A/N: Another thing that struck me about this episode was Phlox's attitude towards Trip, especially during that scene in Jon's dining room. It bordered on complete indifference at times, which just didn't fit in with the character we'd seen in the first few episodes - and certainly not in the later ones!

So, as he responds to Jon's call from the previous chapter, I've written him as the Phlox that I grew to love in the series. Also, I thought he'd be the first person that Jon would confide in, so he could give Trip all the support he needs.

Violations

Chapter Three - a Universal Outrage

Rarely had a door chime sounded so welcome. Even more rarely had Jon answered it so fast, or released its lock so quickly. Finding Trip in such an alarming state had shaken him to his core. Glancing down at his friend, still huddled against him, that anxiety hadn't subsided.

Offering him a brief smile of reassurance, Phlox strode to Trip's side with the same, practised calm. In seconds, he saw the suffering in his patient's eyes, and moved with instinctive speed to stop it.

"Well now, Commander, you're running quite the fever here. But don't worry, this will have you feeling better in no time."

To him, of course, the hypospray in his hand would bring nothing but relief. In the eyes of his patient, though, it represented the exact opposite - hence the surprise he felt when Trip shrank away from it. Staring up at him, inexplicably terrified, it was left to his Captain to try and soothe its cause away.

"It's all right, Trip, you're safe now. It's all right, you're back on Enterprise."

That should have been enough. However hurt, or scared he'd been in the past, that had always been enough. But as Phlox was now coming to realize, this was no ordinary terror. These were no ordinary circumstances. Whatever had triggered these irrational reactions was also holding his patient in a cruelly tight grip, that not even his best bedside manner could break through.

More worryingly, it was taking all of Jonathan Archer's patience to stop his friend from succumbing to it completely. Crouching at his shoulder, he kept his eyes locked on Trip's, gently willing him to listen to him – keeping his voice calm, as soothingly quiet as it had to be, to try and break through this crippling terror.

"And you trust me, don't you, Trip? And Phlox too, you know neither of us would ever hurt you. It's all right, Trip, he's just trying to help you. He isn't going to hurt you, Trip, I promise. All the time I'm here, I won't let anyone hurt you."

Still staring back at him, Trip blinked a few times, as if waking from a deep sleep, then dazedly nodded. Then his eyes closed again, as if he'd resigned himself to whatever Phlox had to do to try and help him.

For Jon, of course, this meant only one thing. Through the horrors of his mind, Trip was re-living it. Submitting to another's demands, when he'd been powerless to stop it. Unable to resist, or fight back.

Wherever you were, on whatever planet, or galaxy, or whatever species its victims belonged to – yes, for anyone and everyone who had to deal with it, and its consequences, its definition was the same.

Rape.

Jon closed his eyes too now, hiding the tears that threatened to spill out of them. He swallowed. Hard.

'Oh, God, help me. Help me get him through this.'

Puzzled by the devastation that had settled on his Captain's face, Phlox resisted the urge to question it. Instead, he focussed his attention back to the equally obvious needs of his patient, and set to work, pressing a hypospray against Trip's neck, and nodding approvingly at the effectiveness of its contents

"This will help your fever to break, Commander. And when you wake up, you'll feel a lot better."

Coupled with a mild sedative, the medication hit Trip's bloodstream before he'd finished speaking. The injection had been so gentle and painless that he hadn't flinched. His eyes hadn't even re-opened.

Pulled into an instant, healing sleep, all of the fear and pain that had blighted his face melted away. His vital signs had settled too.

For a doctor called to a suffering patient, it was always a welcome sight. So the surprise that Phlox felt at seeing the cold fury on the face of his Captain was understandably puzzling. And if it related to his now peacefully sleeping patient, he also knew he had to find out why.

"With all these physical changes, the Commander's body is struggling to re-adjust," he said at last, the puzzled frown on his face turning deeper still, as Jonathan Archer's remained a mask of stone. Assuming it was from the natural shock of finding his friend in such distress, he felt honour bound himself to try and put those fears to rest.

"But despite these rather alarming symptoms, he isn't in any danger. They're from a hormonal imbalance that I can treat and correct very easily. Don't worry, Captain. For what he's been through, this reaction is perfectly normal."

All well and good, of course. At least, in his medical eyes. But if he'd hoped to reassure his Captain, the deadly softness in his voice soon told him he'd failed.

"Believe me, doctor, there's nothing remotely normal about what's been done to him."

Again reminded that no blame for this outrage lay with his CMO, Jon then sighed, fought for control – finding comfort in another's gentle blue eyes, as those of his closest friend remained firmly closed. Even so, it was several moments that he spent in silence, watching Trip sleep, before he spoke again.

"I – I had a warning from Starfleet. About the Xyrillians. What they are… what they do."

In no doubt now, that this apparently friendly species had completely deceived them, Phlox nodded – his eyes widening in dismay, then shock, and finally helpless anger, at what his Captain then told him.

Glancing back at his patient, Phlox just shook his head. It all made sense now. The terror. The submission. Every awful piece of the puzzle had now slipped into place. And his reaction, when it came, seemed so inadequate against the scale of its devastating impact.

"Dear God! The Commander, and all those others… Captain, are – are they sure?"

Sympathising with him entirely, and feeling its horror even more deeply, Jon could only nod too. He was still studying the hand that rested on Trip's shoulder, knowing its protection had come far too late.

"He had no idea, Phlox, about what they did to him on that ship, or its most likely result," he said at last, letting more of his fury escape now, in shallow comfort that, this time, Phlox would understand it. "I don't know if there's a term for that on Denobula… but back on Earth, it's called rape."

Moved by far more than his natural compassion, Phlox started to reply, then found he just couldn't. After what he'd just heard… no. There just wasn't anything at all now, that he could possibly say.