TRIP FICTION

TripFiles
TripFocus
Tuckerites
TuckerNuts
Trinneer
ˇTRIP!

If you are seeing this paragraph, the site is not displaying correctly. You can see the content, but your current browser does not support CSS which is necessary to view our site properly. For the best visual experience, you will need to upgrade your browser to Netscape 6.0 or higher, MSIE 5.5 or higher, or Opera 3.6 or higher. If, however, you don't wish to upgrade your browser, scroll down and read the content - everything is still visible, it just doesn't look as pretty.

The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea - Chapter 7

Author - Sita Z
Fan Fiction Main Page | Stories sorted by title, author, genre, and rating

The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

by Sita Z

Disclaimers in Chapter 1

****

Chapter 7

Trip closed the door of Engineering behind him, holding on to the handle as a familiar feeling of dizziness swept over him, blurring his surroundings to a haze of unidentifiable colors and shapes. He blinked to clear his vision, and at the same time felt a sharp pain stinging behind his forehead as the corridor slowly regained its normal appearance.

Trip sighed. Today at work he'd stumbled and would have crashed into his desk if Kelly hadn't caught him, just because these damn dizzy spells always chose to occur in the wrong place at the wrong time. All he could do was sit down or grab hold of something and wait for the giddy feeling to disappear.

All in all, the last six days had been rather exhausting. He'd spent a day off duty in his quarters after Phlox had caught him doing extra work in the armory - the doctor had suggested Trip stay in sickbay as an additional disciplinary measure, but luckily the Captain had talked him out of it. Trip hated to admit it, but he'd rather welcomed the chance to get a good twelve hours of sleep. He often felt so tired these days he could hardly keep his eyes open.

The child had almost doubled in size since Trip had first felt its movements more than a week ago. The bulge on his side had now reached the size of a basketball, and Trip often felt like he had a bag of stones tied to his waist. When he looked at himself in the mirror (which he tended to avoid these days) he had to admit that there was no denying the fact anymore that he looked pregnant, baggy pullovers or no. Phlox had said that the period of most intensive growth was probably over, but this fact – or rather guess - wasn't much of a consolation to Trip. It would still take about three weeks until his delivery, and even though Trip certainly wasn't looking forward to that day, three weeks were still quite a lot of time if one had to put up with an alien pregnancy. The doctor had recommended several times that Trip stop working in Engineering, but up until now Trip had always been able to convince the Captain that sitting in his quarters all day would simply drive him nuts.

Carefully, Trip let go of the door handle, and felt rather relieved as he noticed that the feeling had returned into his legs. Involuntarily, he tugged at his pullover, pulling it down and at the same time briefly placing a hand on the bulge. Sometimes, when he was alone in his quarters, he would lay a hand on it and wait for her to move, smiling when he finally felt those short gentle nudges. On some of those occasions he even allowed himself to think of what was going to happen. After. In the beginning he'd never wasted a thought to that, simply pushing it out of his mind because he knew he wouldn't be able to deal with it. Now, however, that the time when he would have to deal with it was drawing close, he couldn't help but wonder. What was going to happen, how was it going to happen (he hadn't found the nerve yet to ask Phlox about it, and the doctor was prudently keeping his mouth shut), and what the hell was he going to do then. Trip had several times started to write a letter home, trying to explain what had happened, but every time when he read it through he pictured his family reading it, his mother, father, brother and sisters, and he couldn't bring himself to hit the "send" button. How was he supposed to explain all of this in a letter? He wasn't very good at putting his thoughts down at the best of times, and telling his family about his visit to the Xyrillian ship and what had happened afterwards in a short note was probably not a good idea.

There was one thing, however, that had troubled him the most, kept him awake at night and popped up in his thoughts whenever he was feeling down, that he didn't have to worry about anymore. Of course, as time went by, Archer had been forced to send his report to Starfleet, and of course this report had raised one hell of a commotion in Headquarters. Forrest had called in the middle of the night (Earth's time and ship's time) and asked whether Jon thought it appropriate to use official Starfleet reports for his private jokes. He'd refused to believe the truth until Archer had summoned Trip, who, tired and with mussed-up hair from sleeping, confirmed the crazy story by lifting his shirt and letting the Admiral take a look himself.

As embarrassing as the whole conversation had been, it had at the same time taken a great weight off Trip's soul. When Forrest had recovered from his first shock, he had not, as Trip had expected, given immediate orders for him to return to Earth, but had even expressed his hopes that Trip wasn't going to quit Starfleet after this.

"We need you out there, Commander," Forrest had told him. "We can't afford to order you back, and I don't think it would be a good idea for you to, er, try and raise this child on Earth. And out there you still have a chance, however small it may be, to run across the, hm, mother's species once again and try to... settle things."

Of course, he'd said, a starship wasn't the ideal place to raise children, but this case was a little different. "And it's not like it's never been done before," he'd added. "Just think of the boomer families."

Both Trip and Archer saw that the Admiral, a quite distinguished and traditional man, was feeling very uncomfortable discussing the pregnancy of Enterprise's Chief Engineer, and Jon, taking pity on his flustered superior, had soon cut the connection after exchanging some final formalities. Afterwards, Trip had almost cried with relief. He'd thought that with his decision not to undergo the operation he'd ended his career as Chief Engineer, and hearing that Starfleet was more than willing to let him stay on Enterprise was the best thing that had happened to him in a very long time.

Still, there was the problem that this business wasn't going to be over after the delivery. It would be his responsibility to care for the baby, an alien child from a species they knew nearly nothing about. When he sat in his quarters, staring out the window at the stars, Trip tried to get used to the thought. He would be the one person this child was going to have to rely on, her father, or mother, or both. It wouldn't be enough to simply care for her. If Xyrillian children were any similar to human children in their feelings and needs, he would have to learn to love her.

At one time Trip had even taken a padd and written down a list of girls' names, underlining the ones he liked best. When he'd realized what he was doing, however – picking a name for the child, his child - he'd quickly shut off the padd, stuffed it into the bottom compartment of his desk and slammed the drawer shut. The underlined names, however, had somehow stuck in his mind, and he kept catching himself thinking about them, discarding some and adding new ones to his mental list.

This, of course, was nothing he could talk to his friends about. Jon had, at one time, carefully asked him about how he was going to handle things after the child was born, but Trip had acted as if he hadn't really given any thought to that yet, not ready to discuss in public what he was still having trouble thinking about in private. Somewhere at the back of his mind, however, he was aware that very soon all these things were going to become very public indeed, and that he would have to be ready to deal with it.

At the moment, however, he needed all his strength to simply deal with the present, and so he mostly pushed these considerations away, trying to get through another day without thinking too much about the future.

As he walked down the corridor towards the turbolift, Trip became aware of the dull ache in his stomach. It was nothing new; throughout the past week he'd been experiencing the feeling almost constantly, and it seemed that no matter how much he ate he never appeared to have had enough. Phlox hadn't been too happy when Trip had told him; he'd prescribed additional vitamin shots and had advised Trip to try and increase his calorie intake to an optimum level. Trip didn't really know how that was supposed to work; these days, it sometimes seemed to him like all he ever did was eating, and he had no idea where the heck all the stuff was going. At his last appointment in sickbay, Phlox had discovered that Trip's own body had even lost several pounds over the last seven days, which of course didn't show as the bulge was getting bigger and bigger.

"Commander!"

Trip turned around at the sound of the voice, and saw Malcolm coming up the corridor behind him.

"Hey Malcolm."

The Lieutenant smiled, falling into pace beside him. "How was work in Engineering today?"

"Fine. We finally found out what's wrong with those EPS conduits on E-deck. Hess and her team're gonna take care of it this afternoon."

"Good." Malcolm fell silent again, and there was a short, not-quite-tense pause. Trip sighed inwardly. He knew Malcolm was still feeling bad about what had happened a week ago in the armory, and was consequently trying to make very polite, very forced conversation whenever they met. Trip had told him several times that he didn't blame him for his staff's actions in the slightest, but Malcolm being Malcolm of course took the blame for everything that went wrong inside his department (and outside, but that was another matter), and still seemed to feel that he had to make up for his staff's behavior.

"I've considered what you said about Barrie's and Crane's personal files," Malcolm said abruptly as if he'd been reading Trip's thoughts. "I've decided to do what you suggested and remove the reprimands." He looked as if he'd tasted something really sour. "I still don't think they should get away so easily, but if it is your express wish I certainly won't stand in the way."

Trip smiled. "Glad to hear it."

When Malcolm had first heard about what had transpired in the armory, his initial reaction had been to suggest an immediate transfer for his two crewpeople. Archer and Trip had managed to talk him out of it, but they hadn't been able to keep him from marching straight to Barrie's and Crane's quarters, and giving both ensigns the worst dressing-down in Starfleet history. Both crewmen had been in tears afterwards, or at least that was what Trip had been told. Considering the fact, however, that Malcolm could be very mean and caustic when provoked, he was inclined to believe the rumors. Malcolm had also assigned them each a week of double-duty, and had written sharp reprimands into their personal files. Trip, knowing that such a reprimand could very easily destroy your career forever, had asked Malcolm to reconsider. It wasn't that he wasn't angry, but in the meantime his initial anger and hurt had cooled down a little, allowing him to consider the fact that both ensigns were very young, and probably hadn't thought much before speaking their minds.

Malcolm, of course, hadn't been willing to take any of these things into consideration, and had even made Barrie and Crane go and apologize to Trip, which had been very embarrassing for everyone concerned, including Malcolm himself.

Still, hearing that Malcolm had decided to remove the reprimands made Trip feel a little better about the whole unpleasant incident. At least there were no careers going to go down the drain about it.

"So... you're going to movie night tonight?" Malcolm asked, startling Trip out of his thoughts. Glad for the change of subject, Trip nodded.

"Yeah... Hoshi told me they're showin' a comedy."

He never heard Malcolm's reply. All of a sudden the dizzy feeling of before came back full force, and the corridor disappeared behind a blurred haze of colors. Trip swayed, and at the same time felt a hand grab his right arm.

"Commander!" Malcolm's startled cry seemed to come from very far away, and Trip felt his legs give way under him. His vision still hadn't cleared again, and he stumbled, blindly grabbing for hold as he lost his balance. Someone, presumably Malcolm, caught him, and Trip felt himself being gently lowered to the floor. He heard Malcolm getting up, and the sound of footsteps as he walked over to the intercom, then the pounding in his head got too loud for him to hear anything else.

###

"He's waking up."

The voice came from somewhere above his head. Trip's mind, still swimming up from the depths of unconsciousness, only gradually took in the meaning of the words, and it took him another moment to realize that they were talking about him. Carefully, he prized his lids apart, only to squeeze them shut again as the sudden bright light hurt his eyes.

"Trip!"

Jon's voice. He sounded worried. Trip wanted to tell him that everything was okay, but to do so, he realized, he would have to open his eyes. This time he was prepared for the brightness, and managed to keep his eyes open, blinking as his surroundings slowly came into focus.

He was lying on a bed in sickbay, surrounded by Phlox, Jon and Malcolm who were peering down at him with worried looks on their faces. Trip blinked again, attempting a smile.

"Hey."

"Trip," Jon repeated, obviously relieved. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine," Trip said automatically, then winced as he felt a sharp pain behind his forehead. He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the light, and at the same time noticed an IV tube implanted in the crook of his arm. He looked at the doctor. "What's this for?"

Phlox voice sounded mild, but Trip noticed a thin line between the doctor's brows that deepened as he spoke. "You're suffering from an acute nutrient deficiency, Commander. I'm trying to replenish your supplies by giving you intravenously the nutrients your body needs the most at the moment."

"Nutrient deficiency?" Trip frowned. "Doc, I swear I followed that diet plan of yours to the letter, and-"

"I know." Phlox looked down at him, and Trip couldn't help but notice that the doctor looked worried. Really worried. "Apparently there has been a development I wasn't expecting." He paused. "Commander... what I'm going to tell you now falls under doctor-patient confidentiality. So if you'd rather discuss this in private..." He trailed off, casting a sideways glance at Jon and Malcolm. Malcolm instantly made as if to leave, but Trip shook his head. Jon was his best friend and superior, it was only natural that he would stay, but Trip wanted Malcolm to stay as well. That evening in the messhall Malcolm had shown that he cared what happened to Trip, cared more than just a colleague or poker buddy would, and Trip wanted to return that trust. Malcolm gave him an unsure look, still looking ready to leave, and Trip held his gaze. After a moment Malcolm relented, returning to Trip's bedside where he'd been standing before. He didn't smile – Malcolm wasn't really given to running around with a grin on his face all day long – but his eyes had grown a little softer as he returned his attention to Phlox.

"What is it, doc?" Jon urged, and Trip looked back at Phlox as well. The line between the doctor's brows had even deepened, making his friendly face look unusually stern.

"It seems that the Xyrillian male's body is more different from the human body than I thought. During the last one and a half weeks the child has grown at a rapid speed - as you will have noticed - and of course this stadium of extreme growth makes tremendous demands on the host's body. Apparently in a "real" Xyrillian pregnancy the host's body produces certain hormones which simultaneously reduce its own needs and increase the production of vital enzymes. Those enzymes in turn speed up the body's metabolic rate. It is the only explanation I can come up with how the Xyrillian body is able to deal with such extreme physical stress."

"What's the point, doc?" Trip tried not to sound impatient. He had an idea where Phlox was going with his explanation, and he didn't like it at all. The doctor folded his hands, resting them on the edge of the bed.

"The point, Commander, is that your body is not able to do all these things. Your human physiology cannot deal with such stress. The child absorbs a great part of the vital nutrients you consume, and since you cannot speed up your metabolism there is no way you can eat or drink enough to provide enough nutrients for both you and the child."

"So that was why I was feelin' so dizzy and tired all the time," Trip said more to himself, then felt the immediate urge to clap his hand over his mouth. He hadn't really mentioned the dizzy spells when talking to the doc, downplaying them the best he could so Phlox wouldn't put his foot down and ban him from working in Engineering once and forever. The doctor, however, for once didn't comment but simply nodded.

"That's right. Your repeated morning sickness has the same cause." Trip felt his cheeks grow hot, and deliberately avoided looking at Jon and Malcolm.

"Doc... what exactly does this mean?" Archer asked, worry evident in his tone. "Is there something you can do?"

Phlox sighed. "To be quite honest with you, Captain, no there isn't. Except..."

Phlox hesitated, and Trip watched the doctor's face. He knew Phlox was going to say something he didn't like, and he was pretty sure that he wouldn't like it either.

"Except what, doc?"
"Commander..." Phlox looked down at him, a mixture of worry and compassion on his face as he continued. "It will still take about three weeks until I will be able to... get the child out of your body without hurting it. A few days earlier it will start detaching itself from your pericardium, and only when the process of detaching is more or less complete the child will be able to survive on its own. But... "

"What?" Archer asked sharply. Trip heard Malcolm swallow.

"As I said, the strain on the host's body is very great. The symptoms will intensify as the child continues to sap his energy, and in about two weeks the Commander will have reached a critical state of physical weakness."

"Critical?" Archer repeated quietly, his eyes never leaving Phlox' face. "As in... fatal?"

Phlox took a deep breath. "Captain..."

Archer shook his head, indicating that he didn't want any of the doctor's optimistic assurances right now.

"The truth, doc."

Phlox sighed. "There is a possibility of about seventy percent that the Commander's body will not be able to cope with the stress. His metabolism simply wasn't made to provide nutrition for another life form, and especially not for a life form which grows from an embryo to a baby in only seven weeks. His condition will soon become very dangerous."

Trip propped himself up on his elbow, forgetting all about his headache and still slightly upset stomach. "You can't know that."

Phlox turned his head to look at him. "No, Commander, I can't know for sure. These are merely estimations I made based upon what little data I have. At first I assumed your body would be able to adapt to the stress, but I apparently underestimated the role the enzymes I told you about play in a normal Xyrillian pregnancy. As you said, I can't know for sure. But I can make a prognosis, and in this case the odds are against us. Very much so, Commander." Again, he paused, and his voice sounded very quiet when he continued. "We cannot afford to take any chances on what is going to happen."

Trip sat up straight, ignoring the slight blurs at the edge of his vision as his body protested against the quick movement. "What are you sayin', doc?"

He already knew, of course. Phlox sad face was an answer in itself.

"We'll have to... perform the operation, after all. And I suggest we do it quickly, before the child has grown too big."

Trip gripped the edge of the bed. Part of his mind noticed Malcolm's hand coming to rest on his shoulder, Archer's voice saying something in a very quiet tone, but the greater part of him was hearing nothing, feeling nothing. He was lost. All these past weeks he had endured the ups and downs of his moods, had fought not to let his hormones carry him away, but now, this very moment, his mind was blank. Strange, that it would be so; he'd have expected himself to react stronger to what the doctor had just told him. Instead, he felt – nothing.

"No," he heard himself say, surprised at the word. "No," he repeated, and somehow it helped him focus. "No way I let you do this."

"Commander." Phlox' voice sounded pained, and Trip felt sorry for the doc, this being the only emotion he found himself able to experience. His mind had shut out every other feeling, wrapping his thoughts in a protective layer of numbness. "Your body wasn't meant to be the host of a child. I very much approved of your initial decision not to undergo the operation, but this is different. You'll die in the process of carrying the child to term."

"No."

"Trip." Archer moved into his visual range, and Trip registered the regret and worry on his face without really seeing it. "I understand how you feel about it, but what the doctor told us leaves us no choice." He put a hand on Trip's shoulder, squeezing it. "I'm sorry."

Trip shook his head, shaking off their hands as he slid off the edge of the biobed. Why couldn't they understand? It wasn't like there was any choice to be made.

"No," he repeated, moving away from the biobed, relieved that his legs felt steady enough to carry him. "I'm not gonna let you do this."

"Commander..."

Trip fixed his eyes on Malcolm, ignoring Phlox, talking to him as if there were no one else present. "Remember what you told me? That time in the messhall? You said it was wrong to let her suffer the consequences. And it wouldn't be any different, y'know? It's not her fault I don't have those hormones. Or that my body can't provide enough nutrients for both of us. She didn't ask for this either. And I'm not gonna let her suffer for it."

"Commander-" Malcolm began, but Trip cut him off.

"Don't tell me it's different. I know it isn't." He stood there for a moment, still feeling drained. Of thoughts, emotions, anything. Jon, Phlox and Malcolm were looking at him, but he couldn't decide whether their faces expressed pity, or something else. It didn't matter, either.

Trip turned around, a familiar ache making itself felt as he walked towards the door. As he pressed the button to open the door, he heard Archer's voice say his name, but he didn't turn to look at him. Focusing on the pain in his back, Trip managed to leave sickbay without letting any emotions near him. All the way to his quarters he concentrated on that ache, losing himself in the sensation, and only when the door had slid shut behind him Trip sat down on his bed, and began to cry.


Continue to Chapter 8

Return to Chapter 6

Back to Fan Fiction Main Menu

Have a comment to make about this story? Do so in the Trip Fan Fiction forum at the HoTBBS!