§ 5 §
"Broken bones are never good news, Captain," Phlox said, holding his chin, "But a compound fracture is particularly worrisome, as is a crush injury." He frowned, studying the readings Trip had sent up to Enterprise. "If blood is cut off from Mr. Reed's hand... Not to mention that if the compound fracture is open there is a high risk of infection – indeed Mr Reed is already running a fever. His life signs are weak. Plus he definitely suffered a concussion."
Archer bit his lip, leaning with both hands on the nearest biobed.
"I need to tend to him as soon as possible," Phlox concluded darkly.
Archer looked up, wincing. "I'm sure Trip would appreciate if you freshened up his first aid training, Doctor." he said hoarsely.
"Of course." Phlox straightened his shoulders. "Commander Tucker will have to be very careful when he finally moves the Lieutenant. He will need to put his arm in a sling and immobilise it against Mr Reed's body with some bandages."
"Prepare whatever is needed: I'll have it transported down to him."
As Trip carefully crawled through the finally large enough opening, he braced for what he knew he would have to do. Phlox had instructed him on how to deal with Malcolm's fractured arm, but he wasn't looking forward to that part of this rescue mission. As a member of Starfleet he had received first-aid training, of course, but would have much preferred not having to put any of that into practice.
On the other side of the rubble wall he was greeted by Porthos, who seemed to have grown into his role of rescue dog. The beagle came over to him and gave a small yelp.
"Hello to you too," Trip said, petting him briefly as he raised his flashlight to seek his injured friend.
Desperate to get that last rock out of the way, in the last ten-to-fifteen minutes Trip had concentrated solely on that delicate job, and now he saw that what he had feared had indeed happened: without a conversation going Malcolm had drifted off. He lay with his right arm around the canteen Porthos had brought him, his heaving chest the only sign that he was still alive. When the light hit his face he moaned and shifted slightly, revealing blood-caked hair on the side of his head. Under it, the dirt was darkly stained.
Trip stood up slowly and moved the cone of light towards Malcolm's left shoulder. Part of it and his arm were buried under a fair amount of rubble. At least a couple of larger pieces of debris could be seen among it.
With Porthos at his heels, Trip reached his friend's side and knelt down, putting a hand on his right shoulder. Despite his shivers, Malcolm's body was unnaturally warm.
Trip wondered if he should let him be, while he tried to free his arm. No point getting him conscious for what ought to be a rather painful operation. The Captain had said Phlox had given the man only a mild dosage of painkiller, probably not enough to numb him completely.
"You keep an eye on him, Porthos," Trip told the beagle softly as he lit and positioned the worklight and turned the flashlight off. The dog wagged his tail rather too happily for the circumstances, and sat down obediently near Malcolm's right arm.
After putting the sling and bandages Phlox had sent him within easy reach, Trip began removing some of the dirt and smaller debris. He made good progress, and soon he could see Malcolm's hand. It was white and cold to the touch. Biting his lip, Trip doubled his efforts.
When he finally lifted the first of the bigger rocks, Malcolm stirred, letting out a moan. He cracked his eyes open.
"Sorry, Malcolm," Trip said soulfully, throwing the rock aside.
"Trip?" Grimacing, Malcolm gingerly turned his head to the left, his broken collarbone obviously making that a painful operation. Indeed it seemed that the shot of painkiller Malcolm had injected himself with earlier was not very strong.
"I just have to get one last big rock out of the way, and then your arm will be free," Trip said, studying the object in question. After this was over he didn't want to see or lift another rock for at least six months.
"I'm afraid this is gonna hurt."
Malcolm blinked and looked at him with eyes that even in that harsh light had an unfocussed quality to them.
"Ready?"
No reply came, so Trip grabbed the rock firmly, biting his lip against the stinging in his left hand, and lifted.
Malcolm couldn't repress a cry, and Porthos jumped up, barking.
"Easy, boy," Trip told him, throwing the piece of rubble aside. "I'm not hurtin' Malcolm on purpose."
When Trip dropped on his knees and lowered his eyes on the injured limb, he had to make an effort not to let his feelings show through. The uniform was torn and stained with blood, the arm was at an odd angle, and the white he was seeing could only be… He closed his eyes briefly. Reopening them, he found Malcolm's gaze on him. The man's breathing had gotten more ragged.
"Bad?" Malcolm choked out.
Trip licked his lips. He knew Malcolm well enough to know he wouldn't want to be given the rose-tinted view. "I'd be lying if I told you otherwise," he replied, lifting his eyebrows. "The good news is it looks like no important blood vessels have been damaged. There would be a lot more bleeding, if they had."
Malcolm swallowed and let his eyes drift closed again, and Trip finally allowed himself to rub a concerned hand over his face, reviewing Phlox's instructions in his mind. The wound didn't seem to be bleeding much at the moment, so he should just cover it with a sterile pad. Unzipping the pocket where he'd stored the pad, he removed it, broke its seal and put the gauze gently in place. Now for the difficult part…
"Would you like a drink of water, before I move your arm to immobilise it?" Trip enquired gently.
A slit of blue-grey reappeared. "Wh… what?"
"Are you thirsty?" Trip asked more directly.
There was a beat of silence.
"Let's just... get this over with," Malcolm said, trying to blink away his obvious confusion.
Trip took a deep breath. "Alright."
Steadying himself, he got hold of Malcolm's arm above and below the fracture point and gently lifted. Malcolm jerked and cried out, but Trip kept his cool and carefully brought the limb to rest against the man's body, quickly sliding the sling around it.
His heart thumped loudly in his ears as he watched Malcolm's scrunched-up features and felt his friend's agony through the trembling under the hand he held firmly on the broken arm. He stayed like that for a long moment, afraid to move.
With a grunt, Malcolm finally released the breath he'd been holding. "That drink you offered..." he gasped. "You got anything stronger than water?"
Trip gave him a tense smile, sparing another glance at his pale and sweaty face before returning his full attention to the broken limb. "Sorry," he replied deadpan. "Even if I had, can't let ya get smashed. And with a concussion the Doc doesn't want you too sedated; so, no more painkillers either, for the time being. Besides, I'm afraid I need you awake and cooperative, if we are to get out of here."
"Grand," Malcolm breathed out weakly, his eyelids drooping.
As if he had understood the crunch of the problem, Porthos gave a couple of loud barks, which echoed through the tunnels. Malcolm's eyes startled fully open again.
"That's more like it," Trip said. "You've got to stay awake, Malcolm. Here," he added, taking the man's right hand and placing it gently on his injured arm, "Hold on while I tie your sling."
"Why didn't you… obey the Captain's order… and get the hell out when the earthquake hit?" Malcolm asked haltingly as he carefully rolled a little on his right side to let his broken arm rest more comfortably.
Trip shot him another glance and reached for the bandages Phlox had sent down. Strange Malcolm should bring this up now. In a way Trip was glad to see his friend lucid enough to question him; but this wasn't exactly the right moment to discuss an evening so many months ago which Malcolm probably couldn't even remember.
"I hesitated only a moment, and it was enough," he replied vaguely. Before Malcolm could add anything else, he went on, "I need to strap your arm to your chest with these bandages. I'll try to do that without movin' you too much."
It wasn't easy, but he managed to slip the bandages under Malcolm's body. A few moments later the arm was immobilised, tied above and below the fracture point, as Phlox had told him to do, and Trip felt a weight off his heart. It was a relief to have that done and over with.
"You had… all the time," Malcolm insisted. His eyelids were at half mast again, but he didn't shift his gaze from Trip's, and the grey eyes had a defiant quality to them.
Trip held the gaze for a moment; then gave a hesitant smile. "Accordin' to the Capt'n you aren't very good at countin' time. He still thinks it was twenty seconds before that Romulan mine went off."
Malcolm blinked wearily.
"Hey, no goin' to sleep, remember?" Trip hurried to add. "Come on; let's get you sittin' up. In a few minutes I want us to crawl out of this den."
Kneeling beside him, he placed one hand under Malcolm's head and the other behind his shoulders. "Careful of your collarbone," he said, as much to himself as to Malcolm, preparing to pull him up. "One, two and…"
Another pained grunt sent Porthos on a barking spree.
"Enough, Porthos," Trip ranted. "You're deafenin' us."
Malcolm had gone a shade paler, so Trip quickly let him lean against his own body as he kneeled on the floor behind him. His friend's head fell back limply against his shoulder, giving him a worrisome measure of his state. He touched Malcolm's forehead. It was definitely hot.
"Have some water," Trip said, with gentle firmness. But when he looked around for the canteen, he saw that it was out of reach.
"Porthos," he ordered, tiredness and concern adding a snappiness to his voice that wasn't usually there, "Fetch the water!" He pointed to the flask, and the beagle, to his surprise, grabbed its strap between his teeth and dragged it to him, jumping up against his leg with the strap in his mouth. "Good boy," Trip praised the dog, who wagged his tail enthusiastically.
Trip unscrewed the cap and held out the canteen, but Malcolm pushed it weakly aside. "Don't know if I should drink, actually," he murmured. "I'm feeling quite nauseous."
"Must be your concussion. Maybe just a small sip," Trip suggested.
Just then there was a well-known chirruping sound.
"That's gotta be the Capt'n."
Trip twisted to reach for his communicator. "Tucker."
"What's your status, Trip?"
"I immobilised Malcolm's arm and we're ready to cross to the other side of the debris, Capt'n. Just letting Malcolm here have a breather."
"I'm fine," the man in question protested faintly.
Phlox's voice suggested, "Perhaps I should transport down with a gurney, Commander."
Trip cast a look around him and shook his head. "I told the Capt'n, Doc, there's no room. And the little there is, is cluttered with rubble. But don't worry. We'll be ok."
TBC