What Lies Within Us- Chapter 16

What Lies Within Us

by Gabi

Disclaimers in Chapter 1

*******

Chapter 16

The tingle of the transporter beam had only just worn off when Jonathan Archer jumped off the platform and broke into a run for the door.

"Call sickbay, tell them I'm coming," he called over his shoulder, not waiting for the ensign standing at the transporter controls to acknowledge his order, then rushed out the door. The fingers of his right hand firmly closed, Archer sprinted down the empty hallways of his ship. He had to make it. Wait for me, Trip, he pleaded inwardly. Hang on just a little while longer.

His side was on fire as he reached the sickbay doors and slammed his hand down on the panel in the wall. Why couldn't these bulkheads open faster? The doors had only halfway slid into the wall when Archer already squeezed himself through the opening.

"Trip!" he shouted.

"Hurry, Captain," Phlox called. "I need to give him the sedative, he's suffering!"

"Wait a minute!" Stumbling, Jon stepped up beside Trip's bed and took a deep breath.

Trip's face was red, his eyes larger than usual. Drawing a rattling breath, the engineer tried to force enough air into his lungs to be able to speak. "Jon."

"He wants to know what they gave you for that technology, Captain," Malcolm explained, his voice sounding hoarse and choked with tears.

"Something that's a thousand times worth all that damn technology. Your life, Trip."

Opening his tightly clenched fist, Jon handed Phlox a phial with a blue liquid inside. "The cure, doc. Adjusted to human physiology. All you need to do is inject it into his spine."

Not stopping to ask any questions, Phlox hurried to get his instruments.

"Turn him around," he called over his shoulder.

Trip felt his head pounding with the lack of oxygen. T'Pol's fingers on his temples felt cool. And Jon had come. He could say goodbye to his best friend. What had the Captain said the aliens had given him? A cure? "Your life," he'd said when Malcolm had voiced Trip's question earlier. But that was impossible. There was no cure. Trip had stopped hoping for one long ago. And he was ready to go. No way he would go through all the ups and downs of hope and disappointment all over again. He couldn't bear it any longer. He wanted to leave, go to a place where he could move again, a place he could explore and where his friends might follow him one day. He felt hands on his body, moving him with joined effort, turning him onto his stomach. Déjà vu. But no, it wasn't the aliens, the hands that were touching him felt soft and warm. T'Pol was still holding his head.

"Breathe, Commander."

Trip tried to follow her instructions, but it became harder and harder, squeezing air into his lungs. His breathing sounded harsh and strained by now, and he heard himself desperately gasp for air. It felt like his head was going to burst any minute. The sedative, Phlox, why can't you give me the sedative. Let me go.

"I'm afraid I can't give you any anesthetics, Commander, it would take too long to take effect."

What was that supposed to mean? What anesthetics was Phlox talking about? Trip felt Hoshi's hands gently pushing up his shirt, then the cold touch of a needle on his spine. No! Not again! NO! He opened his mouth to scream when the relentless pain seared though his back, but he didn't have any air left to do so. The only sound coming from his mouth was a choked gargle, a sound that made Jon and Malcolm tighten their grip on his hands. Tears fell from his eyes, and he gave a small choked noise that echoed in his ears like a scream of agony. Finally the terrible pain in his back relented, but his lungs were still giving him hell. It felt like they were on fire. He was suffocating. It was too late for the sedative. He couldn't get any air, no matter how hard he tried to breathe.

"Turn him around! Quick!" Dropping the syringe, Phlox gave them a hand, and together they managed to lift Trip off the bed and turn him onto his back again. His face was dark and contorted with pain, his eyes bulging.

"Captain." Looking up, Jon saw Phlox holding the respirator's tube in one hand. "It'll take some time for the cure to take effect. More time than the Commander has left."

Jon looked down at his friend. Trip was dying. His face was a grimace of pain, his mouth wide open as he desperately fought for air. But his lungs wouldn't fill anymore.

He had promised Trip, promised him to respect his wishes. But not like that. He couldn't let him die. Not in that slow cruel way.

"Captain!"

"Do it!"

T'Pol tilted Trip's head backward, and a second later Phlox began inserting the respirator's tube. Closing his eyes, Jon felt tears roll down his cheeks. Trip gave a retching sound, and the low humming of the respirator followed. Trip's eyes were closed, but his body was being supplied with oxygen again.

"Why did you hesitate to give the order, Captain?" T'Pol asked.

With a last glance at Trip Jon motioned for his officers to follow him. Hoshi's face was as white as a sheet, and Malcolm and Travis looked rather shaken up as well. T'Pol's kept her usual controlled countenance, but her eyes were dark with worry.

"I gave Trip my word to stop Phlox from hooking him up to the respirator when his lungs started to fail."

"That promise was given under different circumstances, Captain," Phlox said. "We didn't know they were going to find a cure."

"They don't know if it'll have an effect. They were just going to run another series of tests when Malcolm called. They said something about a 70% probability. The odds are in Trip's favor, but there is always the possibility that it won't take effect." Looking over at his friend, Jon swallowed. "I told that Captain we're no torturers. But look what I did to Trip. I sent him through a worse hell than these aliens did."

"You mean it could have all been for nothing?" Malcolm's British accent grew stronger like always when he was upset. "All that torture of almost suffocating and this painful injection? It could have been for nothing?" His fresh hopes were shattered, and his voice grew pained as he spoke. "Captain?"

"I'm sorry, Malcolm. We don't know if it'll have an effect." Jon saw the despair he felt mirrored in the Armory Officer's eyes. "All we can do is hope."

"Where did the aliens suddenly get that cure from, Captain?" Hoshi wanted to know.

Jon looked at her. "The alien captain and me got along quite well. We found our beliefs and principles weren't all that different, after all, and that our feeling hostile towards each other was mostly based on misunderstandings. The captain said that his doctor might be able to develop a new cure based on the data he gathered during his examination of Trip. He wasn't sure, though, and I didn't want to give Trip and you any false hopes. If we'd only had a little more time..." Jon trailed off, biting the inside of his lip.

"When will we know for sure, doctor?" T'Pol asked calmly.

"It shouldn't take too long," the doctor said, giving the empty phial a thoughtful look. "I don't know how it works, but if there's no sign of recovery in the next twenty-four hours then it certainly won't take any effect at all. It is now 3 am. If his condition hasn't changed by tomorrow night, 3 am, we know we've lost."

Twenty-four hours. A twenty-four hours reprieve.

"Why don't you all go and get some rest," Phlox suggested. Archer and Reed simultaneously shook their heads.

"Very well, the two of you may stay," the doctor relented. "But I must insist that the others leave now. The Commander needs to rest."

-###-

Jon and Malcolm took a seat beside Trip's bed, neither of them speaking a word. The thoughts running through their minds were much the same, and far from pleasant.

"Captain," Malcolm whispered all of a sudden.

Raising his head, Jon saw Trip had opened his eyes and was staring at the ceiling. Archer got up. He didn't dare to turn Trip's head so his friend could look at him for fear of causing him pain or moving the respirator's tube, and so he bent down over him to look at his face.

"Trip?" Jon swallowed as he saw Trip's eyes, filled with pain and wordless accusation.

"I'm so sorry, Trip, that you have to go through this."

Jon felt a burning sensation in his eyes as he looked at his friend's face. Phlox had fixed the tube with a band-aid, and Jon felt his chest contract at the sight of that plastic pipe sticking out of Trip's half-opened mouth.

"I know I promised you not to allow this. I broke my promise, but I had no choice. I can only hope that you'll understand, Trip. The aliens found a cure that will help you. But it needs time to take effect, and it can take a few hours. Only a few hours, Trip, okay?"

More than anything else Archer wished Trip would have been able to give him an answer. Now, on top of everything else, they'd taken away his ability to speak. He was paralyzed and unable to voice his feelings with that tube sticking in his throat. The only means of communications the engineer had still left were his eyes, and they were so full of pained accusation that it hurt Jon worse than he could bear to look at them. How bad was this going to get before it finally came to an end? What was he going to do if the cure took no effect? No. Jon shook his head, pushing these thoughts away. It had to take effect, it just had to.

That moment, Phlox stepped up beside the bed, starting to run a few scans.

"He is in pain, doctor," Malcolm said quietly.

"There is a tube sticking in his throat, Lieutenant, I doubt that's a very pleasant sensation. And he might still be suffering from a slight headache due to the lack of oxygen he experienced. The Commander went through quite a lot during those last thirty minutes."

Malcolm snorted, but the sound betrayed no amusement whatsoever. "Went through quite a lot, that's one way to put it. Can't you give him something?"

"To tell the truth, I don't want to risk giving the Commander some kind of painkiller or sedative. I do not have the slightest idea what substances that cure consists of, and I cannot tell if there might be an reaction when it's contaminated with other medication. I don't want to do anything that might delay or hinder Mr. Tucker's recovery."

"So you're saying all we can do for him is wait and see?" Wearily, Jon rubbed a hand over his face.

"Affirmative, Captain. But maybe in a few hours I can tell you more. I'll be in the science lab, running a few tests. Call me if you need me."

Jon and Malcolm both nodded, neither of them giving an answer. This was nothing short of torture, Trip lying on that bed without being able to speak or move while they could only sit there and wait without being able to do anything to help him. Holding his hands, they tried to keep a conversation going to drown out that terrible silence. After about an hour Trip finally fell asleep. Archer and Reed exchanged relieved glances when suddenly the comm chirped.

"T'Pol to Captain Archer."

Jon got up to take the call. "T'Pol, I seem to remember I told you to get some rest."

"I have meditated for approximately one hour," T'Pol informed him stiffly. "But I was not able to go to sleep. Captain, the aliens have finished their scans and are now ready to leave."

Jon sighed. "On my way, T'Pol." With last glance at the sleeping Trip Jon nodded at Malcolm, then went to tend to his duties.

-###-

Malcolm Reed was tired. No wonder, he hadn't slept all night. Not that he would be able to if he went to bed now, he was way too upset. Hearing that Trip was probably going to die had hit him hard. He couldn't imagine life on Enterprise without the Commander and he couldn't imagine Malcolm Reed without Trip Tucker. It had taken some time, but by now he and Trip were close friends despite their opposite characters. He enjoyed the friendly quarreling, the discussions about technical matters, the joint work and missions, and was simply unable to accept that he might have to do without all of this in the future. When Phlox had announced that he wouldn't be able to do anything about Trip's paralyzed legs, it had looked like a radical change, but not like the end. Malcolm knew that sooner or later Trip would have come to terms with that situation, and he himself would have been more than glad to help his friend.

But that had been then. Now, things looked different. Now, Trip Tucker was lying in a biobed, unable to move, hooked up to a respirator that did the breathing for him for his lungs were no longer able to supply his body with oxygen. And who knew what an effect that cure would have; if it had any effect at all. Those strangers hadn't assayed it. Again, Trip was the guinea pig, and they all were forced to wait and see. The waiting was the worst of it. At least Trip had eventually fallen asleep. Malcolm knew that every moment Trip was oblivious of his condition was a relief for the Commander.

Gently, Malcolm ran a finger over the back of Trip's hand. Maybe all of this would be different if he hadn't run away down there on that moon. A feeling of guilt made him avert his eyes. He'd chickened out, leaving Trip at the mercy of their enemy. If he'd been more careful, he would have been able to prevent this from happening. If he'd made Trip see that the situation might become dangerous. If he'd urged him to keep his phaser ready as well when they stepped out in that corridor. And if he'd been on the watch. These strangers had outnumbered them, but they hadn't had any weapons. It would have been possible for him and Trip to defend themselves. It would have been possible for a good Security Chief to defend them. A capable officer wouldn't have turned tail and run away. And now Trip was lying here, had to endure all of this, because Malcolm Reed hadn't done his job.

He allowed himself a deep sigh. More than everything else, even more than this, was bothering him a feeling he'd hidden away deep inside his mind, locked up for no one else to see. A feeling of relief, relief that it wasn't him lying there on that bed. Malcolm didn't dare even think of that feeling, he immediately felt like betraying his friend when he did so.

"I'm so sorry, Trip," he whispered. "I shouldn't have left you behind. Together, we would have been able to overpower them. These people were no trained fighters. Why did I have to run away; I could have made it, I could have saved you. You wouldn't be lying here if I'd done my job properly." He squinted his eyes shut to drive away the burning sensation rising in them. "Don't start crying, Reed," he muttered. "This is your own fault." He raised his gaze and startled. Trip's eyelids had half-opened, and blue eyes were peering in his direction.

-###-

The first thing Trip felt was that terrible thing. There was something stuck in his mouth and throat, something he wasn't able to get rid of. He could neither swallow it nor spit it out. Trip tried to turn his head from side to side to get rid of that awful thing but then he remembered that the muscles in his neck were paralyzed. At the same time, the memory of what had happened came back to him. Phlox had shoved the respirator's tube down his throat, had hooked him up to life support. Trip could hear the soft hissing of the device that was supplying his body with oxygen. He had no idea how long he'd been here, if he'd been asleep for hours or only for a few minutes. Someone was holding his hand, gently stroking it, but he didn't bother to open his eyes to see who it was. All he wanted was for all of this to finally come to an end. The tube hurt his throat, scratching the inside of his windpipe and giving him the constant feeling of a cough rising in his chest, but of course he wasn't able to cough. Let alone make a sound. Trip had no will to fight left in him. He didn't believe that cure was going to help him. Fate had decided what was going to happen to him, and it wouldn't change its mind. Why hadn't Jon kept his promise? Why hadn't they simply let him go when it was time? Why would they force him to lie here, immobilized and unable to speak? That feeling of his throat slowly closing up, leaving him unable to breathe came back to his mind. There were no words to describe something so terrible. But just as he'd been about to slip away into merciful darkness, Jon had pulled him back, ordering Phlox to stick that awful thing into his windpipe. And here he was, not able to move or even communicate. By now, his headache had subsided, but he still could feel his muscles twitch, cramping from all that lying around. And he couldn't tell anyone about it. He couldn't even swallow his own saliva or wipe it off as it started to run down the side of his mouth. It was so humiliating. When was this going to end?

Next to his ear, he could hear someone talking. It was Malcolm. At first, Trip couldn't make out any of the murmured words and decided that his friend was most likely talking to himself rather than trying to tell him something. Then, however, something in Malcolm's tone caught his attention. Reed was blaming himself for what had happened to him, accusing himself of leaving Trip behind. The engineer wanted to sit up, talk to him, assure him that there had been nothing he could have done, but he was a prisoner in his own body, unable to voice his thoughts and feelings. And that was when Trip Tucker changed his mind. He couldn't die and leave Malcolm to live with that guilt. That damn cure had to work. If nothing else, it had to at least give him back his ability to breathe and speak so he could tell his friend he was not to blame for what had happened. Awkwardly, Trip prized open his eyes so he could look at Malcolm.

-###-

Malcolm jumped up. Had Trip heard him, had he been listening to what he'd said? He cursed himself for sitting there, jabbering away like an old dodderer talking to himself. Grabbing a kleenex, he gently wiped off the trace of saliva that was making its way down Trip's chin.

"Don't worry, Commander," he said in what he hoped to be a calming tone of voice. "It won't be much longer now. You'll be soon feeling a lot better."

Trip's blue eyes were resting on him with a worried expression, but Malcolm didn't know whether it was because Trip was frightened by his own condition or because he'd heard Malcolm after all. He didn't dare to ask him, though, hoping Trip had simply woken up at the sound of his voice without actually understanding any of his muttered words.

When the sickbay doors slid open with a low hiss, Malcolm raised his head and saw Hoshi enter the room. She looked tired and worn out, but there was a smile on her lips as she stepped up beside Trip's bed.

"How is the Commander?"

"He just woke up. What are you doing here that early in the morning?"

"I couldn't sleep. Besides, shift starts in two hours." Leaning down over Trip, she stroked a stray lock of hair back from his forehead. "Hi Commander," she said gently. Trip winked at her, and Hoshi smiled. "I mean, Trip. I'll stay with him, Lieutenant," she said, looking back at Malcolm. "You look like you could use a shower and a breakfast." She studied his face, her voice sounding worried as she continued. "And a few hours of sleep. I'm sure the Captain wouldn't mind changing the duty roster for once."

"That's okay, Hoshi, I'm fine. But a shower and some food sounds like a good idea." Slowly, Malcolm got to his feet. He hated leaving his friend's bedside, but he mustn't forget about his duties. He was just about to say goodbye to Trip, putting a hand on his shoulder when he saw the engineer's face contort in pain.

"Trip!" Malcolm said, alarmed. "What's wrong?"

Hoshi had noticed as well, and called for Phlox who was immediately at Trip's bedside.

"There is something wrong with the Commander, doctor. He's in pain."

The doctor run his scanner over Trip's body. "Muscle spasms," he stated. "In his calves, mostly."

Without asking any further questions, Hoshi pushed the covers aside and started massaging Trip's legs.

"Come on, Lieutenant, give me a hand," she ordered, and Malcolm complied. Trip squeezed his eyes shut when they started applying pressure to the sole of his feet in order to stretch the muscles in his legs. Hoshi's hands felt a lot softer on his skin than Malcolm's callused paws as they kneaded and massaged his tensed-up muscles, but eventually the pain began to relent. After a while Phlox returned, hypospray in hand.

"What's that?" Malcolm wanted to know.

"Undiluted magnesium," Phlox said, pressing the hypospray against Trip's neck.

"I thought you said you weren't going to give him any medication."

"Magnesium is no medication, but a mineral. It shouldn't interfere with the cure, and it will help to ease the cramps."

"Why is he having those, anyway?"

"The Commander has been lying immobilized for quite a long time. It's only natural his muscles will cramp."

"Will it help if I massage him?" Hoshi asked.

"Of course, Ensign. We should also move his limbs from time to time to keep them supple." He glanced at his scanner, his voice betraying disappointment as he continued. "I was hoping there would be signs of recovery by now."

"Nothing at all?" Malcolm bit his lip, trying not to let any of his worry show on his face.

"No, but let's not jump to any conclusions." Bending down over Trip, Phlox gave him a broad smile. "Don't worry, Commander. You're going to be alright."

When he turned away from the bed, his forced cheerfulness vanished to be replaced by an expression of sorrow. "Maybe later," he whispered at Hoshi and Malcolm who were watching him with worried faces.

-###-

The minutes dragged by at snail's pace. If he'd only been able to go to sleep. But he knew that this wasn't going to happen; his consciousness kept jerking back to the real world and he didn't seem to be able to doze off for more than a few minutes. Most of the time he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. His whole body itched, and that feeling of pins and needles pricking his skin from the inside just wouldn't go away. Even the massages Hoshi gave him didn't change anything about that.

Jon never left his place at Trip's bedside. Trip would have liked to ask him if there wasn't a ship he had to run, but at the moment simple every-day things like a conversation were far beyond the bounds of his possibilities. His throat had gotten used to the scratchy feeling the tube created, but it was a strange and unpleasant experience, not being able to breathe on his own. What he couldn't get used to, though, was the picture of misery he knew he must look. From time to time Jon reached out to wipe off the saliva that was running down Trip's chin, and Trip felt incredible shame of the fact that he wasn't even able to control the most elementary functions of his body. It got especially bad when Hoshi brought the Captain a steaming cup of fresh coffee. The drip the doctor had hooked him up to provided Trip's body with all the nutrients that he needed, but the coffee's strong aroma immediately made his mouth water which resulted in even more saliva dripping down his chin.

"Oh shit!" Jon jumped to his feet so quickly that a few splashes of the steaming coffee landed on his hand. He carried his cup to the back of the room where Trip wasn't able to smell the coffee anymore.

Carefully Hoshi wiped the saliva off Trip's chin. "I'm sorry, Trip," she whispered, planting a hesitant kiss on his forehead. "That was thoughtless of me. But I promise you, as soon as the doctor gets that awful thing out of your throat again I'll bring you the best coffee you ever had."

Trip sighed inwardly. When was this going to happen? He had no idea what the time was. He'd lost all sense of time, and it felt as if he'd been lying here for days already. The strain on his back was starting to make itself felt, and he wished he would have been able to shift a little to ease the pain in his tensed muscles. When was that damned serum finally going to take effect? Trip was torn between frustration, hopelessness, anger and a fierce determination to stand up to fate. To survive this ordeal with as much dignity as possible. But he wasn't going to be able to hold on much longer. All he could do was listen to his friends talking as they took shifts at his bedside, washing his sweaty body, moving his limbs and massaging his cramping muscles. It was so humiliating that at times Trip felt like snapping at them to finally leave him be. But on the other hand he was grateful for their caring and friendship, and he knew he would have done the same for every single one of them. This wasn't easy for anyone. And listening to their voices Trip could hear how much they cared, and how desperately they, too, were waiting for a sign of improvement.

-###-

Jon felt grief and worry weighing down on him like a dark heavy blanket. Every time he looked at Trip, his insides contracted, and he couldn't keep his mind off the fact that in the meantime it had become afternoon and nothing had changed about his friend's condition so far. Deep in thought, Jon gently ran his fingers over the back of Trip's hand. It was so hard, being forced to watch Trip suffer like that. To see the pain in his eyes when those muscle cramps were tormenting him again, and the shame when the Captain and the others helped Phlox take care of him. Jon's only hope was that Trip found their presence to be comforting as well, and not merely another annoyance.

At the moment he was alone with Trip. He knew T'Pol was taking good care of his ship, and he wasn't remotely interested in the nebula they were currently passing. Ten minutes ago he'd given Malcolm the direct order to go and lie down for a while. His Security Officer had complied; reluctantly, of course, but in the end he had given in. He knew as well as Archer that after another sleepless night he was likely to collapse next to Trip's bed more sooner than later.

Jon picked up another kleenex and gently wiped Trip's mouth. Trip squeezed his eyes shut.

"It's alright, my friend," Jon said softly. "It's not your fault you can't swallow at the moment, and the stuff needs to go somewhere. It's okay."

Jon inwardly heaved a sigh as he saw the frustration and shame in Trip's eyes. But there was something else as well. Besides the despair he felt at his condition Trip's eyes seemed to be filled with a wild determination, determination not to give up without a fight. Jon swallowed. Trip did not know what he knew. Trip wasn't aware of the fact that there was no guarantee the serum was going to take effect, and that the low steady hissing of the respirator might as well be a countdown of the hours and minutes he had still left to live. But at least the silent accusation had disappeared from those blue eyes, and Jon was grateful for that. Everytime he looked down at the face of his friend, Trip raised his eyebrows which gave the impression as if he was smiling. Jon felt like crying. He had ignored Trip's last request and he was responsible for the suffering his friend had to endure. And if it had all been for nothing? He didn't know how he was supposed to bear it if the cure took no effect, after all, forcing him to give Trip up to death once again.

-###-

In the early evening Jon went down to messhall to get himself another cup of coffee. He felt tired and worn out by the constant worry. Taking a quick look around, he noticed that messhall was crowded, as it always was at dinner time. The crew was being unusually quiet, though, hardly chatting and talking as they pushed their food around their plates. Despite Chef's best efforts no one seemed to be feeling very hungry today. When the Captain entered, some of them turned around, looking at him with questioning eyes. Regretfully Jon shook his head. No news from sickbay. Lowering their eyes, the crew turned back to their meals.

Jon took his coffee back to his ready room and busied himself looking through some reports. Finally he put the empty cup aside, gathered up the padds and went down to sickbay to take his turn at Trip's bedside.

"He fell asleep," Malcolm whispered as Jon took a seat on the other side of the bed.

"Good." Thinking of how he himself had been counting the hours, Jon shuddered as he imagined how Trip must feel, being reduced to lying around and waiting for the cure to take effect. Getting up, he walked over to where Phlox was standing at the counter.

"What are you going to do if there's no change after twenty-four hours?"

Phlox sighed. "In that case, the decision will be up to you once again, Captain. I can keep the Commander alive, you know that."

"In this condition?"

Phlox nodded.

"Nothing has changed about Trip's decision, Phlox. He doesn't want to go on living that way. And as hard as we might find it, when we know for certain that the cure won't have an effect, we shouldn't let him suffer any longer."

"In that case, I'll give him the sedative, then take him off life support as soon as he loses consciousness."

Jon swallowed. "Is there a chance that the cure will still take effect?"

"I cannot say for sure, Captain, but the probability of that happening decreases with every hour."

Jon closed his eyes. The hope he'd felt when he'd come back from the alien ship was slowly being replaced by a feeling of utter despair. Without another word, he sat back down next to Malcolm at Trip's bed, watching his friend's sleep.

After a few hours had passed, Phlox returned to run some more scans. When he was finished, he slowly shook his head.

"This can't be, doc." Malcolm's voice sounded hoarse. "Why doesn't it take effect?"

"I don't know, Lieutenant." Phlox stared down at Trip with an expression of deep sorrow on his face. "The Commander is fast asleep. I suggest you both follow his example, and go get some rest. Doctor's orders. I'll notify you if there are any changes."

Jon considered Phlox' suggestion, while Malcolm shook his head right away.

"When have you last been sleeping, Lieutenant?"

Malcolm shrugged. "I slept two hours in the afternoon. I'm fine, doc. I wouldn't be able to go to sleep now, anyway."

"Very well," Phlox relented. "But I must insist that you go to your quarters, Captain. You are exhausted, and it won't help anyone if the Captain collapses with sleep deprivation. And it won't help the Commander, either."

Awkwardly, Jon got to his feet. Phlox was right. Despite his worry he was hardly able to keep his eyes open anymore.

"You'll notify me immediately?"

"Of course, Captain. Sleep well."

Jon looked at Phlox. He really seemed to mean it.

-###-

Malcolm startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Doctor? Did I fall asleep?" He stretched. "What time is it?"

"It's 3 am, Lieutenant."

Malcolm didn't have to ask for he could see the answer to his question written all over the doctor's features. "No changes?"

Phlox shook his head. "I'm afraid there's no use in keeping our hopes up any longer. I'm going to get the Captain so he can decide about what we're going to do."

"No." Malcolm looked at his sleeping friend. "Give him a little more time, doc."

"There is no use in that, Lieutenant. The cure should have taken effect hours ago. We have to face the fact that we won't be able to help Mr. Tucker. I agree with the Captain that it wouldn't be right to let him suffer any longer."

"But Trip's asleep. There's no hurry. Two hours, Phlox. Only two hours. Please."

"Very well, Lieutenant. Two hours. Then I'll notify the Captain."

Continue to Chapter 17

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Two folks have made comments

@#%£X&*!!!!

U clifhangered us again *Wacks Gabi with NERF bat*
don't like u rite now!

Bing bk Trip!

(pretty sure u will, u never said death fic)

I agree with above, where is a NERF bat when you need it. Pleeeeeeaaaaase don't leave us like this for too long and update soon.