The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea - Chapter 8

The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

by Sita Z

Disclaimers in Chapter 1

****

Chapter 8

Trip had expected there would be arguments. Long, exhausting discussions as to why and for what reason, attempts to make him reconsider, maybe even irritated questions: Why wouldn't he listen to reason. Why couldn't he face reality and do what had to be done.

What he had not expected, however, was Jon coming to his quarters an hour later, sitting down next to him, quietly offering him a kleenex and telling him it was okay. No fights, no argument; just like that.

"I talked to Phlox," Jon had told him. "He said it was your decision. If that really is what you want, he'll do everything in his power to help you."

Trip could see that Jon was swallowing hard while saying this, clenching his hands around the box of kleenex so tightly his knuckles turned white. His body language was practically screaming "I don't want you to do this", but he never said a word. Trip then realized how lucky he was to have Jonathan Archer for a friend.

The doctor had kept his word. Of course, Trip hadn't been allowed to continue work in Engineering, but to his great relief Phlox had agreed to let him stay in his quarters. On the strict condition, of course, that Trip stayed in bed and promised not to spend half the time working at his computer. At first, Trip had only reluctantly agreed to these restrictions, but he soon realized that lying around on his bunk was about all he could do without starting to feel dizzy and wobbly-legged after only a few minutes time. Phlox had installed an IV in Trip's quarters, and even though Trip could, of course, take the bag with him when he got up, the doctor had advised him to lie still most of the time so the medication could flow evenly. Trip hated having a tube attached to him for a longer period of time, but he wasn't really in the position to complain. His body was in desperate need of the additional nutrients, and it was crucial that he did not detach himself from the IV for any reason whatsoever.

Under these rather constricted conditions, Trip had spent the last five days sleeping, reading or simply staring into nothingness, letting his thoughts drift. The forced inactivity didn't bother him as much as he'd thought it would; he always fell asleep before he got really bored. Besides, there was a more or less uninterrupted stream of visitors coming to see him, and he often woke up to see one of his friends sitting at his bedside.

On the sixth day of his official sick leave Trip woke up to find himself in a very bad mood. His stomach was protesting against last night's dinner, and he barely managed to take the IV bag out of its holder before he stumbled into the head, not a second too soon either. It was the first time in several days that he experienced such a severe attack of nausea, and Trip wasn't very excited at the idea that it was going to start again.

Afterwards, Trip slowly straightened up again, feeling his back ache with the strain, and crept back to his bed, sitting down on the edge of the bunk and waiting for the dizziness to pass. It took about five minutes until his quarters had again assumed their normal shape, and when he felt safe to move again, Trip carefully lay down on his side and closed his eyes. He knew he was supposed to reattach the IV bag to the holder above his head, but the simple act of sitting up seemed to be way beyond his possibilities at the time. He found himself drifting, and was just about to slip away into an uneasy sleep when a gentle kick in his side brought him back. Trip sighed, laying a hand on the bulge, and turned slightly. The kick repeated itself, not quite so gently this time, and startled Trip back to full awareness.

"Hey, it's okay," he muttered without opening his eyes, groping for his blanket to cover himself. "I know I woke you up, but that's no reason to kick me in the stomach when I'm feelin' sick."

"Who are you talking to, Commander?" Phlox' voice said all of a sudden, causing Trip to start badly and open his eyes. The doctor was standing in front of his bed, hands placed on his hips, and a slight frown appeared on his face when he saw the IV lying on the bed instead of hanging at its rightful place above Trip's bunk. Trip briefly closed his eyes again, exhaling deeply.

"D'you have to sneak up on me like that, doc?"

"And good morning to you too, Commander." Phlox picked up the bag and fastened it to the holder, careful to straighten the tube so that the flow of medication was even again. "I told you not to leave the IV lying around somewhere, but always attach it back to the holder. You could fall asleep on the tube and cut off the flow, and we don't want that, do we?"

Trip carefully pulled himself into a sitting position, feeling some of the dizziness return as he did so. "Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize to me, Commander," Phlox said mildly, and Trip wished the doctor hadn't chosen this early hour to be so annoying. The doctor drew himself a chair, took a seat and pulled out a handscanner.

"Well, seems like we felt a little sick this morning, didn't we?" Phlox smiled. What's the we part, Trip thought grumpily. He didn't say anything though, and only nodded when Phlox raised his eyebrows at him.

"Yeah, a little. Left me feelin' kinda dizzy, too."

Phlox nodded. "Please take off your shirt, Commander."

Trip sighed, but did as he was told. One of Phlox' conditions before he'd agreed to let Trip stay in his quarters had been that he dropped by for house calls at least twice a day. And since the doctor hardly ever slept himself, he didn't seem to know or care that the early morning wasn't the best time to visit a human patient. Especially not when that patient was Trip.

As the doctor began to carefully palpate the bulge on his side, Trip stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the feeling of unease he always experienced during these examinations. He knew they were necessary, of course, but it still made him feel rather self-conscious to remove the clothing that usually covered up the bulge. And no matter how often he told himself he was being silly, Trip couldn't help the fact that he was feeling embarrassed. Still.

"Someone else seems to be awake as well," Phlox interrupted his thoughts. Trip knew he was referring to the baby's movements, and sighed theatrically to cover up the warmth that was rising in his cheeks.

"You could say so. She's been kickin' me all mornin'. Looks like we're gonna have ourselves a busy day."

Phlox smiled, running his scanner over the bulge. "This is good news, Commander. It does seem like the bed rest and the additional nutrients have stabilized your condition somewhat." He shut off the scanner, leaning back in his chair. "And the child seems to be in perfectly good health. I should have stopped your working in Engineering a lot sooner."

Trip shook his head. He didn't want the doctor to blame himself for his condition. "I wasn't bein' perfectly honest with you either. I shoulda told you about these dizzy spells, but..."

He trailed off, and Phlox regarded him with an expression close to weary amusement. "I guess we are both somewhat to blame. Well, as Subcommander T'Pol would say, it is illogical to feel guilty about what has already happened. We cannot change it anyway."

Trip met the doctor's eyes, and they shared a moment of quiet understanding. Trip hadn't forgotten that it had been Phlox who had first decided to respect his wishes concerning the operation, and wished he could find the right words to thank the doctor for his understanding and tolerance.

It wasn't easy, given the fact that he and Phlox generally went to great trouble to drive each other up the walls, and that he was, according to Phlox, the most troublesome patient ever to have entered his sickbay. Second to Malcolm, of course, whose private feud with the doctor had reached an almost legendary status.

"Doc..."

Phlox raised his eyebrows at him. "Yes, Commander?"

Trip hesitated, not sure what he was going to say. "I... I jus' wanted to say, I appreciate what you're doin'."

Phlox seemed surprised. "I am only doing my job, Commander."

Trip shook his head, impatient with himself for not being able to find the right words. "I mean, for bein' so understandin' about the operation. And for puttin' up with all this trouble." He gestured at himself, his surroundings. Phlox had his hands folded in his lap, regarding Trip with a strange expression on his face.

"Commander, I do not know how much you know about Denobulan medicine in general. According to our code of ethics, the patient's will is the most important criterion when making decisions in the line of duty. Even when..." He paused, then continued quietly. "Even when the patient's wishes will possibly lead to his death."

Trip nodded slowly. He understood what Phlox was trying to tell him. "Doc... I have no intention of changin' my mind about this. You'll remember that when I'm... not in the condition to remind you, won't you?"

Phlox held his gaze. "If that is what you wish, Commander."

Trip paused. "Will she be able to survive even when I'm..." He couldn't bring himself to say it, but Phlox understood.

"I will probably be able to keep you alive until she'll be able to survive on her own." His voice sounded sad when he said it, but the only thing Trip felt was relief. He'd been worried about that. At times it surprised him how little the prospect of his possible death shook him up. Somehow, his mind seemed to have accepted the fact that there was no other way if he wanted to make sure she was safe. And keep her safe he would.

"But as I said, Commander, I cannot be sure what is going to happen. Your condition has improved considerably over the last few days, and your body might just as well regain enough strength to be able to deal with the stress."

Trip knew that Phlox, while he wasn't lying, was trying to sound optimistic for his patient's benefit. Granted, his condition had improved, but he still got that light-headed feeling every time he left his bed, or even sat up for a longer period of time. He could practically feel his strength being drained away, and at times when he was lying in his bed he felt like he was floating, looking down at himself from a spot right below the ceiling. But what use was there in telling Phlox? The doctor probably knew already, and why give up pretending they both didn't know quite well what was going to happen. Sometimes a little pretending could make life, everyday interaction a lot easier.

Phlox pulled out a hypospray, holding it against the light to check its contents.

"This will make you very sleepy," he said. "I'll be back in the afternoon to check on you. Try to get some rest."

Trip felt the cool touch of the hypo against his neck, and only a moment later the warm feeling behind his eyelids increased, scrambling his thoughts and making his arms and legs go very heavy. He felt his blankets being pulled over him, and saw Phlox get up to change the IV bag which was almost empty again.

"Sleep well, Commander," the doctor said, smiling, as he noticed Trip watching him. Trip automatically answered his smile, and at the same time felt sleep wrap itself around him like a warm blanket, closing his eyes and allowing him to drift away.

###

When Trip woke up again, he saw Jon sitting on the chair formerly occupied by Phlox, reading one of his old paperbacks. The Captain looked like he had been here for quite a while; his feet were resting on the edge of Trip's bunk, and there was an empty plate and a cup sitting on the table next to him. He seemed so intent on his reading that he never noticed when Trip opened his eyes.

Trip blinked, trying to rid his eyes of the heaviness that always followed one of Phlox' sleep-inducing injections. He felt like he had been sleeping for several hours, and a look at his bedside clock confirmed that it was indeed late in the afternoon. Closing his eyes again, he decided that a few more minutes wouldn't hurt; somehow he felt even sleepier than he had before. A short yelp from below made him start and open his eyes again. Jon lowered his book, glancing down at something on the floor.

"Hey, boy, what-" He looked up. "Trip! You're awake!"

A smile spread on his face, and a moment later Porthos jumped onto the bed, sniffing eagerly and wagging his tail like crazy.

"Porthos!" Jon laid his book aside, reaching for the dog to put him back down, but Trip shook his head.

"That's okay." He smiled as Porthos snuggled up next to him, the dog's little tail still moving back and forth as he settled down on the blankets. Scratching Porthos between the ears, Trip looked back up at Jon. "How long have you been here?"

The Captain shrugged. "A while, I guess." He got up, checking the IV bag, and glanced back down at Trip. "You up to sitting up for a while? I brought you dinner."

Trip realized with some astonishment that he didn't really feel like eating at the moment – he couldn't remember the last time when he had felt not hungry – but he nodded all the same. Carefully, Archer pulled out Trip's pillow from underneath him, plumped it up and set it up against the head of the bed. Then he helped Trip sit up, making sure he was securely supported before he let go of his arm. Trip felt wearily amused; Jon tended to switch to motherhen mode when he was worried, and there was no use protesting. The movement triggered a faint feeling of giddiness, but to Trip's relief it passed before Jon noticed his momentary disorientation.

"Here," the Captain said, picking up a tray that had been sitting on the floor next to his chair. "Chef said to say hello. He hopes you like the icecream, it's Rocky Road."

Trip lifted the lid off the plate, and together with the steam a smell of mushrooms escaped.

"Mashed potatoes and gravy," Archer said. "There's some more left if you're still hungry after that."

"Thanks." Trip picked up the fork, realizing that he did not feel hungry at all. The only thing he really wanted to do was go back to sleep. But there was no use in upsetting Jon. He carefully scooped up some of the mashed potatoes, trying to ignore the greasy smell of the gravy as he put the fork into his mouth. The food tasted of nothing.

"So... how're you feeling today?" Jon asked, pulling back Porthos whose sniffing nose had appeared at the edge of the tray. "Phlox told me you weren't doing so good this morning."

Trip shrugged. He knew Jon would never laugh at him, but still, his morning sickness wasn't something he liked to discuss with his Captain and best friend.

"It's okay." He ate another fork of potatoes, avoiding the parts that were already soaked with gravy. "Phlox gave me somethin' to help me sleep."

Archer leaned back in his chair, and a short pause followed. "I called your parents this morning," Jon said then, and Trip almost lost his grip on the fork.

"You called them?"

Archer nodded. It was nothing unusual for him to call the Tuckers at home; he was almost like a relative to them, after all, and had been invited to several of the yearly family gatherings. This time, however, was different. Trip hadn't spoken to his parents since before his mission to the Xyrillian ship, and Archer knew about the letters he'd started to write but had never had the guts to send.

Trip swallowed. "And... did you tell them about..."

He trailed off. Jon nodded. "We talked for about an hour," he said quietly. "They're both very worried, Trip."

The way he said it, Trip knew it was an understatement. He could picture his parent's reaction going from shock to despair when they had heard about what had happened. To them, space had always been not so much a place full of wonders waiting to be explored, but an unknown thing to be treated with suspicion and distrust. The idea of Jon telling them that their son had been impregnated by an alien, and probably didn't have much time left was something Trip didn't even want to think about. He gave no answer, and Jon continued.

"They want you to call them as soon as possible. Tomorrow, if you feel up to it."

Trip stared down at his plate, absentmindedly pulling his fork through the mashed potatoes and watching the gravy fill the furrows he created.

"Are they... I mean..."

"They believe you." Jon paused. "They only want you to... get better, Trip."

Trip understood very well what Jon was trying to tell him. The Captain repeated what his parents had said, but at the same time he was mutely telling Trip that he was feeling the same. Asking him to reconsider without actually mentioning what a decision on Trip's part to "get better" would mean. Jon's few words held as much of a silent plea as he'd ever heard.

"Jon..." Trip looked up, forcing himself to meet the Captain's eyes. "I can't do that. You know I can't."

Jon held his gaze for a long moment. Trip saw the pain in his eyes, and it hurt to know that he was the cause of that anguish. He'd never wanted to hurt Jon, or his parents, for that matter – it was the last thing he wanted to do. He only wished he could make them understand.

"I know," Jon said after a while, his voice sounding hoarse. "It's just... hell, Trip... I don't want to lose you!"

He covered his eyes with one hand, and Trip swallowed again, feeling his own throat grow dry. He so wished he could tell his friend that it was going to be okay, agree to do the thing that Jon was determinedly not asking of him, but he couldn't. So he simply sat there, feeling miserable and helpless until Jon lowered his hand again. Archer was visibly fighting for his voice to sound normal as he spoke again.

"I'm sorry, Trip. I don't want to make this harder for you than it already is. You've made your decision, and..."

I accept it, he'd probably been about to say, but somehow the words never made it out. He cleared his throat, then put on a strained smile, gesturing at the tray.

"Well... aren't you going to eat your icecream?"

Trip stared down at the bowl. In the meantime the white mass had turned into an sticky white goo with light-brown bits representing the hazelnuts. He picked up his spoon, carefully scooping up some of the melted icecream. It wasn't easy to swallow it; his stomach seemed to resent the mere idea of food, but Trip forced himself to eat another spoon. And another. Archer smiled.

"There you go."

It happened very quickly. All of a sudden the room seemed to stretch, shapes became distorted, multiplied in front of his eyes, and a sharp, searing pain stabbed through his head. Trip gasped, letting go of the spoon, and the clatter as it hit the tray sounded like an explosion in his ears.

"Trip!" Somewhere behind the haze that was clouding his eyes Trip saw Archer jumping up so quickly his chair toppled over. Hands caught his shoulders, then Jon's voice said something about Phlox and the hands were gone again, but Trip couldn't see where Archer was going. The pain in his head grew unbearable, and red blackness ragged his vision. He felt the tray slide from his lap and crash onto the floor next to his bed, then the world tilted and Trip knew no more.

Cutting the connection, Archer was at his friend's bedside in two long strides. Trip lay slumped to the side; face ashen and eyes closed. The tray with the food had fallen to the floor, and the mashed potatoes were spattered everywhere over the deck. His throat constricting with fear, Archer pushed Porthos aside and picked up his friend. When he touched Trip's hand, he noticed that the skin felt strangely clammy. Hands shaking, Archer fumbled for a pulse – and realized with a shock that Trip's breathing had stopped.

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One person has made comments

Hey, you're posting so quickly that I hardly have time to read all the chapters. I missed the last ones and I would have loved to give you a feedback. So I wouldn't mind if you slowed down a little, although this story is thrilling and very exciting. I love it! I love the interaction between the characters. You captured them all very good.
Greetings from Germany!