What Little Boys Are Made Of - Part 3

Malcolm, Hoshi and Travis sat together in the mess hall eating dinner. Most of their conversation had been mere chitchat. They were all beating around the proverbial bush waiting for the other to bring up what was really on their minds.

"Okay, so who knows what really went on down on that planet?" Hoshi finally gave in.

"Well, all I know is what you know. I think." Travis replied.

Both Hoshi and Travis looked to the lieutenant with expectation on their faces.

"Well, don't look here for anything more." Malcolm said, placing a forkful of neatly rounded mashed potatoes in his mouth.

"T'Pol knows more, I'm sure." Hoshi offered.

"Yeah," Travis agreed, draining his glass of iced tea. "That's a given. Anyone want more to drink?"

The other two declined and as Travis made his way to the dispenser, Hoshi leaned in closer to Malcolm. "Think the commander will get transferred off Enterprise for this?"

"It's certainly a possibility, Hoshi."

"What's a possibility?" Travis asked, sitting back down.

"About Commander Tucker getting booted off this mission." Hoshi sighed.

"I hope not." Travis sighed. "He's done a lot for this ship and this mission. It'd be a real shame."

"But it would be understandable." Malcolm offered.

"From Starfleet's point of view, yeah." Hoshi took the napkin from her lap and folded it on the table.

"Well," Malcolm leaned back in his chair. "Isn't that what always counts in the end?"

"Jon, I know he'll be all right." Admiral Forrest said. "With Doctor Phlox in charge, I have no doubts that Commander Tucker will get the best care right where he is."

Archer smiled back at the projected image of his superior on his computer terminal. He leaned back in his chair. "Thank you, sir."

"The psychiatric department here at Starfleet Medical is compiling information on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder for the doctor. It should be there by tomorrow." The admiral regarded Archer thoughtfully. "Jon, this isn't over yet, you know."

"Sir, any reprimands or blemishes on his record would only make matters worse." Archer defended.

"Jon, I don't mean Tucker's service record. Hell, that's not even an issue anymore. As far as Starfleet is concerned, he was not in his right mind at the time of the assault due to the past trauma. What I was referring to was,"

Forrest lowered his voice. "The experts tell me he needs security, comfort now.

And even then, he may have episodes like what happened on Montelosa until he recovers. That's not going to be easy on you or the crew."

"Don't worry about us, sir. We can handle it," Archer said quickly as Porthos jumped up and placed his front paws on his master's knee.

"Well, then, give the commander my best. And assure him his record is not marred by this." Forrest sighed. "Nor his character."

"I will, sir."

Archer sighed heavily. No, it wasn't going to be easy. He knew that. But what occupied his mind at the moment was just how much one person could hide from others...and themselves.

Porthos whimpered, nudging an elbow with his snout. Scratching the dog behind the ears, Archer shook off his thought. It was hitting too close to home and he was not prepared to deal with it at the moment. He had a few other communications to make.

Trip sat propped up in bed, staring at his claws, slowly turning them over. He had only been awake about fifteen minutes this time, yet he was quite aware that pain was to be a constant for awhile. But he deserved it, he thought. He had wrapped his fingers around that poor man's throat and tried to choke the life out of him. If those four Montelosian waiters hadn't pulled him off, that man would be dead now. Pain was a small price to pay for making that child witness his father being attacked. Yes, he deserved it.

The sickbay doors opened and Jonathan Archer entered. Trip shot a glance at him, but quickly shifted his gaze back down at his bandaged hands.

Archer looked over at the biobed, but when Trip disregarded him he moved to Phlox, who was busy viewing data on a terminal.

"He said anything?"

"Not a word. I asked him if he wanted to sit up and he sat up," Phlox responded, shrugging his shoulders.

Archer sighed and moved to Trip, with Phlox close behind.

"I thought you might like to know I contacted Robann again." Archer said.

Trip shrugged his shoulders slightly, but did not look up.

"He told me that the Montelosians use a quick sharp slap in the face to get the attention of their misbehaving children." Archer continued. "Then, they talk to them. But they never use any other form of physical reprimands on their children. In fact, Robann was heartsick when I told him what prompted your reaction in the diner."

"So all's forgiven," Trip said bitingly. "Guess neither of us can take any of it back, though."

Archer looked to Phlox, but there were no answers here to deal with what Trip was going through. Not yet, anyway.

"How long has he got to stay here, Doc?" Archer asked, changing the direction of the conversation only slightly.

"The commander is still going to be a little groggy for a few more hours, but he doesn't need to stay in sickbay." Phlox offered.

Archer shot a stunned look to Phlox while Trip remained with his eyes downcast.

"He can leave here?" Archer asked.

"Yes," Phlox confirmed. "I will have to assign a medic to aid him with his personal needs, but..."

"Hell no!" Trip glared now at Phlox.

"Commander," Phlox continued, undaunted. "You are not capable of taking care of yourself."

"I'm not havin' some nursemaid movin' in to my quarters..."

"He can bunk with me." Archer quietly cut Trip off.

"Well then," Phlox smiled as he moved off, adding, "I'll finish my report and you can be on your way."

There was an awkward silence as Trip slowly lifted his head and stared at Jon.

Their eyes locked and no more words were necessary.

Continue to Part 4

Back to Fan Fiction Main Menu