maybe a little too pale, his hands resting on the blanket and no longer strapped to the rails on either side of the bed as they had been when Malcolm had come to see him the day before. It was a relief, having managed to convince Phlox that this particular safety measure wasn't necessary anymore, even though Malcolm's persistency had brought him very close to having his first real argument with Enterprise's doctor. Eventually, however, Phlox had given in, under the condition that someone always stayed with Trip. Malcolm was happy to comply, assuring the doctor he'd spend every minute of his off-duty time in sickbay; a promise that had elicited a little smile from Phlox despite their disagreement. "That would be a first, Lieutenant," he had said, obviously resigning to the fact that there was nothing he could do.
Still lost in thought, Malcolm reached out and began to run his hand through his sleeping partner's hair. Trip did look better than he had yesterday, but it was only too obvious for Malcolm's tastes that all was not well, not by a long time. According to the doctor, Trip's metabolism was in an uproar, still fighting the poisonous invader that had left its traces throughout his system. Phlox had done all he could to filter the coolant out of his blood, but still, Trip had spent most of the night bent over a bedside basin, retching and heaving as his stomach struggled to empty itself again and again, until Phlox had finally given him something to help the nausea. At first, the doctor had been reluctant to do so, claiming that Trip's body didn't need any more drugs to deal with, although Malcolm wasn't sure if that was really the only reason why Phlox had hesitated to give Trip a hypospray for his symptoms. Maybe Phlox thought that a little discomfort would serve as a much-needed reminder if Trip ever considered doing a repeat performance. He needn't have worried, though. Between Trip's bouts of nausea, when Malcolm had contented himself with stroking his partner's back and murmuring words of reassurance, he and Trip had done a lot of talking that night, and Malcolm knew that Trip was not going to try and hurt himself again. Malcolm saw no use in fooling himself; Trip was still depressive, still blaming himself, somewhere deep down, that he had not been able to stop the assault, and he was not back to the Trip Malcolm had known, a person who took everything in his stride and found something positive in the bleakest of situations. But he no longer wished himself dead, and had told Malcolm as much. From the little Trip had said, the few seconds before the poison had overwhelmed him had been one of the most terrifying experiences in his life, and certainly not something he was going to do again.
And he better bloody keep that promise, Malcolm thought as he continued to stroke Trip's hair, thinking of the time when he had not known whether Trip was going to make it. I don't think I could go through this again.
Trip shifted a little on the pillow and Malcolm rested his hand on a pale cheek, caressing the stubble that was beginning to grow on Trip's jaw.
If you ever even think of hurting yourself, Mr. Tucker... I'm going to kill you myself, then dig you up and do it all over again. Just so you know.
As if he had picked up on Malcolm's thoughts, Trip sighed a little in his sleep, and Malcolm smiled.
That's much better.
The door swished open, and Malcolm, expecting to see Phlox, withdrew his hand from Trip's face. It was the Captain, however, standing next to the door as if he wasn't sure whether he had come at an inopportune moment.
"Sir," Malcolm said softly, gesturing at the chair next to his. "Why don't you take a seat."
The Captain smiled and came over. "Thanks," he said as he sat down, speaking equally quietly so as not to wake Trip. He glanced at the sleeping man. "How is he?"
"Better," Malcolm said. "He had half a bowl of noodle soup for dinner. After last night, I was surprised he was able to keep anything down."
Archer, who had come to sickbay around 3 am to sit with Trip for a while, ordering Malcolm to catch some sleep on the adjoining biobed when he refused to go back to his quarters, nodded in grim agreement. "I'd say serves him right for pulling such an idiotic stunt, but I believe he's being punished enough already."
Malcolm nodded, noticing out of the corner of his eye how tired Archer looked. Like Malcolm, he had disregarded the doctor's suggestion to take the day off, and now bore the look of a man who has been running on pure adrenaline for too long. Even so, he had practically ordered Malcolm off the bridge and to the messhall half an hour before the Lieutenant's shift had ended, cracking a line about not wanting his Armory Officer to collapse from low blood sugar and completely ignoring the fact that he himself had not eaten since they had found Trip on the floor of the Jefferies tube.
"I had a call from Admiral Forrest this afternoon," the Captain said. Malcolm turned his head.
"The mission report?"
Archer nodded. "It would be an understatement to say that he was shocked."
"And I guess it didn't help when you told him about..." Malcolm didn't finish his sentence and glanced at his sleeping partner. He could only imagine how the Admiral had reacted, hearing that one of his senior staff had tried to commit suicide.
"No," Archer said heavily. "I can't say he was thrilled when I came to that particular piece of news." He was silent for a while. "They're thinking about holding a court-martial," he said then. Malcolm turned to look at him, feeling as if someone had suddenly doused him with cold water.
"They want to court-martial him? Because he tried to kill himself? That's-"
"Not Trip," Archer interrupted. "Peters, Kelsey and Florez. Forrest says it's standard procedure."
Malcolm shook his head. "He read the report, sir. It should be obvious that standard regulations don't apply in this case."
"That's what I said," Archer replied. "He said they were going to review the data and take the circumstances into consideration. But..." The Captain hesitated, then: "If they do decide to hold a court-martial, Trip will have to testify."
Malcolm stared at him. "In front of Starfleet Command?"
The Captain seemed uncomfortable. "Admirals Forrest and Scott would attend via subspace communication, so basically, yes. At least Trip wouldn't have to go back to Earth."
Well, isn't that generous of them. Malcolm bit his lip to stop the comment from slipping out. Of course Starfleet would want to follow the usual procedure - Starfleet administration was no different from any similar bureaucratic institution, firmly believing in the utmost value of inventing regulations for every possible and impossible situation - and of course they would want the victim to testify. He should have been expecting this. Still, the idea of Trip having to face an investigation board that wanted to know each and every detail of what had happened on the planet...
"Couldn't he testify beforehand?" Malcolm asked, though with little hope. As he had half expected, Archer shook his head.
"I'm afraid not. They need him to attend so they can ask questions."
The Captain's disgusted expression reflected Malcolm's own feelings at the idea. He trusted Forrest not to torment Trip with needlessly intrusive questions, but the investigation officer - and there was going to be one for sure - was another matter entirely.
"It's not decided yet, though, " Archer said. "I suggested to Forrest that under the circumstances, it should be up to Trip to decide whether he wants to press charges."
"What did he say?"
Archer sighed. "He needs to review the data before he can give me an opinion. I asked T'Pol to send them a scientific statement on the effect of the Ru'khi atmosphere, but I don't know if it's going to do any good." He scowled. "I guess they're going to analyze it to death only to decide that it doesn't matter, after all."
Knowing the way Starfleet bureaucracy worked, Malcolm was inclined to agree. He looked back at Trip and suddenly felt the urge to protect him, to spare him the ordeal of having to recount every ugly detail to Starfleet Command. And they were going to go for details, Malcolm had no doubt about it.
"What about Peters, Kelsey and Florez?" he wanted to know. "Did the Admiral say if they're going to stay on Enterprise?"
Archer shook his head. "We're to keep them confined to quarters for now, until they set a date for the hearing... if there's going to be any hearing at all. Forrest wasn't too clear on that point."
Malcolm was silent for a while, digesting all that he had heard. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" he asked then, quietly.
The Captain let out a small sigh. "Malcolm, this isn't a by-the-book command situation. I appreciate any input you can give me."
Malcolm acknowledged this with a small nod. "Sir, I realize my attacking Lieutenant Peters was a serious offence and I'm ready to face the consequences. Still... I don't think Peters and the two Ensigns can possibly remain on Enterprise, even if Trip decides not to press charges. I can't see how Trip could work with them on a daily basis, and to be honest, sir, I don't think I could do so myself. There's..."
A noise from the bed interrupted him. Malcolm turned his head, expecting to find Trip awake - and stopped in mid-movement when he saw what was happening. A tremble ran through the sleeping figure on the bed, as if he were shuddering in his dreams.
"Trip?"
Malcolm got up and went to Trip's side, his alarm growing when the other man's breathing began to come in short, ragged gasps. Trip's eyes were tightly clenched shut, but he wasn't sleeping quietly anymore, his hands clawing at the sheets as if he were in pain.
Archer had gotten up. "I'll get the doc."
He hadn't finished yet when the door to the IC unit opened again. Phlox wasted no time, hurrying over to Trip's bedside without so much as a look at Malcolm or Archer. Liz Cutler followed in his wake, and from the worried expression on her face Malcolm gleaned that whatever was happening here couldn't be good.
"What's going on?" the Captain wanted to know, watching as Phlox administered a hypospray to the still unconscious man. In the meantime, Trip's face had begun to take on a dark red shade, and the rising and falling of his chest reminded Malcolm more of a seizure than regular breathing. His hands were no longer clenching the bed sheets, and lay twitching at his sides.
Phlox ignored Archer completely, quickly recalibrating the settings of the filtering device that was connected to Trip's arm. Liz spared a short glance over her shoulder.
"He's having a belated reaction to the poison," she said. "We saw on the monitors outside what was happening."
Unable to move or look away, Malcolm watched as Trip's body suddenly arched off the bed, caught in a full-blown seizure. There wasn't so much as a small moan escaping Trip's lips, and somehow the total silence made it even worse to watch.
"Hold him still, Crewman!" Phlox waited until Liz had a firm grip on Trip's upper arms, then pressed the hypospray against Trip's neck. For a second, it seemed as if nothing had happened, except for Trip gasping for air when the injector touched his skin. Then, slowly, the convulsions began to ease, and after several minutes during which both Liz and the doctor gently kept a hold on Trip's arms and legs, the twitching disappeared, Trip's body slumping back against the bed. His face was covered with a thin film of sweat, and he looked as if he had just run a marathon, but his breathing, at least, had returned to normal.
"Wh-what..."
Only then did Malcolm notice that Trip had come to, a frightened and confused expression in his eyes. Phlox gave him another injection before he laid the hypospray aside.
"It's all right, Commander. Please try to relax. The injection should help with any pain you may be experiencing." He nodded at Liz, who moved back to Trip's side. "We'll have to move you onto your side, Commander, to help your breathing. Careful, now..."
Trip let it happen, his eyes searching the room while Liz and the doctor carefully rolled him over so he came to lie on his left side.
"Mal," he said hoarsely once he had spotted him standing next to Archer. "What's... goin' on?"
Malcolm exchanged a glance with Phlox. The doctor nodded, and Malcolm stepped closer to the bed. Belatedly, he noticed that the shock had turned his lower limbs into a wobbly mass resembling a particularly slimy brand of jelly, and was grateful when Archer slid a chair under him at exactly the right moment.
"Y'okay, Mal?"
Despite himself, Malcolm smiled at Trip's worried expression. "That's what I was about to ask you. How do you feel?"
Trip shrugged, as if he honestly couldn't tell. "Kinda fuzzy, I guess. What happened?"
Malcolm reached out and began to smooth Trip's hair out of his forehead. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Liz Cutler smile, and wasn't surprised that she, too, had guessed what was going on between the Chief Engineer and the Armory Officer. In fact, Malcolm thought with a touch of resignation, after all that had happened in the last few days, he'd be surprised if there were anyone left on the ship who didn't know.
"Mal?" Trip prompted, sounding slightly impatient now. "What's wrong? What happened to me?"
"You had a seizure," Malcolm informed him quietly. "You were sleeping when you suddenly went into convulsions. Dr. Phlox and Crewman Cutler stopped the attack."
Trip remained silent for a while, and there was no way to tell if the news had upset him. Finally, he let out a small sigh, addressing no one on particular as he said, "Well, I guess it's my own fault, really."
"That it is," a voice somewhere above Malcolm's head said, and he half-turned to see that the Captain had stepped closer to the bed, looking at Trip with a mixture of affection and concern. "How're you feeling, Trip?"
Trip dragged up a rather fake smile, which Malcolm recognized as his partner's "I'm-feeling-like-hell-but-I'll-be-damned-if-they're-gonna-know-it" expression. "I'm okay."
Like Malcolm, the Captain appeared to have seen that particular smile before, and didn't look remotely convinced. He seemed to know, however, that there was no use in arguing with Trip, and let it pass. "That's good to hear." He sat down on his former chair next to Malcolm. "You should try and get some rest, Trip. Malcolm and I'll stay here."
"Captain." Phlox' voice drew everyone's attention back to the doctor and Liz, who had been studying Trip's bio monitor. The doctor kept his face carefully schooled to a professional mask as he continued, and Malcolm found that he didn't like the expression one bit. "Lieutenant. If you could spare a moment..."
He glanced meaningfully at the door, well aware that Trip had his back turned to him and wouldn't catch the unspoken message. Archer got up immediately.
"Of course, doc," he said, far too casually. Malcolm met Liz' gaze, and found the same worry there that he had seen in Phlox' eyes.
Bad news, her expression said. She tilted her head slightly to indicate that he should go with the doctor. I'll take care of things.
Malcolm acknowledged the silent message and got up. "Be right back, Trip."
"No."
Both Phlox and Archer turned around at that. Ignoring Liz' hand on his shoulder, Trip propped himself up on one elbow and looked directly at the doctor.
"If there's somethin' wrong, then I want to know."
Phlox regarded him for a long time, and finally inclined his head. "Very well." He went back to the bio bed, looking at Trip as he reached out for the monitor. "You may want to sit up to have a look at this, Commander."
Malcolm helped Trip turn around so he had a clear view of the monitor, his hand finding that of his partner and closing around it. It was a lover's gesture, and Malcolm knew very well that everyone in the room was aware of it. Which was perfectly fine, as far as he was concerned. Catching Trip's surprised look, Malcolm felt another twitch in the corner of his mouth. He could only imagine what his partner would say if Malcolm Reed suddenly announced that they had better things to do with their time than obsessively hide their relationship from everybody else.
In the meantime, Phlox had called up a new image on the bio screen, and Malcolm immediately recognized it for what it was - a sectional view of a human brain, highlighted in several places. The doctor turned back to his audience, who had become very still.
"This is a schematic version of a brain scan I took during Commander Tucker's seizure." He turned directly to Trip. "Earlier scans indicated that the poison hasn't done any lasting damage to your vital organs, but there's always the possibility of a belated response, especially with a substance as complex as this one. I'm afraid that's what we're dealing with here."
Malcolm's mouth had suddenly gone very dry. He tightened his fingers around Trip's, hoping to reassure him through the gesture. Phlox pointed to one of the highlighted brain compartments, a small blue patch next to where the base of the skull would have been.
"One of the affected regions is the cerebellum, which controls and processes movement," he said. "Your seizure was a reaction to what the poison's done to that part of your brain."
Trip's hand was beginning to feel moist under his fingers, although Malcolm couldn't tell whether it was Trip's cold sweat or his own. Somehow, he managed to speak up in a fairly normal voice. "One of the affected regions, doctor?"
"I'm afraid so." Phlox gestured at the other highlighted parts. "There are also three places in the frontal lobes that have been affected by the poison, although I cannot say how severely."
"What do you mean when you say affected?" the Captain wanted to know.
Phlox turned to look at him. "I can't be entirely sure yet as to the exact damage that has been done, but..." He sighed. "There are going to be more seizures like the one Commander Tucker experienced earlier... I'm afraid it's a permanent condition."
Malcolm felt the blood drain from his face. "You mean he's going to have them for the rest of his life?"
Phlox simply nodded. Trip was still sitting statue-like on the bed, his only reaction to the doctor's affirmative a slight tension of the shoulders.
"There's also the possibility" - the doctor stressed the word deliberately - "that motoric and sensory disorders will occur, but it doesn't necessarily need to happen. I'll have to do more scans before I can tell for certain."
Oh God. Malcolm closed his eyes for a second, if only to avoid looking at the image on the screen, which depicted the reality of what was happening here. It seemed so damn unfair, a needlessly cruel punishment for a mistake made out of despair. If there had been any chance of Trip staying in Starfleet after his suicide attempt, Phlox' diagnosis had blasted it into tiny pieces, leaving him with nothing but the prospect of living out his life as a disabled person. What made it even worse was that on a merely practical level, Trip had only himself to blame. And Trip, Malcolm had come to know, was a very practically thinking person.
Not knowing what else to do or say, Malcolm reached out and pulled his partner into a hug. At first, the other man didn't react at all, then he carefully slipped his arms around Malcolm's waist in response and leaned against him, all in perfect silence. Malcolm closed his eyes again, resting his head on Trip's shoulder.
So damn unfair.
TBC...
Please let me know what you think!
