A/N: It's strangely encouraging to see that I'm not the only one who found this episode so disturbing! You'll know from my other stories that Trip is my favourite character, and I hated to see him treated so badly. As much as I love Jon too - God, I wanted to throttle him here!

So, if just in this story, he's now taking what's been done to Trip that much more seriously. And as he is about to find, not a moment too soon.

Violations

Chapter Two - Too Much, Too Little, Too Late

The two ensigns that Jon almost flattened in the corridor must have wondered what the hell was happening. There wasn't any kind of alert. Nothing to explain the look of rare but real panic on their Captain's face. Yet he'd barrelled past them like a 'backer at the Superbowl, heading for the end zone for a winning pass.

Oblivious to the puzzled glances that followed him, Jon kept running, flat out, until he reached Trip's quarters. When he reached them, though, all of that resolve faltered, as his thoughts again overwhelmed him. None of his Starfleet training – hell, nothing he'd faced in his life – could have prepared him for this. Assuming that Trip even wanted to see him… God, what was he going to say? What could he say?

Against this storm of doubts and regrets, a calmer voice reminded him of what he was. Who he was. Not just his chief engineer's Captain, but also his closest friend. And right now, Trip needed him.

Even so, the voice that finally spoke still held a tremor of uncertainty, and even greater concern.

"Trip? Trip, it's me… it's Jon… are you all right? Can you let me in? Trip?

Met with silence that did nothing at all to ease his anxiety, he quickly accessed the door's controls – striding through it as soon as it opened, then stopped dead in his tracks, by the scene in front of him.

Curled up on his bed, visibly shaking under its covers, Trip looked awful. In fact, he looked like hell. Despite the tremors that were running through his body, his face held the flush of a rising fever. An unhealthy sheen covered his forehead. Trickles of sweat ran into already soak-darkened hair.

From what he now knew, and another awful misjudgement, guilt now hit Jon like a sledgehammer. He'd sent Trip back to the Xyrillians, alone, without any help from his own doctor, or a security team. Again, in blind ignorance, he'd trusted Trip's life to them. Trusted them to reverse his 'condition.' And from that surgery to reverse that unthinkable act, something had gone wrong.

Terribly wrong.

A whimpering moan of pain snapped him out of his horror. Trip needed help, and he needed it now.

"It's all right, Trip, I'm here now. It's all right, I'm getting you to sickbay," he said at last, so focussed in trying to lift Trip into his arms that he didn't feel him stiffen, and flinch against them.

It took a faint, almost desperate voice to make him realize the heartbreaking truth of his misjudgement.

"No! Please, Jon, don' – don' ma'e me go wh're they're – they're all g'nna see me. Pl'se, Jon, don' make me go."

He was shaking even more now. No, not just shaking. Struggling. Fighting against him, and… oh, God.

After what those bastards had done to him, the last thing he could take right now was physical contact. For the friend who wanted so much to offer him its comfort, it was the cruellest kind of irony – one that Jon knew he had to accept as he lay Trip gently down again, and stepped away from him.

"Okay, Trip… it's – it's okay, we won't go to sickbay. We don't need to do that, Trip, it's okay. it's okay."

Watching him curl himself back into a tight, telltale huddle, Jon again cursed his crass insensitivity. God, how could he have been so stupid? Failed to anticipate something so blindingly obvious?

Then he saw where Trip's arm lay angled across his ribs. Where that… that monstrosity had been. And that did it. That took the only alternative option out of Trip's hands, and into the one that now slapped the intercom above his bed.

"Archer to sickbay. Doc, I need you in Trip's quarters. Medical emergency."

The response came back before he'd finished speaking, or even said where he was. Almost as if Phlox had been expecting his call.

"On my way."

Equally grateful that Trip's rank had also blessed him with his own bathroom, Jon then strode into it – returning with a bowl of cool water, and wasting no time in putting the soaked cloths inside it to use. Trying not to make the same mistake he'd made already, he draped one of them on Trip's forehead – frustration that he couldn't do more to comfort his friend spilling through the helplessness in his voice.

"Damn it, Trip, you're burning up here."

In Trip's current state, he wasn't expecting a response. Part of him didn't even want to hear one. So the one that did come tore at his heart. Slammed even more nails of guilt into his conscience.

"S'rry."

Then it got worse. Through a voice that was little more than a whisper, it got heart-wrenchingly worse.

"H'rts, Jon… G'd, it – it h'rts…"

For several moments, Jon just stared at him, wondering how the hell he could bring them through this. Its answer came so unexpectedly that it took several moments for him to notice it. A clumsily searching hand.

From pain, shock, or just a simple need to find a way out of his agony, Trip was trying to find him.

Forgetting everything that he'd done wrong before, Jon caught that hand, and held tightly onto it – throwing all caution to the wind now, as he gently stroked Trip's hair back from his forehead.

"I know, Trip. Easy now, it's all right, Phlox will be here any minute… easy now, Trip, it's okay… I've got you, just hold on."

Gripping his hand through more spasms of pain, Trip closed his eyes, fighting to bite the agony down. Tears still seeped out from under their lids, and… yeah, God knew, Jon felt himself choking up too.

That minute couldn't come fast enough now, and… get here, Phlox. For God's sake, get here!