A/N: Well, here we are, at chapter eight. As I mentioned in my last note, this is where Trip starts to realize what's been done to him. Without making it too graphic (I just can't write anything like that), I hope I've still conveyed the horror he would feel. I've also thought that, like most victims of such a traumatic event, he wouldn't recognize straight away what those memories would really signify.

Anyway, as far as possible for another, rather troubling chapter, I hope you enjoy it!

Violations

Chapter Eight - Behind Closed Doors

Trip returned slowly, into a world of comfort and warmth. Coffee, too. The irresistible aroma of coffee, that made his stomach quiver with yearning. As his vision came more into focus, he found its source. And the person who was lucky enough to be enjoying it.

Still half asleep, he then frowned. These were his quarters. So what the hell was Jon doing in them? Why was he sitting at his desk, frowning at his terminal, when… well, he had his own to frown at?

He had his own quarters too. Bigger ones, and nicer ones, though that's what you got when you got to be the Cap'n, and -

God! Damn it!

That last part came out as a startled yelp, as a still aching body protested his attempts to get up, and find out what the hell was happening.

So focussed on the latest reports of progress from T'Pol, and the rest of his team, Jon hadn't realized he'd woken at all. But he'd certainly heard him. And he sure as hell reacted to it, rising from his seat, and almost running to Trip's side, as he tried again, so typically stubbornly, to sit upright.

"Trip! Whoa, easy now, lie still. Don't try to sit up yet, you've had a fever, you're not… not meant to be awake yet."

With or without that puzzled frown on Trip's face, Jon realized what he'd said just a tad too late. It coaxed out a much needed smile, for the priceless 'what-the-hell?' glare that Trip now threw at him. He'd have to make the most of it, too. Those sedatives would only keep their effect on him for so long. Judging by the frown that had settled on Trip's face, they were already fading.

And he wasn't happy.

"Hittin' four point six always wakes me up," he shot back, not knowing what concerned him more – the worry he saw on Jon's face, or the star trails that streaked past his window in a blur of warp speed.

Finding a compromise for that first part, he lay gratefully back again - smiling his thanks for the coffee that Jon now passed to him, while he doggedly pursued the second.

"So, where are we goin' so fast that it's fryin' my engines?"

Wondering how his friend always managed to do that, Jon wished he could enjoy its humour. This favourite, long running joke between them, as to how his chief engineer could just close his eyes, feel his ship accelerate beneath him - and guess her speed almost down to decimal points. More seriously, though, he was as surprised by the extent of Trip's recovery as he was relieved.

Ironically, it was the calmness of it that made him wonder if those meds were still working after all. Or, as Phlox had quietly warned last night, maybe he'd just blanked those thoughts out of his mind. Either way, he now answered his friend's question as gently as he could, before he had to ask it again.

"We're going after the Xyrillians, Trip, because… well, we – we need to find them."

If he hadn't been fully alert before, then… well, his chief engineer was certainly wide awake now. Glancing down at his still aching ribs, Trip then re-met Jon's eyes, with a storm of emotions in his own. Not surprisingly, it was several moments before he managed to speak, his voice now tellingly quiet.

"'cause of what they did to me? 'cause of… of… that?"

Also glancing to where the 'that…' in question had once blighted his friend's body, Jon nodded. Still trying to gauge how much of its cause his friend was coherently remembering, he then paused. Used those moments to study Trip's eyes, until they told him that he was ready for him to continue.

"Yes, Trip, because of what they did to you. And for what they've done before, to others as well."

He'd said it as gently as he could, but Trip still reacted to it, just as Jon had known he would. Swallowing hard, he stared back at him. His eyes grew even wider, until white completely circled contrasting blue.

"Others? You – You mean, they've done this to – to other people?"

Again, Jon took the moment he needed to gather his thoughts, and find the right words to express them. After telling Admiral Forrest, and then his senior officers, this was the third time he was having to do this, and… God, it was going to be the hardest one of all.

"Yes, Trip, they have. I was, uh… told about them yesterday, by Admiral Forrest," he said at last, condensing all he'd learned so far into the only details that a still dangerously vulnerable friend needed to know.

"They're renegades, Trip. On the run from their own government for… well, illegal research."

Still struggling to take all this in, Trip started to reply – but then found he couldn't. Just… couldn't. Out of everything that Jon had told him, one word had lodged in his mind. Tugged at a closed door inside it, until it began to reluctantly open.

Research.

The door had opened wider now. Letting him see images, feel memories, that slowly began to connect.

A chamber, filling with gas.

Disorientating lights.

A struggle to breathe. Blurred vision. Stifling heat.

His head, threatening to explode.

A sense of panic. A feeling that he was in danger. Terrible danger.

Jon's voice, telling him that it was all in his mind. That everything was all right. Telling him to… sleep. Take a nap.

A sudden, irresistible need to do so.

His body feeling ever so heavy, denied movement and resistance, as a blur of presences moved silently around him.

Then calmness.

Tingling blue light against his mouth.

Alien landscapes. A boat, rocking beneath him.

A smiling face. Her face. More of that tingling. A box of pebbles. His hands, glowing too, inside them.

Research.

Again, Trip glanced down at his side. With shaking fingers, he brushed them where it had been. No, not it. Growing inside him, she had been healthy. The accident of an innocent, enjoyable 'game.'

Trip blinked. Then he frowned. No, it hadn't been that. It hadn't been a game, it had been… research. Research that had left an alien life form growing inside him.

So, not a game. Not any kind of game. Only Ah'Len had seen it as such a harmless activity. But for him - no. No, for him, it had been -

- violation.

Physical violation against his body, and most likely his mind.

Violation.

Rape.

Now it hit him. So hard, so unforgivingly hard, that he started to shake. The world spun into a blur. Watching him, recognizing the horror behind his reactions, Jon felt his own world shatter around him.

He's remembered. Oh, Christ. He knows.

And that realization now tore itself out of Trip's soul, in a single, piercing scream

"Noooooooo!"