A/N Okay, so, what was supposed to be a two-shot has grown considerably! LoL But I guess we must go where the muse takes us, right? :-) I hope you all enjoy where my muse took me! Archer/Trip friendship and Pride/LaSalle (budding) friendship are both in these here waters! :-) Remember, reviews are like chocolate... actually, they're better than chocolate because they don't go to my hips! XD

Chapter Six

Jonathan sipped his coffee and stared at the front door to the diner. It had been an hour and Farmer Clem, as Gillian called him, had not yet showed. His gazed moved around, studying the other customers. He couldn't help it. As an explorer, he had always been interested in learning about other cultures. But how often does a guy get to study his own culture, 150 years in the past, first hand?

He sighed deeply. Who was he kidding? Watching the people around him had nothing to do with exploration, or any kind of awe about being more than a century in the past. He needed something to keep himself from losing his mind with worry. It was now over twenty four hours since he last saw Trip! And the only lead he had turned out to be a bust!

Allowing his gaze to wander once again, he settled on a young couple sharing a milkshake – one milkshake, two straws, and two teenagers mooning over each other. And yet again, he found himself remembering American Graffiti. Trip had been trying to get him to watch that one again for several weeks – but that was before the Xindi attack on Earth.

Feeling like a bit of a voyeur, he started to turn away from the young couple but something outside the diner caught his eye. A young man who had been partying a little too hard was being half carried, half dragged to a car parked in front of a nearby corner store. Jonathan didn't want to think about how much the kid had lost in Katrina to cause him to drown his sorrows that thoroughly.

Gillian placed another piece of chocolate pie on the table in front of him. He gave her a grim smile of thanks, then returned his attention to the front door.

This time, he let his mind drift instead of his eyes.

April 13th, 2151

Captain Jonathan Archer, party planner extraordinaire, turned out to be a horrible friend because, while he was off flirting with a woman he couldn't even recall the name of right now, Trip had gone missing!

Phlox had decided to leave the party about an hour earlier. Hoshi, Malcolm, and Travis all gave the same report – Trip had mumbled something about going to the restroom; when asked if he was okay, he'd insisted that he was fine; other than a bit of stumbling, which they'd attributed to too much alcohol, the chief engineer had indeed seemed 'fine'. Until half an hour had passed and he had still not returned.

Malcolm and Travis had already searched the entire bar, with Hoshi staying at the table in case Trip ventured back on his own. There'd been no sign of the birthday boy in question.

Now, the captain sat with them at the table, all fretting over what had happened to their friend. "Are you sure you checked the entire bar?"

"Yes, sir," Malcolm confirmed. "Top to bottom. He's not in here."

"Washrooms?"

"That was the first place we looked," Travis informed him. "There was no sign of Commander Tucker anywhere, sir."

The waitress arrived to clear off the table. When she picked up Trip's glass, something caught Jonathan's eye. He grabbed her wrist, wincing at the gasp his grip elicited from her. "I'm so sorry," he said, instantly releasing her. "Can I just see that glass for a minute, please?"

"That's okay, hon," she responded, handing the requested item over with a smile. "You didn't hurt me, just surprised me, is all. Not often I have customers fighting to keep an extra glass," she joked.

Jonathan offered up a small smile, then peered at the top edge and side of the glass. Trip's drink had left behind a white powdery residue. He sensed rather than saw Hoshi, Malcolm and Travis lean over his shoulder. Even the waitress stepped closer to study the suspicious residue.

The horror in each gaze spoke of the same conclusion crashing through his own mind – Trip had been drugged!

That kind of thing rarely happened anymore, the drugs required were extremely hard to come by. Whoever did it had to have really good connections! And, whoever did it, was going to suffer a world of hurt once Jonathan got a hold of them.

But Jonathan couldn't be concerned about that, right now. His number one priority had to be finding Trip. As the waitress left to report the incident to her manager, taking the glass with her, Jonathan turned to the three officers who were still frozen in shock. The feelings of guilt plain to see on their faces.

"Malcolm," the captain called. No response. The other man seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. "Malcolm!" he said again, louder this time.

The head of security looked up at him, eyes filled with self-recrimination. "I am so sorry, sir! I should have kept a better eye on him!"

You and me both, Jonathan thought. "It's not your fault, Malcolm," he said aloud, choosing to refrain from voicing his own culpability in the matter for now. Priorities. He placed a hand on Malcolm's shoulder, in support but also to demand the other man's full attention. "You said, you and Travis searched the entire bar."

"Yes, sir."

"Did you check the alley?"

This gave Malcolm pause. "Well, no, we had no reason to think the commander would leave the bar on his own, especially through the back door..." He glanced down at the table, picturing the glass as if it were still there. "Unless, he didn't leave of his own volition," he added.

At that moment, the waitress returned to the table. "My manager called the police, they should be here any minute now."

"That fast," Malcolm remarked. "Got some connections does he?"

"No. But I do. My brother is a cop." In response to the questioning looks, she added, "This happened on my watch. I take that very seriously!"

Jonathan took in the name on her nametag. "Thank you, Naomi," he said sincerely. "Now, can you tell us where we would find the door to the back alley."

A questioning look of her own flashed on her face, then disappeared just as quickly, understanding almost instantly why they wanted to see the alley. "I'll do better than that," she stated simply. "I'll show you."

The group must have looked odd, weaving between the tables as one, and heading for the back of the bar. A couple minutes later, the captain saw the EXIT sign above a nearby door. Naomi tried to push it open but it wouldn't move.

"Could it be locked?" Hoshi wondered.

"No way," the waitress declared. "This is a fire exit, it's never supposed to be locked while the bar is open for business." She tried to open it again.

Travis noticed there was a tiny bit of give, barely noticeable. "Captain, I have an idea," he offered. To the waitress, he said, "May I?"

She moved out of Travis' way and he put all his weight into opening the door. There was more give this time, but still not enough. Malcolm and Jonathan added their weight to the effort and the door opened a few more inches, just enough for Hoshi and Naomi to slip through.

The gasp Archer heard from Hoshi tightened the knot already in his gut. "What is it, Hoshi? What's blocking the door?"

There was a long pause as Hoshi seemed unable to find her voice. "Captain, it's Commander Tucker. He's pretty beat up, sir."

"Can you and Naomi move him?"

Another pause. "Maybe. Just a second, sir."

Jonathan, Malcolm, and Travis, all heard the two women grunt with the effort as they tried to move 80 kilos of lean muscle. The three men pushed on the door to offer what assistance they could from the other side of the threshold. Finally, inch by inch, the door opened far enough for each man to fit through.

The captain instantly understood Hoshi's initial reaction upon seeing the chief engineer.

Trip was lying on the grungy alley floor, his right arm, presumably the one Hoshi and Naomi had used to drag him a foot or so away from the door, stretched out above his head but the rest of his body was curled in the fetal position, as if desperately protecting itself from whatever onslaught Trip had suffered.

Jonathan knelt down next to his friend, doing his best to quell the voice inside his head – 'this is your fault, this is your fault, this is your fault'. As he did some basic triage, he lifted Trip's shirt. Everyone drew in a sharp breath at the sight of mottled bruises, welts, cuts and scrapes along his ribcage and, upon further examination, his lower back.

Most of the bruises appeared to form the shape of boot prints.

The captain clenched his teeth, forcing back the bile rising in his throat, and continued his examination. As soon as he pressed gently on the injured ribs, Trip gasped his way back to consciousness.

"Easy, Trip," Jonathan said softly. Uncertain where he could touch that wouldn't cause additional pain, he settled on simply carding his hand through the light brown strands. "Just take it easy, buddy."

"Cap'n? Wha' – wha' 'appened, sir?"

Eyeing the still pinpoint pupils, Jonathan replied, "You were drugged, Trip. And then you got beat up pretty badly," he added.

Trip must have heard the remorse in the captain's voice because he said, "'s not yer fault."

"Trip – " Jonathan began, for the first time admonishing the younger man's tendency to forgive so quickly.

"Help me up," Trip said, voice still pained. His eyes darted back and forth, as if expecting another attack.

"I don't think you should move."

The pleading look he got next made him realize, Trip wasn't fearful of another attack, he was mortified at appearing so vulnerable in front of the very people he would be giving orders to once Enterprise left dock.

Jonathan sighed inwardly – this is exactly what Trip had wanted to avoid, and what Jonathan had promised he would prevent. He slipped his arm beneath his friend's shoulders and eased him to a sitting position, leaning him back against his own body as added support.

Trip struggled against his hold, eager to get to his feet. "Take it slow," Jonathan whispered in his ear.

"Sir," Travis interrupted.

"Yes, Ensign?"

"Uh, I think you should see this. The commander isn't the only person who was hurt in this alley, sir."

That was all the encouragement Trip needed to ignore the captain's request to take it slow. Turning away from Jonathan, he used the wall as support and hauled himself to his feet… and instantly started to topple back to the ground.

Jonathan, who had been standing silently by, trying to give Trip the space he clearly needed, jumped in to stop the fall. With one arm around his chief engineer's waist, and the other hand gripping him under the elbow, he helped his friend walk over to where Ensign Mayweather was standing.

As they neared, another form slowly came into view. First the feet, then the legs, then the rest of the body which had been hidden by a large trash bin. This body was bruised like Trip's but what grabbed the attention of the onlookers was the blade sticking out of the abdomen.

Jonathan felt Trip's body tense significantly at the sight, then he had to adjust his grip to compensate for the extra weight he had to support as the strength seemed to leave Trip's legs completely. "Joey?" he breathed.

The drive to the diner was silent but for the weather forecaster on the radio. The air was thick with tension. Rain continued to come down hard and the winds were picking up strength. The radio announcer said that some people were nervous that this tropical storm could escalate into another full blown hurricane, but assured everyone that that would not be the case!

Regardless, the windshield wipers were at full blast and it was still nearly impossible to see more than a couple dozen feet ahead of Pride's truck. Tropical storms came with dangers, as well.

But Detective Christopher LaSalle's mind was not on the storm at the moment.

What had happened in Pride's office, anyway? That'd never happened to him before, at least not while he was awake. And for it to happen in front of Pride? Talk about the worst timing ever!

Pride was already convinced Christopher was some kid who needed protecting, now he had even more ammunition to support that theory. The guy seemed to think he was his father, or something! The last thing Chris needed was another father figure in his life. The original one was bad enough, with his own unique version of discipline whenever he was around to deliver it.

It was true, Pride had never given him a real reason not to trust him but it was only a matter of time before he did. It'd be best for all involved if Chris just cut him off at the pass before it happened. In Christopher's experience, trust was a one-way street and it always led to a dead end.

He was tired. That was it, plain and simple. After all, he hadn't been able to get a full night's sleep in over a week now. He just had to stay in control; keep calm no matter what. And, most of all, make darn sure that what happened in that NCIS office never, ever happened again!

He glanced to his left, wondering for the umpteen millionth time since meeting Special Agent Dwayne 'King' Pride who this guy thought he was! He needed to nip this in the bud, once and for all.

"It's bad enough you go around my place o' work askin' questions that make people think there's somethin' wrong with me – "

"That wasn't my intention, Chris – "

"I don't much care what your intentions were, Pride! Point is, you did it, and now the people who're supposed to depend on me in tough situations are doubtin' my ability to do my job!"

"I'm sorry," Dwayne said, sincerely.

"Whatever. It's done. But now you're stealin' my casefiles, too!?"

"Casefile. Singular."

"Yeah? 'n I'm supposed to believe you'll never do it again?"

Suddenly, Pride swerved to the right, narrowly missing another car. Chris grabbed a hold of the hand rest on the door.

"Are you crazy, Pride?"

As soon as the truck was safely out of traffic and parked against the curb, Dwayne turned in his seat to face Christopher. "First of all, I didn't steal the file. One of my contacts in the department loaned it to me out of professional courtesy."

"Professional courtesy, my a – !" He bit off what he was going to say, took a deep breath, then said, "What does this case have to do with you?"

Taking the olive branch for what it was, Pride explained, "These guys you're after, their M.O. matches an NCIS case from close to 4-months ago."

"They're heroine traffickers, Pride. I haven't found any connection to the Navy."

"Fine. But if you do…?"

"Then I will contact someone from NCIS and make it a joint investigation."

"Someone," Pride repeated. "But not me."

"Contrary to what you seem to believe, I do know how to detect things without you, Pride! That's why I'm a detective, it's kinda what I do!"

"Is there a reason you don't want us to work this case together?"

"Yeah. You're a buttinski."

Pride smirked. "A buttinski?"

"Yeah, as in you stick your nose where it doesn't belong."

"I'm just worried about you, Christopher."

"Ah, man, here we go again!" Chris threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Stop worryin' about me," he exclaimed. "I don't want you to worry about me! I'm fine!"

Dwayne sighed inwardly, gripping the steering wheel tight. He watched the rain pelt against the windshield for a long moment. Then: "Son, you are on a downward spiral – "

"For cryin' out loud, Pride! Stop calling me that! You are not my father! You're barely even my friend! You're an acquaintance, that's it! Nothin' more!" He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, and the stricken look on Pride's face only served to solidify his guilt.

Dwayne turned in his seat and pulled back onto the road, being sure to check his blind spots this time. Amazing the extra details you pay attention to when you're trying to pretend you're feelings weren't just squashed beneath a size 10 boot.

"I'm sorry," Chris began, "I didn't mean that – "

"Actually," Dwayne said softly, "I'm pretty sure you did."

"Pride – "

"No, Christopher, it's okay. Really. Linda's always telling me I need to learn to mind my own business." He glanced over, making eye contact with Christopher for as long as the driving conditions would allow. "It won't happen again," he promised.

The hurt look was gone. Buried so deep, in fact, that LaSalle wasn't sure that he didn't imagine it in the first place. But his gut told him that he didn't. And one thing he'd learned over the years was to trust his gut. He opened his mouth to try to apologize again but, before he could, Pride asked, "This the place?"

Christopher turned in the direction Pride indicated and saw the diner in question. "Yup, that's it."

Pride nodded. As he searched for a place to park, both men kept their silence for completely different reasons.

Dwayne was hurt and trying to hide it.

Chris was just plain confused – because he found himself hoping that Pride didn't keep his promise.

Gillian stepped up to Archer's table to refill his almost empty coffee cup. "You look like you could use some more caffeine."

"Thanks, Gillian," he said, offering up a grim smile.

She smiled back and started to walk away again. Jonathan looked down at his half eaten piece of pie and an idea struck him. "You wouldn't happen to have pecan pie, would you?"

She laughed. "Best in the whole state, if you're to believe the tourists," she told him. "Why? You want a piece of that, instead?"

"No. It's just… that's Trip's favourite."

Gillian smiled. "Well, then, I guess I'll just have to make sure he has a whole pecan pie waiting for him when you find him!"

"He'd like that," Jonathan grinned. "He'd like that a lot."

Gillian turned to tend to her other customers when movement at the front window caught her eye. "Hey, Jonathan, you don't have a twin that you haven't told me about, do you?"

At first he thought that was an odd question, then he remembered all the talk about doppelgangers. "No…" he said with more than a little trepidation. He followed her gaze and immediately saw the police officer from earlier that evening step through the door. He started to rise out of his seat, realizing that this might be a sign that he should ask the police for help, after all. Because he was running out of options fast and he needed to find Trip. The timetable he sensed hanging over him earlier was getting more and more urgent with every minute that passed.

But the person who came in after the officer is what caused Archer to freeze in a half-seated position. He was sure he was seeing things. Maybe his exhaustion was causing hallucinations. He certainly hadn't taken the whole doppelganger theory literally.

His gaze found Gillian who was still staring at the man herself. Her reaction matching his own was all the proof Jonathan needed that this was no hallucination. Although unexpected, twins clearly weren't as rare as they used to be…

Because Captain Jonathan Archer was staring at his right now.

TBC