Chapter Text
The ship rocks.
It takes a moment for Trip to realise it’s real. More than a moment, actually, his brain completely scrambled and his memories still in disarray. By the time he’s caught up with the world, the Tilonians are already scrambling to figure out what’s going on. One of them is untying him from the table and out of the corner of his eye Trip sees another doing the same to an unconscious Malcolm.
“Pull them out of it!”
“I can’t,” says one of the Tilonians. “I don’t know… He’s still…”
“Then get them out of here!” barks the Tilonian Trip guesses is in charge. “The other subject as well. And send security details to all available…”
The world fades out.
When it fades back in, Trip finds himself being carried over someone’s shoulder, their collarbone jutting painfully into his stomach. He wriggles, and the person holds on tighter.
Before long, Trip recognises the long hallway that leads to the cell, and he’s dumped unceremoniously inside. His mind still foggy and his limbs not responding to any commands he gives them, Trip can only lie there and watch as they throw Malcolm in as well before the door slams shut.
The Tilonians lose their balance briefly as the ship rocks again, before running back down the hall out of sight.
Malcolm isn’t moving. From this distance, Trip can’t even tell if he’s breathing—but surely the Tilonians wouldn’t have killed him, right?
Painstakingly, Trip forces his aching limbs into action. He pushes himself first onto his hands and knees, swaying a bit as another jolt is sent throughout the ship again. It feels almost like weapons fire, but that isn’t at the forefront of Trip’s mind right now. Malcolm is.
His head still feels like it’s on fire. He groans and screws his eyes shut for a brief moment, then forces himself forward, inch by painful inch, until he’s at Malcolm’s side. He reaches out to touch his shoulder.
Steady if shallow breaths greet him.
“Thank god,” Trip breathes.
Then the collapses at Malcolm’s side, his eyes sliding shut.
Strange voices reach his ears. In the darkness, Trip stirs, disturbed and curious by the familiarity of the voices. His neck aches, but he lifts it anyway, blinking open heavy eyelids.
“Trip…”
He glances around, struggling to home in on where the voice is coming from. His mind won’t cooperate. He almost gives up, falls back into unconsciousness, but the voice becomes more insistent.
“Trip!”
His head jerks in the direction of the cell door. There, stands Captain Archer, T’Pol, and a security crewman.
A sense of déjà vu washes over Trip. Not again, he thinks. Without really comprehending what he’s doing, he scoops Malcolm up in his arms and begins to shuffle backwards, away from the door. His mind suddenly feels hyper-focussed on one thing: he’s not letting the bastards trick him again.
Archer frowns. “Break the lock,” he instructs the crewman, who nods and steps forward and hefts the phase pistol.
“No!” Trip barks, and all heads turn towards him in surprise. He narrows his eyes. “Yer not foolin’ me. Not again.”
“Trip, it’s us,” Archer pleads. “It’s Jon, and T’Pol, and that’s-”
“No!” Trip shouts again. He holds Malcolm closer—he’s startlingly light in his arms, and cold. “I don’t know what yer game is, but he ain’t dead!”
Archer blinks. “I never said he was,” he says calmly, a touch of worry behind his tone. “Trip, we’re going to break the lock and get you out of here. We don’t have much time.”
Trip wraps his arms tighter around Malcolm. He doesn’t say anything.
The crewman breaks the lock, and the group hesitates before stepping inside, Archer first, then T’Pol. Trip spies a phase pistol on her hip, but the captain is unarmed.
“We’ve come to take you home,” Archer says. His eyes fall to Malcolm, then back up at Trip, and there’s an anxious, urgent expression on his face now. “Trip, can you stand?”
Trip isn’t sure he can, actually. And he doesn’t want to. He shrinks back further, remembering the last time this happened, and glares daggers at Archer.
“Trip,” the captain says, sounding exasperated now, “we don’t have time. Whatever’s going on, whatever happened… you need to come with us.”
Trip considers him with narrowed eyes. This certainly feels real. But it can’t be. It’s just another trick.
What if it’s not? whispers a voice in his head, and he glances down at Malcolm. What if it’s not a trick, and they can save him. You can feel it—Malcolm’s not going to last much longer.
Neither are you.
He looks up at Archer. “Can you help him?” he asks softly.
Archer takes a moment to realise what Trip is saying, but when comprehension dawns, he nods. “Of course we can, Trip,” he says gently.
Another rock through the ship. Suddenly the security crewman yells out, “They’re coming, sir!”
“It’s now or never,” Archer tells Trip, holding out his hand.
Trip regards it for a moment. Then he collects Malcolm in his arms and stands up, rather unsteadily, but managing to stay upright even despite his weakened mental state. He catches movement out of the corner of his eye and flinches back, but it’s only T’Pol.
“Commander,” she says smoothly, “allow me to carry the Lieutenant.”
“No.” Trip shakes his head, and the resulting motion sends the world spinning. He stumbles, and his only stopped by Archer’s hand on his shoulders. “I have to…”
T’Pol eyes him, seems about to disagree, but relents.
With Archer’s steadying hand on his back guiding him, and Malcolm’s weight in his arms, Trip follows T’Pol and the security crewmen down the hallways and towards the docked shuttlepod. A part of him is still screaming that it’s all a trap, that any minute water is going to come flooding in, or Malcolm’s going to disappear, or Archer’s going to turn on him.
But nothing happens.
They make it to the shuttlepod in one piece. Trip sets Malcolm down on the bench and remains by his side, smoothing back the smaller man’s hair, as everyone else prepares to disengage. He barely registers Ensign Hamaya on the opposite bench, being tended to by a medic. He listens but doesn’t really hear what anyone is saying.
“It’s okay, Malcolm,” Trip tells the unconscious man. “Nothing’s gonna happen to you, not if I can help it.”
And he swears he feels a piece of him that doesn’t really feel like him relax.