Consequences-Part 24

Consequences

By Samantha Quinn

All disclaimers in part 1

Part 24

Moments of Clarity

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A/N: Yes, it’s been a while. My muse is evil and most likely engaging in the partaking of illegal substances. Whatever it’s doing, it has been MIA for some time. I apologize for the lack of updates for those of you still reading. But the case of writer’s block has been severe. It’s not gone, but I made myself write this chapter anyway. Aratte (and anyone else who’s wondering): It’s winding down. I’m thinking five more chapters-hopefully less. But no more than six. I’m drawing the line at chapter 30! (Besides, I’ve been writing this thing since FEBRUARY!)

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Captain Archer had a great deal of faith that his current second in command would take good care of Trip. The armory officer was perhaps the most dependable-in the strictest sense of the word-of any in Archer’s crew and his loyalty was phenomenal. Archer knew this and valued these traits enormously in Lieutenant Reed. They were, partially what made him such a good officer.
Thus, it was not mistrust nor a lack of faith in Malcolm that drove Archer down the empty corridors later that evening. No, the Captain was entirely certain that Malcolm would make sure Trip was taken care of.

*Much more so than you have, huh, Jon?* the voice in his head sneered him slightly. One of many voices that had been taunting him since his conversation with the anxious lieutenant only hours before. Try as he might to silence them, they only grew louder.

Which was why Jonathan Archer was walking down the corridor towards sickbay when he was certain he would already find Malcolm waiting.

Guilt. Pure and simple.

//////////////////////////

Admiral Forest shook his head in dismay. “I know he’s a good engineer, Jon-“
“He’s the best in Starfleet, Admiral.”

Forest shook his head. “He’s got the potential maybe. And he is probably one of the best. But he has no real practical space experience. You need experienced players, Jon.”

“With all due respect, Sir, hardly anyone on my team has much experience. That’s not really the issue. . . is it?”

“No. Jon. Look, I know he’s your friend. Having your friends serve underneath you is a bad habit to form. It can make command decisions awfully . . . difficult.”
“I understand your concern, Admiral, but-“

“Do you, Captain Archer? Just how well do you understand me?” The Admiral sat back in his chair in frustration. “What will you do when you’re faced with a decision that forces you to chose between your friend’s life and your ship?”

“I’d chose my ship, Admiral. As any Captain has to.”

“I’d like to believe you, Jon, except for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“You hesitated.”

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But, Archer reflected ruefully, he hadn’t hesitated this time.

Archer had told himself during the investigation that he was capable of being impartial. He had to admit now, however, that he had not been. If any other member of his crew had been in the same circumstance, Archer knew that he would have devoted more time to the investigation trying to prove their innocence. Why should it have been any different with Trip? The Captain’s friend, and the closest thing Archer had left to a family.

The answer was simple, really. Overcompensation. After working so hard to get Trip on board, after promising not to let his friendship interfere with the ship, he had gone overboard in the opposite direction.

Either way, he had allowed a bias to slip into his decision making as a Captain. Perhaps Admiral Forest had been correct, after all. He was still rebuking himself when he finally arrived at sickbay. Archer’s internal guilt was only reinforced at the sight of Lieutenant Reed waiting outside. The effects of apparent worry showed up in the slumped posture and slight frown crossing the armory officer’s face. Archer felt considerable unease himself by simply looking at Malcolm. If whatever was the matter with Trip could affect the normally unflappable lieutenant in such a manner. . . *No, no. Doesn’t do any good to jump to conclusions.*

“Any diagnosis yet?” Archer inquired.

His question apparently broke the contemplative state Malcolm had been in. At the sound of the Captain’s voice, the Lieutenant immediately stood to his full height to portray the trademark not-quite-at-attention but certainly-not-at-ease stance that was his own. “No, Sir,” he replied, allowing a tad bit of frustration to creep in his tone. “But he has gotten worse, Sir.”

“Worse?” The uneasy feeling in the pit of Archer’s stomach began to grow.
“Yes, Captain. He was shaking visibly when I went to the brig. Not enough to alarm the Ensign on duty to call for medical attention, but definitely enough to be noticeable once we knew to look. Also,” Malcolm paused momentarily to think how to phrase the last part of his report. “He’s a definite shade of red, Sir.”

“Does Phlox have any idea what’s wrong with him?”

“None, Sir. He asked me to wait outside while he does a full examination.”

There was a pause before Archer continued. “Malcolm, I just wanted to let you know. . . well, I’m sorry for doubting your sense of duty.”

Malcolm nodded shortly. “It was understandable, Sir.”

The next pause was even more noticeable than the one before it had been. “Once Phlox has determined what’s wrong with him, he will probably be able to determine how long Trip’s been affected with it,” Archer ventured.

Malcolm looked at his Captain incredulously. Borrowing resolve from the generations of Reed men that had come before, he forced himself to sound respectful when he replied. “Surely you do not still believe it possible to hold him responsible for what he’s been accused of?” a momentary pause elapsed before Malcolm added the mandatory “Sir.”

Archer sighed in frustration and leaned back against the comforting bulkhead. “We saw him punch the Ambassador, Lieutenant. Neither you nor I can deny at least that charge.” Archer did not add the important fact that such an act in and of itself was a court martial offense.

“He was ill,” Malcolm reinforced. There was no doubt in his voice.

Wishing he could be as optimistic, Archer could only muster, “Let’s hope so.”
Neither tried again to break the silence that overtook the conversation as they waited for Phlox.

*******************

Inside sickbay, Trip was having a moment of clarity. Such moments were increasingly rare, and as such, Trip knew well enough to treasure the one he was being allowed to experience.

While having this moment of clarity, Trip was startled to discover that he in fact was no longer in the brig. It was funny, he couldn’t exactly remember why he was in the brig to start with, but he was thankful to discover that find himself in sickbay instead.

*Thankful to be in sickbay? Who would ever have thought?* Trip mused silently to himself.

“Ah, Commander Tucker. You’re awake, I see,” came the cheerful voice of the ship’s physician.

“Yep,” was all Trip could muster. *Damn, my throat is dry.* As if reading his thoughts, Phlox handed him a glass of water.

“And you appear to be somewhat coherent. That is certainly a welcome surprise, given your relatively uncomprehending state only moments ago,” Phlox noted as he checked the bio sign readings. He noticed with some surprise that nothing had changed. Indeed, the hormonal levels continued to climb. Phlox was left to conclude that Trip’s new state of awareness was a mental state, not a biological one.

After finishing the water, Trip managed to speak again. “Yeah, I have little moments that allow me to think clearly.” he acknowledged. “Could I have some more water? I’m awfully thirsty.”

“Certainly.” After accommodating the engineer’s request, Phlox asked, “Between these moments of cohesion . . . you are unable to think clearly?”

“Yep. It’s real fuzzy. It’s like livin’ in a fog kind of.” Trip finished. “But I dream a lot too. . . or at least I think I’m dreamin’. But the dreams seem more real than the non-dreams.”

“Can you tell me exactly what’s going on in these dreams of yours?” Phlox inquired.

Trip squirmed and for a moment Phlox feared he was slipping back into his state of incoherence. “Ah, Doc, they’re kinda pers’nal,” he remarked evasively.
Phlox filed away the interesting fact that Commander Tucker’s accent grew thicker when he became embarrassed. “I see. They are of a sexual nature, then?” The Doctor inquired.

Trip was horrified for a moment. *Please, oh, please don’t let me have been talking in my sleep!* he prayed inwardly. “Um, yep, they are. Kinda silly, really. It’s been a long time since I’ve had any wet dreams, but well. . . “ he trailed off.

“Wet dreams?” The Doctor inquired. “Ah, yes. A stage typically associated with puberty in human males, correct?”

“Got it in one, Doc. Can I have some more water?” *I feel like I’ve just run a marathon. This is ridiculous.*

Handing his patient another glass, the doctor remarked, “I have always believed such terminology to be vulgar. Nonetheless, your apparel was somewhat soiled.” Ignoring his patient’s discomfort, he continued, “Can you tell me any other symptoms?”

“Better be careful, Doc. With understatements like that someone’s likely to mistake you for T’Pol,” Trip responded. “Speakin’ of which, how’s she doin’? Did ya find out anything else about her illness?”

Choosing to ignore his patient’s questions for the moment, Phlox re-asked his prior question, “Other than generally confusion, are you experiencing any other symptoms?”

“Um, I feel awfully light headed, least when I don’t have a headache I’d give my right arm to end, and I have a few real sharp pains around the groin area,” Trip revealed. *He’s being awfully uncommunicative for a change,* Trip noted to himself. A tiny shiver of fear revealed itself. *Could the dream have really happened? Did I really hurt T’Pol?*

“You are experiencing an increased level of semen development that is abnormal for your species,” Phlox was saying. “The increased rate, could in fact, attribute to the discomfort in the genital region. Particularly if you have not been engaging in methods to relieve yourself appropriately.”

*No, no. No more relieving myself. The last time I did that. . . * But Trip had convinced himself that had been a dream. It hadn’t happened. Had it? “Doc. . . I need to know. Is T’Pol okay?” *Please, oh, please tell me I didn’t hurt her.*

The Denobulan pondered the appropriate response for a moment. In Trip’s fragile state, he possibly could not handle the impact of the truth. It was best not to answer him truthfully. “The Sub-Commander is well, Commander,” he responded. He did not add that the Sub-Commander was approximately half-way back to Vulcan by now.

The time it took Phlox to determine exactly how to answer Commander Tucker was all the time the engineer needed to slip back into his state of state of incomprehension. The return was marked by an increase in the visibility of trembling and yet another increase in the level of hormones coursing through his body.

“Doctor Phlox?” the sound of the Captain’s voice did not surprise the physician. Nor was he surprised to discover Malcolm standing beside the Captain when he turned around. “We heard voices and thought maybe Trip was feeling better?”
Phlox shook his head. “No, Captain. In fact, the Commander’s condition has only steadily worsened. His hormonal levels are rising steadily, his body temperature is rising, his semen count is drastically increasing. In fact his entire internal structure is off kilter. I am uncertain as to why and am at a loss as how to stop it. I am certain that if it is not stopped, however, and soon, Commander Tucker will die.”

The somewhat hopeful expressions of both men vanished and were instead replaced by crestfallen expressions.

“Do you have any indication of how long Trip may have been afflicted with this disease?” Archer asked quietly.

The look of irritation that passed from the armory officer to his Captain was not missed by the Doctor. Phlox wondered about its origins but chose to ignore it. “No, Captain, I cannot tell for certain. However, the Commander has been behaving strangely since the incident with Ambassador Soval in which he sustained a nerve pinch. T’Pol had expressed concern that he may have been experiencing side effects from the pinch.”

“A nerve pinch can cause this much damage?” Malcolm asked in disbelief.
“I did not believe so, Lieutenant. However, I am far from being an expert on matters of Vulcan nerve pinches. I will be consulting Ambassador V’Lar in the morning. Perhaps she knows something I do not about such matters.” Phlox did not elaborate further with his own confusion over what seemed to be Commander Tucker’s impossible situation.

“In the meantime, gentlemen, may I remind you that you are neither Vulcan nor Denobulan? It would be best if you were resting. You may come back and see Commander Tucker in the morning.”

Casting two last glances back towards their friend, Malcolm and Archer left sickbay willingly.

Walking to the turbolift, Archer remarked, “You know, I don’t think sleep is going to come to me tonight.”

Malcolm nodded once in agreement. “I am certain it will not. In fact, I was headed for the gym to workout a bit before turning in.”

“Sounds like a good idea. A couple of laps might help lull you to sleep,” Archer agreed.

“Actually, Sir, I was thinking more of practicing my self defense. Before the Sub-Commander left, she began teaching me some very valuable Vulcan moves. There’s only one problem.”

“What’s that, Malcolm?”

“I require a partner.”

“Well, I’m not getting any sleep tonight. Teach me?”

Malcolm allowed a small smile as he responded. “Gladly, Sir.”

***

PS-the last scene does indeed have a grander purpose than gratuitous Archer butt kicking by Malcolm. Although, really, who wouldn’t go for that? ;)

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One person has made comments

This is really good. I thoroughly enjoyed this installment and have the sneaky suspicion that Dr Phlox has an inkling of the truth. Plus, who wouldn't love to see Malcolm kick the Captain's rear? That man needs some serious mental re-adjustment. Great story. Anxiously waiting for more... Ali D :~)