Chapter Seven

The last thing he remembered was sitting at the quaint little bar across from the hotel, nursing a two finger of whiskey and thinking about Elizabeth. Even now, the very thought of her death made his breath catch in his throat. He stomped the all-too familiar feelings down, however. He had more pressing matters to deal with, right now.

Where was he, and how did he get here? And where was the captain? Jonathan hadn't been with him at the bar, so Trip had good reason to be hopeful that he hadn't been pulled into this predicament with his trouble-magnet chief engineer!

So, time to analyze his situation a bit…

His arms were raised above him, hands bound securely to some kind of hook with a thick rope. Duct tape covered his mouth. The room was hot and humid. It was too dark to see anything more than dark shapes – boxes judging by the sharp angles. The overwhelming musty earth smell told Trip that he was most likely in a basement of some kind.

His head was pounding but not like it would for a typical hangover, and not like if he'd been knocked over the head with something. In fact, Trip had experienced this type of headache before – a little over two years earlier when he'd been drugged at his birthday celebration.

But, wait, they were now over 150 years in the past. So, technically, that hadn't happened yet. But he could still remember it. So, he supposed, it had happened, even though it hadn't…

Okay, his head was hurting even more now! No more thoughts of time travel until it didn't feel like an aft torpedo was exploding inside his skull!

April 14th, 2151

Joey had been Trip's best friend throughout their time at Starfleet. They had often lost touch since graduation but their friendship was the kind that survived long bouts of not being able to see or talk to each other. Every time they met up again, no matter how long it had been, they simply picked up where they'd left off. Like no time had passed at all.

"I saw him come in with a large group of friends, sir," Hoshi offered, her words barely registering in Trip's mind. "The commander went over to greet all of them but seemed to be particularly good friends with this man."

Now Joey was dead. And, though Trip was wracking his brain, he couldn't remember why it had happened, let alone who had done it.

The nausea rose without warning. Painfully aware of the onlookers, Trip staggered forward to press one hand against the wall, striving desperately to remain in control.

He heard the captain issue orders behind him. "Hoshi, go back inside and find the rest of the group. Find out what they know about all this. Travis, go with her."

"Yes, sir," they both replied, and Trip felt rather then saw their hasty departure.

"What about me, sir?" Malcolm asked.

To Trip all the words sounded garbled, as if they were all speaking from under water. He swallowed convulsively as all the meals from that day fought to resurface. He just wanted to be alone. Was that too much to ask?

"Malcolm, I want you to run interference with the police."

"Sir?"

"I'm going to get Trip home safely. He's in no shape to speak with the cops, right now. They can come by his apartment tomorrow morning if they have any questions. Just make sure they know he's a victim here, too. Can you help him, please? You're influence with your brother might help matters."

Trip had no idea who he was talking to but he suddenly felt someone watching him. Still forcing back the nausea, he cringed with shame.

"Sir, do you think maybe a hospital might be a better idea?" Malcolm's voice again.

Trip groaned. The last thing he wanted was to be poked and prodded by some Nurse Ratched. Once again, he could feel a set of eyes on him. The captain's this time. Trip flushed with embarrassment, certain that the captain was studying him. Seeing through his walls like he'd always been able to do.

"No, he'll be fine at home, I think. I'll stay with him and call Phlox if I encounter any problems."

Thank you, Cap'n, Trip thought. Once Malcolm left, along with whomever else the captain had been speaking to, Trip could assure the captain that he'd be fine and he'd finally be alone!

Joey…

A few seconds later, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. "You okay, Trip?"

The voice sounded oddly far away, echoing between his ears. He tried to nod but the sudden movement caused his stomach to launch one final attempt at rebellion. This time it won.

Trip found himself doubled over, not only with the nausea but with an acute onslaught of pain, as well. His mortification increased ten-fold as the captain's arm slipped around his middle and his other hand cupped his forehead. Trip couldn't deny that his best friend's close proximity provided an unexpected amount of comfort – but that realization only served to humiliate him even further.

His thoughts went to his father's words 'never, ever show weakness… your superiors are just gonna be lookin' for a reason to replace you…'. A small whimper broke free as he weakly tried to push the captain away.

Instead of making the captain leave, however, his desperation pulled the man closer. Trip felt the captain lean forward to whisper in his ear, "Don't fight me, Trip. Let me help you. Please."

Just as Trip was about to argue the words, his legs promptly gave out on him and he plummeted down towards his puddle of regurgitated lunch…

Pulled from his memory by a door opening above him, Trip squinted against the glare of light abruptly filling the room as a switch was flipped at the top of the staircase directly to his right.

Two large men descended the stairs, both wearing Hawaiian shirts, white shorts, black knee-high socks, and brown sandals. Their comedic, touristy apparel was gravely contradicted by the pistol each man carried in a shoulder holster.

Trip tried inconspicuously to free himself from his bonds but to no avail. As the men neared, he noticed the brass knuckles on the hand of one and Trip quickly remembered him – the cold, steely eyed guy from the diner.

What was more disconcerting was the fact that he still saw the same recognition in the other man's eyes that he'd seen that night… and Trip was guessing that they hadn't been friends.

"My friends didn't believe me when I told them you were in town, Dempsey," the man said with a heavy accent that Trip couldn't place. He roughly tore the duct tape off Trip's face, taking both whiskers and flesh with it in the removal.

"Look, friend," Trip tried, "you got me confused with someone else. I have no idea who this Dempsey guy – " His words were promptly cut off by a brass knuckled fist to the ribs! He grunted in pain, instinctively trying unsuccessfully to pull his knees up to protect himself while simultaneously fighting back the unexpected nausea.

"We want the heroine your idiot brother lost, Dempsey!"

Trip tried to catch his breath enough to tell them that he had no idea what they were talking about but before he could, the second man's fist, thankfully brass-free, clipped him in the jaw! Unfortunately, even without the brass knuckles, the guy packed one heck of a punch, snapping Trip's head back with the force of it.

"I don't… know… what…" was all he managed to gasp out before he was punched on the other side of his jaw!

"Tell us – "

Brass knuckles to the ribs.

"—where – "

Brass knuckles to his lower back, clearly aiming for the kidneys.

"—our heroine is!"

Trip's vision started to go black. He was losing consciousness. He tried to fight it but his body had other plans, wanting the pain to end, at least for a little while.

The second man got a fistful of Trip's hair and yanked his head backwards, forcing him to make eye contact with the man from the diner. "Think on that for a while," the man growled.

Trip's head was released it fell forward until his chin rested on his chest. He could barely breathe through the pain.

A moment later, everything went black.

Archer sat waiting impatiently in the interrogation room. Judging by the looks he got from his doppelganger and the angry police officer after telling them his story, he figured he should be thankful he hadn't been sent to the type of hospital he'd seen in "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest" with Trip a few months earlier.

The thought of Trip made his heart ache. He glanced at his watch. It had now been over twenty four hours since Jonathan had started this seemingly fruitless search, and now he was stuck in a non-descript room waiting for his – and Trip's fate – to be decided by two strangers. One of whom looked exactly like Archer… and both of whom had absolutely no idea what was going on!

The last thing he'd wanted to do was tell them about being from the future but they hadn't really left him any other choice. He needed their help and the only way they were going to understand the seriousness of the situation would be if he told them everything.

Besides, Jonathan was too worn out to make up a believable story right now – particularly without Trip there to fill in the finer 'era-relevant' details. And to be caught in a lie would only make matters worse.

Finally, the door opened and he looked up to see his doppelganger step into the room. What was his name again? Pride? Yeah, Agent Dwayne Pride. Man, it did not get any less weird staring at your reflection when there was no mirror in sight!

"Where's Detective Riggs?" he asked with a grim smile.

Pride gazed at him for a long moment, head cocked to the side. "You say you're from 150 years in the future, right?"

"That's right."

"Then, tell me, how is it that you're able to reference Lethal Weapon? A movie that was produced more than a hundred years before you were even born?"

Jonathan shrugged. "I have a friend who loves classic movies and television."

"This the same friend you claim is missing?"

"It's not a 'claim'. He is missing. And the longer we wait – "

"You'll forgive me if I don't immediately take the word of someone who could just as easily be an escapee from the nearest psychiatric hospital." Pride declared, pulling a chair over to sit across the table from him.

"You think, I'm crazy," the captain said, confirmation not question.

The NCIS agent chuckled dryly. "Well, yeah, the thought had crossed my mind."

Jonathan pulled out his tablet for the third time that day. "How do you explain this, then?"

"In this day and age, new technology is being produced every minute, it seems. Making the one before it basically obsolete. And I certainly don't have a handle on each and every patent that gets approved."

Remembering his encounter with the bartender shortly after discovering Trip was missing, Archer sighed but remained silent.

Pride smiled somewhat condescendingly, eyeing the device with unveiled curiosity. He reached out to press a button on the tablet and Trip's picture shimmered into view. Archer watched him hesitate suddenly, his gaze inscrutable as he peered at the photo.

"What is it?"

The chair scraped across the floor as the agent pushed away from the table and stood up to leave. As he got to the door, Jonathan said "Can I ask you a question?"

Taking a fortifying breath, the agent said, "Shoot."

"Why in the world would a piece of fruit need a beta tester?"

Pride bit back an incredulous laugh. "Excuse me?"

"You think I'm a beta tester for an apple, right? Why would an apple need a beta test in the first place?"

The NCIS agent turned to leave, did a double-take as if waiting for the punch line, then exited the room, shaking his head with what looked like dismay.

The captain was alone in the room again, although something told him he was being watched, perhaps by someone on the other side of the mirror that almost covered one wall. Also seen in one of Trip's movies.

He stood and stalked over to the mirror, staring directly into it and getting the feeling that his living and breathing reflection was staring back at him from the other side.

"We don't have time for this," he yelled. "My friend could be hurt! We need to find him. Please!"

April 14th, 2151

Jonathan watched as Trip started to go down, tightening his grip around his friend's waist and pulling backwards just in time. They both went down in a heap but at least they avoided the contents of Trip's stomach puddled at the kid's feet.

Trip instantly tried to get free, his darn pride entering into the equation yet again. However, their limbs were a tangled mess and he was just going to end up hurting himself even worse.

With his chief engineer practically in his lap, Jonathan got a firm grip on him from behind, which wasn't difficult given his current weakened and, darn it, drugged state. "Easy, Trip. Take it easy, kid. It's just you and me here. You've got nothing to be embarrassed about."

The struggles ceased but the mortification remained. It didn't matter that Jonathan was the kid's best friend. In the Tucker household, weakness was weakness, no matter who was seeing it. So, he helped Trip to his feet but kept his arm around his waist for support. "How's about we get you home, huh?"

"I can make it on my own," Trip panted, trying to shrug off the captain's helping hands.

"Maybe, maybe not," Jonathan asserted. "But I'm not taking any chances. Now, come on," he added, urging Trip down the length of the alleyway, towards the street.

"Cap'n," Trip argued, still resisting his help.

"That's an order, Trip." He hated pulling rank on his friend, but sometimes it was the only way to get through to him. And sometimes it was the only way to slip past the years of training he'd received from his ironhanded, pigheaded father!

Trip finally complied, albeit reluctantly, and allowed the captain to keep him on his feet for the walk home. The street was mostly deserted as most people were either still partying or home in bed.

By the time they approached the front door of Trip's building, the chief engineer was seriously listing. Jonathan had to half drag, half carry the near limp form to the elevator. He leaned him against his side, holding him in place with one arm around the slim shoulders, then pressed the button for the eighth floor.

When the elevator dinged, they started the journey down the hall and Archer found himself cursing the fact that Trip's apartment was all the way down at the opposite end. He never thought Trip being conscious would be a bad thing but the bruises and scrapes were making their way through the initial shock of the evening and he was gasping and moaning with every step.

For probably the third time since they'd left the alleyway, the younger man's legs began to give out on him. The other times, Jonathan had propped him up against a nearby wall or pillar and waited until he enough strength back to continue.

However, this time, with a long-term reprieve within sight, Jonathan had other plans. He pulled the key card out of Trip's pocket, then made eye contact with him. The lids were heavy but the gaze coherent. "Sorry, kid," he said simply.

He didn't miss the look of betrayal in the all too knowing eyes, even empathized because he had his own fair share of pride and would hate to be in Trip's position. But the kid's well-being was his first priority and he was in a lot of pain.

In one final desperate attempt, the chief engineer tried to get his wobbly legs to hold him out of sheer willpower alone but failed. Unable to witness the agony any longer, Jonathan leaned down and folded the younger man over his shoulders in a fireman's carry, attempting to distribute the weight across Trip's entire torso in deference to the certainly bruised lower ribs.

Jonathan did his best to ignore the humiliated groan of protest as he carried him the rest of the way down the hall, but it wasn't easy.

"We'll never speak of this again, Trip," he promised. "But we need to get you to bed so you can rest, kid."

He swiped the key card in front of the memory pad on the wall and then pushed the button to open the door.

"You can't tell me that you are honestly starting to believe him! This guy is coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs, Pride!"

Dwayne was pouring himself yet another cup of coffee in the kitchenette. At this rate, he wouldn't even be home for breakfast! Linda was going to kill him!

"You get to be my age and you start to realize that not everything in this world can be easily explained."

"Okay, fine, I get that… but time travel?"

"Well, we checked out his story as best we could. His finger prints brought back nothing – "

"That only means that he's never been arrested for anything," Christopher dismissed, heatedly.

"Well, if he is an escapee from a psychiatric hospital, as we originally thought, his prints would be on file. And what about his missing friend?"

"What about him?"

"I recognized him from an old NCIS file, showed that photo to the waitress Archer said served them both at the diner their first night here. She confirmed it's the same guy."

Christopher's head was starting to hurt with all this time travel nonsense. He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, trying to alieve the pain. "So, what does that prove? Who is our 'missing person'?"

"Was."

LaSalle's head shot up at that and he winced at the pain that reverberated through his skull in response. He nodded a reluctant 'thank you' for the pills Pride shoved into his hand, then said, "Whaddya mean, 'was'? You gonna tell me, you believe in zombies now, too?"

"Nope. James Dempsey was shot and killed resisting arrest this past May. Shot in the head," he added with a smirk. "So, he can't be a zombie."

"Haha, you're a funny guy," Christopher commented snidely. He was so not in the mood for this, he thought as he popped the pills into his mouth and chased them down with a gulp from the glass of water Pride set on the counter for him.

"Come on, Christopher. What are the chances of two doppelgangers in the same city at the same time?" The question was rhetorical. The mute response from Christopher was all the urging Pride needed to continue, pacing back and forth across the small kitchenette as he spoke – silently deciding, he would need a bigger kitchen at the new office. "Do you have any idea how rare - ?"

"Yeah, Pride, I did my own research. I know exactly how it's pretty near impossible to have someone who isn't a blood relative be almost an exact replica."

"Not almost, Christopher. I can't even see any differences! And it's my face!"

But, if Jonathan Archer wasn't one of these 'doppelgangers', and he wasn't any relation to Pride, then who the heck was he? Christopher snapped his fingers as an idea occurred to him. "Maybe the coroner made a mistake when he ID'd the guy."

Dwayne shook his head. "Not Ducky."

"Ducky?" Chris repeated, voice dripping with disbelief. "You're trusting the word of a coroner named Ducky?"

Instead of responding like a normal person, Pride just smiled that annoying 'I know more than you do' smile.

"What is it with you NCIS agents and your weird nicknames?" Christopher muttered. Without waiting for an answer he knew wasn't coming anyway, he said, "Maybe the agent who fired on him was wrong, then. Shot the wrong guy and tried to cover it up."

"Not a chance," Pride declared with unshakeable confidence.

"Better chance of that than time travel!"

Pride smirked again. "You don't know Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

Knowing he was fighting a losing battle, Chris grit his teeth and said, "You wanna help this guy, go right ahead. But you're on your own." Without another word, he turned and stormed towards the door.

"Christopher," Dwayne called out calmly.

"What?" Fed up, Christopher tossed the word over his shoulder, clearly with no intention of stopping let alone turning around.

"The NCIS case with James Dempsey is the same case I was telling you about earlier. The one that revolved around the South African drug cartel you're currently tracking."

Detective Christopher LaSalle froze mid-step. A long moment passed before he turned to face Pride again. This little nugget of information definitely changed things.

But it didn't change his thoughts on the impossibility of time travel. Not by a long shot.

TBC