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Testament of the Spirit- Chapter 6

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

Testament of the Spirit
by SpaceCowboy

Disclaimers in Author's Note/Prologue.

"The temperature is rising, the fever white hot.
Mister I ain't got nothing, but it's more than you've got.
These chains no longer bind me, nor the shackles at my feet.
Outside are the prisoners, inside the free...
Set them free."

-U2
Silver and Gold

IT ONLY SEEMED LIKE moments ago that Lieutenant Reed and Commander Tucker had been sitting and eating their poor excuse for a meal. Well, Reed had been eating, Trip had just stared at his plate, hoping by some miracle the stale bread would jump up and swallow him whole.

He had tried again to convince Reed to leave him alone. To go away and save himself. But, like he had expected, Reed had refused, and Trip had just felt like a bigger burden. And now that everything was in an uproar, Trip’s emotions had intensified.

Now was the perfect time for Reed to make a break for it, to run for the hills and save himself. But he wasn't. He was dragging him through the compound, through the clash of weapons, archaic projectiles permeating the air, rampaging animals and hardened terrain, and trying to save him as well.

Truth be told, Trip had no idea what was going on around him. But it was clear that this would be Reed's only opportunity to save himself. “Just go!” he yelled, trying to struggle free of Reed's persistent grip, but only finding himself more entangled in his friend's arms. “Leave me behind! I'm slowing you down.”

"No!" cursed Reed, throwing his semi-incapacitated friend over his shoulder in the customary fireman’s lift. "I'm not leaving you! Now shut up!"

Trip struggled further, but the pain coursing through his body deferred him. And it didn't help that Reed's shoulder was wedged into his stomach, making him feel more and more nauseous with each jolt. Finally, Trip's inner defense system shut down his senses and he passed over to the world of unconsciousness.

Reed continued on unaware. He could feel Trip heavy on his shoulder, and that was all he needed to know because there was too much going on around him to spare Trip any more attention.

They were lost and consumed in a raging battle.

Reed swatted a falling guard with his free hand as he made his way through the compound. The wrath of battle was all around him, and he couldn't distinguish the good from the bad. The only ones easily detectable were the other prisoners.

They were either running about like chickens with their heads cut off, or standing in the middle of it all without a clue what to do. Reed felt sorry for them, but he had made a choice. He knew he couldn't save them all- that he would leave to the good guys. But he could save his commander. And he would save his commander. Even if that meant carrying him through this fight on his own.

So the battle ensued around him. Weapons against weapons. Projectiles against projectiles. Flesh against flesh. Bodies fell at his feet as he tried to maneuver around them. And even more bodies collided with him as they fought to keep their ground in their personal wars.

But Reed pressed on not sure where he was heading. It was complete chaos in the compound. Reed couldn't tell which way to go, which way to run. And Trip was really starting to get heavy.

Reed put him down next to a concrete slab, careful to lie him on his stomach. There was so much activity going on around him, he had to keep ducking to escape wild animals and people fighting. And he didn't even want to think about the long projectiles piercing the air.

Then he had no choice.

A searing pain in his left upper arm made the projectiles presence hard to ignore. Reed grabbed his arm, careful not to push the projectile deeper into his flesh. Clenching his teeth, he bit back the urge to cry out. Not that it would of mattered, there was so much noise one couldn't hear one's self think.

He looked at his new appendage. "Arrows?! These people are archaic,” he said to himself sardonically.

Blood oozed from the wound, spilling over his fingers. His left arm was limp, useless, and his fingers were tingling as the blood slowed to reach them. Reed looked at the wound and grimaced. "Why now?!" he cursed, slowly wrapping the fingers of his right hand around the shaft of the arrow. He gave it a slight pull, shooting sharp pain up his arm and across his shoulder. The pain ran up his neck, ending in an explosion behind his eyes.

It was a loosely fastened arrowhead, Reed could tell. And if he tugged on it again the shaft would most likely come out, leaving the arrow head embedded in his arm.

So Reed knew what he had to do.

He glanced at Trip unconscious beside him, then closed his eyes. His thumb placed lower on the shaft, Reed snapped the wood as he pulled his fingers in the opposite direction as he was forcing his thumb. It was a clean, smooth break, and the arrow didn't move too much under his skin.

But the worse was still to come.

Several deep breathes later, Reed pressed the palm of his hand on the ragged end of the shaft. With gritted teeth, eyes squeezed tight, he held his breath.

Please don't let this hit bone. He prayed silently.

Then, in one forceful quick move, Reed thrust the arrow the rest of the way through his arm. He cried out as the sharp tip pierced through his muscle and skin to come out the other side of his limb. Shaking, he reached behind his arm, grabbed the arrow head and pulled it the rest of the way out. "Oh, that's gonna leave a mark," he hissed, dropping the bloodied arrow to the ground.

But now he was bleeding more than before. He would have to cover the wound. Dragging himself with his good arm over Trip's legs, Reed reached for the guard lying dead beside his friend. Fortunately for Reed, the guard's clothes had been shredded by fierce fighting, and it was easy for him to tear off a strip with one hand.

"Sorry," he apologized. "But I think I need this more than you right now." He was just about to turn over when he inadvertently looked into the dead man's eyes.

"Damn it," he cursed, recognizing the face of the guard that had helped him with Trip the other day. But he didn't have time to mourn.

Rolling onto his back, and resting on Trip's thighs, Reed tied the dirty cloth around his wound. He made sure to knot it directly on top of the wound, using his teeth as a replacement for his other hand. Then he let his head fall back. He was too weak to hold it upright any longer. His vision began to blur, making the clouds overhead distort and fade together in grotesque images.

Reed could feel the blood rushing from his head, adding dizziness to his accumulating symptoms. His arm was numb, like the rest of his body now. The sounds of the ensuing battle around him began to fade. A clash here, a muffled scream there. Eventually it all sounded like music.

And from the corner of his eye, he could see the fighters moving swiftly, in slow motion across his field of vision- dancing to the music they were creating. It was a deadly ballet choreographed by their strategic maneuvers, and their will to survive.

Reed let his head fall to the side so he could see Trip's face. But it was buried by his arm, lying haphazardly over his head. Reed watched his friend's back, looking for the rhythmic signs of respiration. His security blanket. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw the muscles expand as Trip drew in a breath.

"I'm sorry," murmured Reed, the last of his strength draining from him. "I'm so sorry I failed you."

And just before Reed's eyes closed tight, a smile wearily spread across his lips. Above him, hovering precariously overhead, was a familiar face. "Am I dead...?" he whispered, before blackness finally won it's battle.

*** *** ***

T’Pol raised the flaming torch. She held it high above her head, then began to wave it back and forth. From her perch atop one of the fortress walls she was easily visible to her friends hiding in the surrounding forest. Then, throwing her stolen black coat to the ground to reveal her true identity, T’Pol readied herself for the descent.

She jumped free of the wall and landed on the ground with both feet. It only took a moment for her assault team to jump into action as well. Enough of them had infiltrated the camp to make an immense dent in Blasius’ defense. Although none of them knew exactly who Blasius was, or even his name, they knew someone had to be in charge of this atrocity. And each member of the team wanted to be the one to bring him down.

But T’Pol concentrated on the guard nearest her first. That was the plan. They would take them by surprise, and be careful not to harm any of the innocents in the interim. And there were plenty of innocents to be found. The guard T’Pol had decided to take out first happened to be accompanied by several slaves. So T’Pol had to be careful.

She stepped up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. The guard didn't even have time to completely turn around before he was rewarded with a fist to his face. He dropped to the ground in a heap as the slaves scattered. And T’Pol flexed her hand, then turned to find her next target.

Elsewhere in the compound the other members of the assault teams were doing the same. Picking their way through the guards and taking them down one by one.

But some fights were not so clean.

Ridden animals were brought down. Arrows, fists and weapons were sent piercing through the sky- some finding their marks, some finding other not so admirable marks. It was total discord and turmoil. People were running everywhere trying to find the enemy. But with both sides wearing the same clothes, the task was arduous and tedious. And several fights ensued where the same sides battled each other- that is of course until they realized their mistake and moved on.

But through all this turmoil and discord, Archer noticed one thing. One very odd, unsettling thing. No one seemed to be helping anyone. The guards fought to save themselves. The prisoners scrambled, thinking only of their own safety. Archer noted this with disgust as he fought his way through the flailing arms and ricocheting arrows.

Don't they care about anyone but themselves? He asked himself, throwing a well aimed punch at an attacking guard.

He pushed on, his eyes searching for the familiarity of his best friend and his armory officer. But he couldn't see them amongst the mess. He tried calling their names as he ducked, paused, took the time to place a well planted foot in a man's chest and send him flying across the compound.

"Trip! Malcolm!"

Archer continued, shouting orders over his shoulder as he fended off the persistent, and somewhat surprised, guard before him. He wanted to pull out his tri-corder, find his crew that way, but the task was too time consuming when the enemy was at your preverbal door step.

So, the captain sent his people off in different directions; both to search for the despot responsible, and to find his two missing crew members. It had been too long for his liking since this battle had began, and still there was no sign of either Reed or Trip.

It wasn't until he noticed two men shuffling through the battle that his heart lightened.

It had to be Reed and Trip. As he had noted earlier, aside from those fighting along side him, no one else seemed to be fighting for anything other than themselves. But the two men making their way across the compound, one carrying the other, obviously had more important things on their minds besides themselves.

And he knew Reed and Trip well enough to know, that no matter what was going on, they would always look out for each other. His crew were proud, and more importantly, devoted to each other.

Archer thrust his fist into the belly of his opponent, then stepped back to aim his foot, ending the private battle quickly. Again, a phase pistol would have been better, but he hadn’t wanted to bring light to the fact that they were aliens on this planet- so they had left them behind.

He turned to find T’Pol amongst the crowd. Spotting her, Archer waved his arms over his head.

"T’Pol!" he called, cupping his hands over his mouth. "Over there! Over there!" He pointed to the giant slab of concrete where the two men had just fallen, and prayed that the Vulcan would get there in time.

~

T’Pol ducked and weaved her way through the flailing arms, fending off opposers as she went. Finally she reached her mark and bent over her fallen friends. Reed's eyes were already half closed, and T’Pol wasn't certain, but she could have sworn there was a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Am I dead...?" murmured Reed.

"You are not dead, Lieutenant," stated T’Pol, as she pulled him to his feet. She hoisted the fallen crew member over her shoulder, then turned to look for help.

Coming up behind, fighting his way through the onslaught, was Archer. T’Pol didn't need to explain what was going on. The captain rushed past her and scooped Trip up in his arms.

"Let's go while the going’s good," ordered Archer, already making his way back through the deadly compound.

The Vulcan followed, her charge securely over her shoulder.

*** *** ***

She had lost complete track of what had been going on around her. And when the battle had ended, she had felt drained. She had felt forlorn. Hand to hand combat was not Hoshi Sato’s stronger point. And she had not been able to find Reed or Trip either. She also regretted not finding the despot in charge. But she had heard rumors. Reliable and glorious rumors about her friends.

And now she was heading to a nearby town to verify their validity. Hoshi had heard, after reuniting with several of the rescuing villagers, that Archer and T’Pol had been seen leaving the compound with two of the prisoners. Well, they once were prisoners. Now they were free.

In the end, they had been able to defeat the guards, and send them running. And as Hoshi followed the signal on her tri-corder towards the pre-designated town, the villagers and company were gathering what was left of the guards and preparing them for their due punishment.

Hoshi hadn't wanted to stick around to watch. She had seen the venom in their eyes as they had rounded them up- demanding of each of them the whereabouts of their leader.

Blasius.

Hoshi knew the name now. And she hated the mere sound of it. It sent shivers down her spine, and the bile in her stomach to churn. What was worse, no one had been able to find him. It appeared as if Blasius was going to get away with what he had done. And that ate Hoshi up inside.

But she didn't have time to think about that.

Night was coming, and Hoshi wanted to arrive quickly. But she did take mind of the silent time allotted her. She knew she would need the time to think. To prepare for the worst.

And when she arrived at the edge of town, she stopped dead in her tracks. Villagers were gathered outside a small domicile with a front porch, pacing and waiting silently.

A lump formed in her throat, and she felt her knees go weak. There was no question in her mind who was on the other side of that door. It was the designated hospital. Slowly, she started forward. Taking each step gingerly, and praying with each footfall that the news would be good.

Unfortunately, Hoshi could tell by the faces on the villagers that it wasn't.

She walked past them silently, brushing off the comforting hands as she made her way to the front door. But she was barely able to go any further. She placed a hand on the hard, rough wood, and rested her forehead on the door. Then Hoshi forced herself to breathe as she slowly pushed the door open.

*** *** ***

Doctor Phlox had not prepared for this when he had initially set out with the away team. He had stayed behind in the nearest village during the rescue, setting up triage and medical first aid, should the need arise.

Unfortunately, the need had arisen, and on a level Phlox had not packed for. He would have much preferred Captain Archer and T’Pol charge into his Medical Bay onboard Enterprise with the two filthy and emaciated patients.

But according to the last hail from Mayweather, Enterprise would not arrive for several more hours.

Archer had been the first to enter the small office, Trip in his arms. Then T’Pol entered, Reed slumped over her shoulder. Then they had both stepped back and allowed the doctor to do his work.

And as Phlox went about examining his patients, the two officers filled him in on the details he would need to know. The images forming in his mind as he listened to the tale of genocide and bondage made him want to wretch. And he supposed wretching on his two patients was definitely not the best way to cure them.

After doing a quick visual assessment, the doctor decided Commander Tucker needed him the most. Lieutenant Reed, his arm wrapped in a filthy bandage, could wait. Or, be taken care of by Archer and T’Pol.

So, as the doctor set to work on Trip, Archer began applying antiseptic cream to Reed’s wounds. He then re-bandaged the arm with sterile dressings from Phlox’s bag, and stripped him of his filthy, tattered remnants. Reed was then put to rest in a fresh, yet somewhat large, set of clothes. He would be fine. A little sleep, some good food and a long hot bath was the best prescription for Reed. Trip on the other hand, was another story all together.

The doctor felt his forehead and discovered a fever. A raging fever. No doubt from an illness picked up in the slave camp, or acquired from the poor living conditions. Either way, the young man was unearthly sick. But he was regaining consciousness, which was a good thing. Or so the doctor thought. He was not yet aware of the full extent of the young engineer’s injuries.

As Trip began to wake, he also began to stir restlessly. Tossing his head back and forth and grimacing in pain. The doctor attributed it to the sickness and the fever, but a good medical tri-corder scan would have proven otherwise.

This was when the door to the office slowly creaked open. The doctor looked up and saw Hoshi Sato step across the berth. He nodded curtly, and returned to his work.

But once again he was interrupted. This time from the thrashing emanating from the cot holding the young engineer. The doctor knelt beside him, trying to keep the young man from apparently jumping out of his skin. He had to enlist the help of Archer and T’Pol to hold the young man down. His patient was writhing in pain. His eyes were open, but unfocused and clouded with tears.

~

Reed heard the noise from deep within his slumber. It shot him upright in bed, sweating and shaking. It didn't take long for him to realize where the noise was coming from. He quickly threw off his covers and stumbled across the room, pushing his captain out of the way as he headed for Trip. Reed knew he had to get to his commander. He had to stop his pain.

But he had to fight his way through T’Pol and the doctor to get to his friend. They were trying to hold Reed back, trying to stop the armory officer from inflicting harm to Trip.

But Reed knew something they didn't. And he tried his hardest to tell them to turn Trip onto his stomach, but the words didn’t come out right. Reed was too anxious and scared to form proper sentences. So instead, his words came out muffled and confused.

The rest of the people in the room had no idea what was wrong with Reed. Just that he seemed wild and out of control, and that he was trying to reach Trip with outstretched arms.

It took a lot of self-discipline for Reed to calm himself down, but eventually he was able. And eventually he was able to articulate a full sentence. "His back," he said, taking deep breathes as T’Pol held him at bay. "Roll him onto his stomach. It's his back."

The doctor looked at him quizzically, then, not seeing why he shouldn't believe him, he proceeded to roll his patient onto his stomach. This brought the thrashing to a near cessation. But it was still present, only now it was merely unconscious shifting.

Reed drew in a deep breath before continuing his explanation. And as he revealed what had happened to Trip, he kept his eyes focused on the floor. The pain inside him was already too much for him to bare. He didn't need to see it reflected in Phlox’s, Hoshi’s, T’Pol’s or Archer’s eyes as well.

"My goodness," breathed the doctor, looking at his patient on the cot. "How can people be so cruel?"

"Can you help him?" asked Archer, ignoring the doctor's dismay. "Will he be all right till Enterprise gets back?"

The doctor pursed his lips, ran a hand through his thinning hair. "I'll do my best," he replied, pulling a footstool up to Trip's bed. "That's all I can say for now. But I ask that you leave," he continued, slowly stripping the shirt from his patient's back to reveal the blood soaked bandage. "This most likely won't be pleasant, and I don't need the distraction of you in the room."

Archer was about to protest when a strong hand on his shoulder stopped him. "You, Ensign Sato and Lieutenant Reed can wait outside," said T’Pol, her voice quiet yet obstinate. "I will stay with Commander Tucker."

"What's he going to do?" rushed Hoshi, her eyes darting between Trip and her captain.

"I'll have to remove the bandage," replied the doctor. "And it will be painful. The blood's clotted and stuck the cloth to his skin. It'll take some time, and some careful hands, but I can do it with a little anesthetic. It needs to be done in order to clean the wounds. It would be better under more sterile conditions, but I can make do with what I brought down."

"Please," said T’Pol, guiding Hoshi towards the door. "Wait outside with the Captain and Lieutenant Reed.”

Both Archer and Reed wanted to argue. But they knew their efforts would be futile, so they relented and stepped outside to the porch. When the door banged closed behind them, they jumped- their hearts skipping a beat. They didn't say anything. And neither did the villagers waiting on the porch.

The villagers gave Reed encouraging glances, while some shared hopeful gestures with Archer and Hoshi. But for the most part they left them alone to sit on the edge of the porch. The body language of the three strangers was clear enough, they did not need to speak their thoughts- especially the one called Archer.

It was easy to tell that looking at Archer was like looking at an incomplete entity- a part of the whole. Appetite, spirit and reason: the three things that comprised the mortal soul. When one was missing, the others couldn't function properly.

And without Trip, neither could Archer.

~

The silence that ensued afterwards was severe; like the quiet before the storm. The not knowing was killing them. And Reed finally decided he couldn't take the silence any longer.

"I failed him," he murmured, staring at the floor boards between his feet. "I promised I'd get him out of there, and I failed him...Lieutenant Malcolm Reed broke a promise."

"He isn’t a prisoner anymore," replied Hoshi, turning caring eyes towards her friend. "You did get him out of there. And yourself."

"No. I didn't," stated Reed. "I failed him. It was the Captain and T’Pol who got him out. But I promised the commander I would... "

"And how do you think we found you?" came a deep voice beside them.

Reed turned to see his captain. So deep in his own revulsion, Reed had forgotten he was there. "I failed him, Captain," repeated Reed, dropping his head. "If you hadn't come along, Commander Tucker would be dead by now. I wasn't able to get him out of there. What kind of friend am I? I'm sorry, sir."

"Lieutenant," persisted Archer. "How do you think we found you?" Reed's only answer was silence, so the captain pressed on. "We found you because you did not fail Trip. You stayed with him. Amongst all that chaos and hell, I saw you because you were the only one trying to help someone. Everyone else was fending for themselves. But you were carrying Trip. That true testament captured my attention." Archer paused and shared a look with Hoshi. "And that makes me proud to call you all my crew members."

The words were true, but they didn't help Reed feel any better. “I feel callous,” stated Reed. “I hear what you’re saying, Captain. But now that I have a chance to truly realize what was going on, I also feel so cold inside. I never gave it much thought when we were prisoners, but I turned a blind eye on the reality of this planet’s situation. “

“What do you mean, Malcolm?”

Reed covered his face in his hands. “I was so preoccupied with how I was going to save Trip, and myself in the progress,” he rushed to add. “That I was nearly oblivious to the plight of these people. How can I be so unsympathetic towards other races? I mean, I actually think I made jokes.”

Archer thinned his lips. “We make jokes in order to cope,” he said. “Sometimes we have to. And as I see it, you never turned a blind eye on anyone. You or Trip.”

Reed shook his head. “You weren’t there, Captain.”

“No, I wasn’t,” replied Archer. “But tell me this, why didn’t you and Trip escape on your own? The two of you could have found a way out, or did you not really consider it?”

“We tried not to consider it,” stated Reed, slightly ashamed. “If we had of left, the other prisoners would have been slaughtered for our punishment. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.”

Archer smiled gently. “There’s your answer, Malcolm. Don’t sell yourself short, you’re a good man.”

Reed sighed and reached for his belt buckle, the one Trip had given him, and the one he used to gain inner strength. But it wasn't there. He remembered removing it in the cavern to light the torches. He had forgotten to retrieve it. A hand gripped his heart, tightening the muscle. But it wasn't necessarily a sad pain. For he had forgone his talisman to save others- to keep them warm. Reed had lost a great thing, but in return, he had gained a great feeling.

He shared a glance with Hoshi before turning to his captain. "And Commander Tucker?" he asked. "He's going to be all right, right?"

"Only time will tell.”

“He is asking to see the both of you," came T’Pol’s voice behind them. Caught off guard, they turned to look at the Vulcan quizzically, then rose to their feet. “He is awake.” She paused, blinked. “If vaguely.”

Reed and Archer walked to the front door. The lieutenant put a hand on his captain’s shoulder and let him enter first. T’Pol remained on the porch with Hoshi, wanting to let them have some time alone.

~

Trip looked peaceful, like someone taking a long nap after a hard day. His head was resting on a clean white pillow with one hand lying beside his face, the other arm stretched out along side him. He was asleep again. And he would have even looked normal if not for the wounds on his back.

Reed and Archer crept across the wooden floor quietly, not wanting to disturb him. And the doctor, fixing bandages across the room, had issued a hushed warning to keep the noise to a minimum. Reed and Archer abided, tentatively pulling up two chairs to the cot.

"How is he?" asked Archer, twisting in his seat to look at the doctor over his shoulder.

"He has suffered a great deal. But in my humble opinion, I believe he'll be right as rain," replied the doctor with a wink. "But it's going to take a lot of rest, and a lot of support. And I'm afraid there is only so much I can do about the scars- given the time lapse between infliction and definitive treatment onboard Enterprise. He will have to live with those. Most likely for the rest of his life...or medical technology reaches the proper level."

Not wanting to aggravate them, the doctor had left Trip's back exposed. The blanket draped on top of him came up only to his waist. Archer and Reed stared at the scars, clean and strikingly red against the pale of Trip's skin.

There were so many. Some were small and deep. Others stretched across the entirety of his back. It was a mosaic of lines, criss-crossing a pattern across his skin. They were obviously painful, but they would heal.

It was Trip's inner turmoil and memories that would be harder, and more difficult, to cure. And once again, time would be the judge of that. Time would tell if Commander Tucker would be able to get past this. Add it up to another adventure completed, another experience under his belt.

Reed still had to begin his journey down that long arduous path, but he would have Trip to travel along side him. Together they would learn to forgive, but not forget.

Forgiving would mean they would accept what had happened to them, take it as a lesson learned on how cruel the universe could be. They would take what they had learned with all that dying and misfortune, and carry it with them as a legacy to the living. They would take that backward glance for those that did not survive, of places they could no longer go. And in time, when they felt safe to call it all a thing of the past, they would take one moment to embrace those departed prisoners left behind.

But forget... Never.

Reed would never forget. He would never allow this to become a mere cobweb in his mind. Instead, he would draw from it strength and courage when life became too difficult. He no longer had Trip’s gift, but he would have this. It wasn't as tangible as the buckle, but it would do. And he could live with that.

"Oh, one more thing," said the doctor, clearing his throat. He crossed the room, heading for the pile of clothes sitting on a table beside the cot. Trip's shirt was neatly folded, his boots placed under the chair, standing side by side.

The doctor lifted the clothes and picked up a small, silver clasp. He held it up before Reed and Archer. "I found this in the Commander’s boot," he said, turning the object around in his hand to examine it better. "I'm not sure why it was there, but I assume it was because he didn’t want to loose it."

Reed’s mouth dropped. The object in the doctor's hand was his belt buckle. The one he thought he had lost. The one he had buried in the cavern's floor. The one Trip had given him.

A wave of emotion swept through Reed, making his skin flush from head to toe. His hands shook as he took the precious buckle from the doctor. He had to bite hard on his lower lip to control it from trembling.

"What is it?" asked Archer, trying to look at the silver object being carefully held in his friend's hands. “Is that one of our shuttle insignia’s?”

Reed grasped the buckle tightly, making a fist around it. "My goodness," he breathed, eyes fixated on his sick friend. Something dawned on him, something he had never considered before, but made perfect sense now. He hadn't been able to figure out Trip's actions before, but now they were shockingly clear.

"What?" pushed Archer, his eyes darting between them both.

Reed turned to his captain. "All this time..." he started, finding it more difficult to hold back the tears. He remembered Trip trying to convince him to leave him alone. He remembered Trip telling the guards he wanted to die. Trip had been trying to sacrifice himself, and Reed hadn't realized something till now. "All this time I thought I was taking care of him..." his voice trailed off as the words caught in his throat. "And he was actually looking after me."

"That's just the way he is, lieutenant," replied Archer, nudging his friend gently with his shoulder. "Always looking out for others before himself. He’s a special man."

Reed nodded, his eyes still on the resting form of Trip. "Yes," he said quietly. "Yes, he is."

Archer leaned forward on his chair, rested his elbows on his knees. "Do you think we tell him that enough?" he asked, furrowing his brow as he turned to Reed.

Reed thought about the question for a moment, then nodded his head. "Sure we do. He knows."

"Yeah, you're probably right," replied Archer with smile.

Reed turned the buckle over in his hands, fingering the curves and etchings tentatively. "But I wonder..." he said thoughtfully. "Why did he take this? He must have seen me bury it, but if the Commander thought he was going to die there, why did he hide it in his boot?”

"Maybe his spirit had different plans?" suggested Archer, crossing his arms over his chest.

"His spirit?" asked Reed.

Archer nodded, looked at Trip on the bed. "When the body's reached it's limit and the mind has already given up, there's still a part that thrives to continue." He paused and drew in a deep breath. Placing a hand on Reed's shoulder, he continued. "When all hope seems to be lost, the human spirit prevails. Maybe that part of Trip took the buckle... His spirit hadn't given up yet, even though the rest of him had."

Reed drew his head back. "That's deep, sir."

"But it makes sense," sighed Archer. "The history of human suffering is proof of that."

Reed smiled back at his captain. "Makes you glad to be human, doesn’t it?" he kidded, though not completely.

Archer nodded venerately. "Definitely."

A soft noise from the bed caught their attention, diverting them from their self discoveries. Trip had stirred.

“Malcolm...?” he whispered painfully, his eyes fluttering open.

Reed nearly jumped off his seat as he leaned forward over the bed. "Yes, Commander. It's me," he said.

“Am I dreaming?” Trip asked, then let his head fall back on the pillow.

"No, Trip. You're not dreaming," replied Archer, unable to contain his jubilant grin.

“Cap’n...?”

"Yes, it's me," continued Archer. "You're safe now. Everything's gonna be all right. Enterprise is on it’s way."

Trip closed his eyes, took in a deep breath. “Safe... Yeah...Blow ‘em to bits... Malcolm...” he mumbled.

"I'm right here," answered Reed, grinning ear to ear.

“Thank you.”

Reed furrowed his brow, turned to Archer in confusion. "For what?" he asked, cocking his head closer to Trip.

“For not listening to a stubborn engineer,” Trip replied stiffly. “For not leaving me behind.”

"Just get some sleep, Trip," Reed ordered softly, not wanting to address that topic quite yet. He would save that discussion for later.

Reed was still harboring guilt, but right now there were more pressing matters. And he knew if he went forward with that conversation, he'd end up crying. And that was definitely not something an armory officer would be caught doing. "You just rest," he repeated, turning his head as he covertly wiped an eye.

Trip nodded slowly, letting his eyes flick open for a brief second before closing them again. “Sleep... Yeah... Guards coming...” he said, before he grew too tired to continue.

Archer sat back in his chair, rested a hand on Reed's shoulder as he too gave Trip some room. "He's got a rough night ahead for himself," he said, squeezing Reed's shoulder.

Reed nodded, fingered the buckle still in his hand. "Indeed." A rough time indeed. He drew in a deep breath and watched the rhythmic rising and falling of Trip's back. The sign of breathing. The sign of life. Reed's security blanket. "But he's going to be okay," he said confidently.

"We'll ride so far, ride so hard, far away from here.
When we look back upon them, it will all become so clear.
The gates will open up for us.
We won't have no more fears."

-Tom Cochrane
All the King's Men

~End~


SEQUEL COMING SOON


Disclaimer: An unfortunate historical event was the backbone of this story. And with further unfortunateness, neither the despot responsible, or any colleagues within his regime were captured or convicted of any atrocities. To this day in our history, no charges have ever been laid against any of the party’s leaders; and political members still hold governmental positions- never letting the country forget the threat of genocide is still there. I know most of you wanted to see Blasius get his dues in the end of this story, but well, that's how life goes. It's cruel. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. It was definitely a draining experience to write. And... Thank you to Gywen for allowing me to use her as a not just a thesaurus, but as a bouncing board for ideas.


*Historical Note to Come*


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