What Little Boys Are Made Of - Part 4

Phlox had no sooner released Commander Tucker to Captain Archer than

Ensign Sato came with the information from Starfleet Medical regarding the recommended treatment for the commander's condition.

The doctor reviewed the data and deduced it would take collective efforts by the senior bridge staff to aid in Mr. Tucker's recovery from his past trauma. Even he knew the key person would not be himself as the physician. It would be the one person aboard this ship who had just taken on the most difficult task of caring for the injured man.

Could this volunteering to take care of Tucker's personal needs for the next week be the beginning of the healing process? Or could the captain, finally for once, have taken on more than he could handle?

"I will have to monitor them both closely," Phlox thought out loud.

The walk from sickbay to Trip's quarters had been uneventful. Neither Jon nor
Trip had said a word and the crew they passed simply nodded to them in respect.

Once inside, Jon gathered Trip's personal items and some casual clothing. Trip leaned against the wall to the side of the door not offering any input on what to pack. Jon knew there was no point in asking Trip. The younger man was sulking and his best friend knew better than to try and talk him out of it.

The two had made their way to the captain's quarters. The door slid open and Trip followed Jon inside.

The room was oddly still. There were no padded footsteps or panting. Trip looked around on the floor.

"I had Hoshi take Porthos for a while," Jon said, as he made his way into the bathroom to put Trip's toiletries away.

"Why?" Trip's voice was flat and unemotional.

"You know Porthos. He'd be jumping all over you and me wondering what was going on." Jon came out and moved to the closet to hang up Trip's clothes.

Trip sat on the bed and stared at the floor. His thoughts were all mixed up. This was all so screwed up. How could he have freaked out from something that happened when he was a little boy? He was a fairly rational adult. How could he be so emotionally unstable?

"You hungry?"

Trip looked up to see Jon standing in front of him. Shrugging his shoulders, Trip looked away.

"It's dinner time," Jon coaxed. "Phlox said you hardly ate your lunch."

"Yeah," Trip mumbled. "The Doc was tryin' to feed me at the same time he was feedin' his bat. I think his bat got some Mac n' cheese and whatever I got had teeny little legs."

Jon smiled, moving to the com. "Tonight's enchiladas. Chicken, no legs."

Trip lay back on the bed, placing an arm across his eyes. He heard Jon order one dinner to be sent up.

"What about you?" Trip asked, not budging from his position.

"I ate already." Jon moved to sit next to Trip on the bed. "You tired?"

"Yeah," Trip answered. "Guess it's the drugs."

"Well, then let's get you ready for bed while we wait on dinner."

There was silence. Trip remained still. Jon leaned down to see if he had fallen asleep.

"Why are ya doin' this?" Trip mumbled.

"What?" Jon asked, thrown off guard.

"Babysittin' me. Why?"

Jon sighed, clasping his hands before him. "Because you need someone to take care...to help you with your personal needs for a little while. I thought it'd be easier on you if it were someone you knew."

"Easier on me?"

"Yeah," Jon shook his head. "So, is that okay with you? I guess I didn't bother to ask you first. But if you'd rather have Phlox feed you some more grubworms..."

"What about you?"

"Trip, what are you getting at?" Jon asked, annoyed. No matter how much he
wanted to help Trip, he wasn't in the mood for playing innuendo games.

"I know you, remember? This ain't gonna be easy on you." Trip said, flatly.

The door chime interrupted the moment and Jon slowly rose from the bed and answered the door. It was the steward with dinner and the captain accepted it at the door. He placed the tray on his desk, pulling out the chair. Glancing over at Trip, he moved across the room and got another chair and placed it next to other and sat down.

"Come and get it." Jon called to Trip.

Trip drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He pulled himself up and made his way to the desk. Without making eye contact with Jon, he sat down in the empty chair and stared at the food. His mouth watered slightly as he smelled the spicy red sauce in the steam rising from the enchiladas. He was pretty hungry and wished he could just dig right in.

Jon took the cloth napkin and tucked it in the neck of Trip's shirt. Next, he cut into the enchilada with the fork, scooping up the piece. After blowing on it, as he cupped his other hand under the fork, he held it up to Trip's mouth.
Trip reluctantly leaned in and took the food. But it was very good and he was so hungry he just about swallowed the mouthful whole.

"Chew your food." Jon warned. "That's all we both need is for you to end up with a belly ache."

Trip answered that remark by simply opening his mouth awaiting another forkful. Jon continued to feed him, with a bit of Spanish rice, then enchilada and iced tea. It went well, except for some of the rice bouts that ended up sprinkling onto Trip's lap.

When the meal was gone, Jon pulled the bedspread and sheets down and then moved into the bathroom. Trip, however, remained at the desk.

"Let's get a move on, Trip." Jon called out from the bathroom. "You were fighting to keep awake during dinner. It's bedtime."

Trip slowly moved into the bathroom doorway. Jon had Trip's toothbrush in hand. Trip looked up at Jon with heavy eyelids, then moved next to the sink.

"Open." Jon ordered.

As Jon brushed his teeth, Trip thought how good the older man was at taking care of someone. What a waste, Trip thought, that Jon never had kids. Since he was an only child, never having nieces or nephews for that matter. Jon could've taught his Uncle Chris a thing or two.

When Trip had finished rinsing, he felt the urge he was dreading all evening.
Damn! He looked down at the toilet, moving in front of it. As a knot began to form in the pit of his stomach, he knew there was no way he could ever do it by himself. Sure, he could try it sitting down, but he still needed to have positioning. He could feel a lump forming in his throat. God, how he hated Uncle Chris!

Jon finished cleaning up the sink and turned to see Trip staring down at the toilet.

"Iced tea, huh?" Jon gently asked, as he moved behind Trip.
Trip sniffed back his tears and nodded. He felt Jon's hands on his waist and he began to pull away.

"Hey, hey," Jon whispered in his ear. "It's okay. Just lean your head back on my shoulder and relax."

The tears were falling freely now, and Trip coughed slightly. But, he did as Jon told him. Gently, Jon's thumbs slid into the waistband of Trip's sweats and underpants. With a slight downward tug the sweats and briefs slid down his legs and around his ankles. He let out a startled groan that sounded a little like, "no".

"Shh," Jon soothingly whispered in his ear again. "It's all right."

Trip shivered as the cool air hit him below the waist. Then, he felt the hands carefully take hold of his shaft. His ears were pounding again, so he couldn't really hear exactly what Jon was saying. He could make out "breathe" and "relax", so he took deep breaths and tried to relax. He shifted his weight as his knees began to feel shaky. Soon, his ears opened and he heard the steady stream in the toilet.

As he choked back the sobs, Jon finished pulling his underpants up. Trip stepped out of his sweats, as Jon knew he slept only in his underwear. But before Jon could straighten up to remove Trip's shirt, the latter darted out of the bathroom.

Jon washed his hands hurriedly and followed after Trip into the other room. He saw Trip curled up on the bed with his back to the room. His body jerked with each sob, and Jon sat on the edge of the bed and began to rub Trip's back with the palm of his hand.

After a few minutes, Jon got up and pulled the blanket and sheet over Trip. No, this wasn't going to be easy on any of them, most of all Trip.

Continue to Part 5

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