Friend in Need

Personal Log: Commander Charles Tucker

This has been a hell of a day, even on my new scale of god-awful hellish days. I know I probably need to apologize to my engineering staff, but I really don't feel like it right now. I'm still too pissed.

And poor Hoshi. I can't believe I tore into Hoshi when she showed up in the engine room with that message she wanted to give me personally 'cause it was from my father. I read it and asked her why the hell she thought she needed to give me more shitty news in person, couldn't she just send it to my box like any other goddamn worthless message. The look in her eyes was nothin' I ever want to see there again--a mixture of hurt and contempt...and pity. She looked at me like I was someone she didn't know at all anymore, and didn't even care to know. That hurt the most; Hoshi was my friend, and God knows I could use one right now. Too late for that; I've pretty much driven her away. Just like I already drove Malcolm away when he tried to be Mr. Sympathetic Listener.

After Hoshi left Engineering is when I lashed out at my staff. I'll probably hear from the cap'n about that; my reserve of goodwill from the crew pretty much ran dry weeks ago and somebody's sure to file a complaint. But I was so angry when they started with the pity.

"Archer to Commander Tucker."

There it is. Right on time.

---Pause log entry---

"Tucker here."

"Please join me in my ready room in 5 minutes, Commander."

"I'll be there, Cap'n, if you need me to be, but is there anything you can tell me about what this meeting is about? I just got off shift and I'm pretty beat."

"It wasn't an invitation, Trip; it was an order. We'll talk about it when you get here, Commander. Archer out."

I wonder who filed the damn complaint.

Captain Archer's Ready Room

"Cap'n? Commander Tucker, reporting as ordered, sir."

"Come in, Trip. Have a seat; this might take awhile, and you said you were tired."

Archer pushed a PADD across his desk toward Trip, who sat nearly at attention, on the edge of the chair.

"What's going on, Trip? It's not every day I get complaints from your staff. Normally *that* bunch is so loyal they'd be the last to complain if you turned off life support and asked them to hold their breath for twenty minutes. What the hell happened to make them this upset? This isn't just a complaint from some overworked disgruntled crewman. It's from your entire staff of junior officers in the engineering department."

With barely a glance at the PADD, Tucker pushed it back across the desk, and Archer saw his rigid bearing give way to a defeated slump in the chair as Trip avoided meeting his eyes.

"Cap'n, I don't know if I can face much more of this--another week, even another day of it. Seein' the pity in all the faces around me. That's what set me off today, I guess."

Archer read aloud from the PADD. "I don't need your fuckin' pity, people. Get back to work. There's plenty to do here."

"Is that an accurate account of what you said?" he asked.

"Yeah, that's pretty much it. I was pissed at the engineerin' crew when they kept comin' around one at a time tellin' me how fuckin' sorry they were about my sister. Like that's gonna bring her back. Then when Hoshi brought me more bad news, I yelled at her too, and then I guess I kind of lost it. I just wanted to be left alone for awhile."

When Trip fell silent, Archer continued to read from the PADD. "What are y'all starin' at? Ain't you ever seen a man cryin' on the warp engines before? It won't hurt 'em any." He looked up at Trip for confirmation. "I assume this is pretty accurate as well?"

Trip nodded, but otherwise sat motionless, staring silently at his clenched hands. The fingers of both hands were curled so tightly into his palms, it was surprising that he hadn't drawn blood with his own nails.

Without another word, Jon moved from behind his desk to perch on the front edge of it, where he gently lifted both of Trip's hands from the man's lap. With his thumbs he slowly pried them open, but he didn't release them, holding them clasped between his own. At last Trip raised his head to meet his friend's eyes.

"Cap'n..."

"Trip, let's leave the captain on the other side of the desk. This isn't a disciplinary hearing, and that wasn't really a complaint from your staff. It was a wake-up call for me, from people who care about you. They aren't hurt because you swore at them, they're worried about the strain you're showing. I'm worried too, and kicking myself for not seeing this coming. I'm supposed to be your friend, damn it, and I haven't been doing a very good job of it.

"Jon, it's okay. You couldn't have known."

"Because you're not talking to anyone, including me, about much of this? I heard by the grapevine that you snapped at Malcolm when he tried to get too close, and I saw that Hoshi was pretty upset when she returned to the bridge this afternoon, but I didn't pry. I should have expected that the engine room would be the next place you'd vent. Those people can't avoid you the way Malcolm has been trying to do after that incident; they work for you. If you don't want to talk to any of us--to me or to Malcolm or Hoshi, or any of your friends--I think you should talk to Dr. Phlox. He's not a psychologist, but he's a damn good listener and sometimes has some interesting perspectives on things."

"Are you ordering me to talk to Phlox, Cap'n?"

"I hope I don't have to do that, Trip. How about this? Either you agree to talk to Phlox in the morning, or you come with me right now and we'll try something a little more informal."

"Does it involve bourbon?"

"Maybe later. We need to talk first. Let's go."

Jon finally relinquished Trip's hands, less tense now, and warm from the way Jon had been absently rubbing them as he spoke. He put an arm around Trip's shoulders and steered him through the door and across the bridge, shielding him from the curious gazes of the beta shift crew as they entered the turbolift

Jonathan Archer's Quarters

Jon insisted that a shower and something to eat would be worthwhile, and Trip complied without much argument. After initially picking at the food, his appetite eventually overcame his disinterest and he ate what may have been his first real meal in several days.

Clad in a pair of Jon's workout pants that were a little long for him and a sweatshirt that was a bit snug through the chest, Trip finally looked more relaxed as he stretched his legs out before him and leaned his head back against the couch cushions.

"Trip...don't fall asleep on me here, not yet," Jon teased lightly as he put a cup of coffee into his friend's hands. "We still need to talk." He pulled up a chair close to the end of the couch where Trip was sprawled, then thought better of it and joined him on the couch instead.

"I don't know what there is to say, Jon. You know--hell, every goddamn soul on this ship knows--what happened on Earth, what happened to Lizzie. She's gone. Dead. What more is there to say beside let's annihilate the bastards who did this? Then I may be able to sleep at night."

"I know, Trip. It was horrible; we're going to try to do something to make sure nothing like that happens again. But there's more to your anger than that. I've known you a long time; you're a complicated guy in a lot of ways, Trip, and a single-minded pursuit of personal vengeance just doesn't seem like you."

"Well, Jonny, maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do. I think it's a pretty basic human instinct, to want to beat the shit out of someone who hurts and kills your family. You might not understand that, Jon. You don't have family connections that mean much to you, not after your daddy died."

"I'm not sure that's a fair argument, but I'll grant that your family ties are stronger than mine. But you're not some primitive humanoid guarding the entrance to his cave with a club lest some other tribe attack or carry off his women. We're all pretty far removed from that. At first, you weren't even absolutely sure whether your sister was in Florida at the time--it's not like it's been your responsibility to keep track of her and keep her safe from everything that might harm her."

"I'm not sure that's a fair argument, but I'll grant that your family ties are stronger than mine. But you're not some primitive humanoid guarding the entrance to his cave with a club lest some other tribe attack or carry off his women. We're all pretty far removed from that. At first, you weren't even absolutely sure whether your sister was in Florida at the time--it's not like it's been your responsibility to keep track of her and keep her safe from everything that might harm her."

"But it was, Jonny! Don't you see, I *was* responsible for my baby sister. She trusted me. She always looked to me to take care of her, make sure no one bothered her. And I did. I always did. I always watched out for her, made sure she was safe. I always did...but not this time. I wasn't even there this time, the one time she needed someone to protect her..."

As Trip spoke, his eyes focused somewhere in the distance, Jon slid closer to him on the couch. When the plaintive voice broke and trailed into silence, he was near enough to slip an arm around the grieving man and draw Trip's head down to rest on his shoulder. Trip's control, held so tightly for weeks, was beginning to slip away. As far as Jon knew, he had never really let himself grieve his sister's death. The two of them had gotten drunk together a time or two and talked about the plans for finding the Xindi, and Trip had talked about his need for revenge, keeping a tight lid on any other emotions.

"Trip, you need to let this out. It sounds to me like you're feeling an awful lot of guilt about something you couldn't have prevented. What if you had been there? In her apartment with her at the very moment the attack came? Think about it--how could you have protected her? You would have died with her. Do you think she would have wanted that?" He knew he was being deliberately blunt, but doubted that anything less would penetrate the shroud of guilt and self-recrimination.

"Maybe that would have been best, Jonny. I don't want to go on feelin' like this all the time. And nobody's gonna want me around the way I'm actin'..."

"Sssh...Trip, it's okay to grieve, okay to cry. You said it yourself, it wouldn't hurt your engines any. It sure as hell won't hurt me. I'm your friend, Trip. You're the closest thing to family I've got, and we've always been honest with each other, always shared what we were feeling...good or bad. Trust me now." As he gently rubbed Trip's tension-filled shoulders and neck, the younger man finally looked up at him, eyes brimming.

"Jonny...oh, God...it hurts so much. She's really gone and there's nothin' I could've done, is there?" he gasped, burying his face in Jon's chest as weeks of pent-up grief washed over him.

Jon simply held him, murmuring softly that he was going to be okay, that he wasn't alone, not even out here in the expanse. That he was among friends who cared about him, and with one friend in particular who would always love him, always be there for him. When the wracking sobs finally quieted, Jon brushed a stray lock of blond hair back from Trip's forehead and drew his head back onto his broad shoulder

"Do you want that bourbon now?" he asked quietly. "I did promise it, back when we started this conversation."

"Nah, Jonny, I'll be okay...take a rain check...just need to sleep." Trip's voice was that of an exhausted man, but he found the energy to look up once more before sleep claimed him. "Do you think Hoshi will forgive me? And Malcolm? I was pretty awful to both of 'em and I'd be real sorry to lose either of them as a friend."

"They already have, Trip. Hoshi's the one who told me I had to talk to you now, immediately, no waiting till tomorrow. And I'm guessing our tactical officer was involved in that little missive I got from your staff this afternoon. They care about you, Trip; they care about your well-being, and just wanted to help in any way they could. We're all here with you. We'll do what we have to do here and go home, then see what the future holds, okay?"

"'kay, Cap'n."

Two weary men slept the night on the couch, one lost to the deep sleep of exhaustion, the other dozing in fits and spurts, waking occasionally to shift position as much as Trip's dead weight on his shoulder would allow. Jon considered waking him enough to steer him to the bed, but decided against it; the man deserved every moment of sleep he could find. Jon spent much of his own sleeplessness lost in thought and memory, most of it centered on his relationship with the man sleeping in his arms.

Trip was right; he himself had no other family to speak of, beyond those who were related in name only. Trip might not be his brother, but they were closer than most brothers, had more shared experiences than most friends and many spouses. They'd saved each other's lives on multiple occasions and trusted each other with their lives almost daily.

And Jon remembered that when Henry Archer had died, Trip had been the one to help Jon manage his own grief--a son's grief mingled with simmering anger at the Vulcan delaying tactics that had deprived his father of a chance to see his life's work come to fruition. Trip had convinced him that the best way to honor the memory of his father was to look forward rather than back, and to do everything he could to make damn sure the Warp 5 program was a roaring success.

And he'd almost thrown this all away not more than six months ago, when he'd allowed his own frustration and anger to override any sense of good judgment in the way he'd handled Trip's involvement with the Vissian's cogenitor. Thankfully, they'd found their way back from the hurt and betrayal they'd both felt afterward; otherwise he would never have been able to do what he had just done. Talking things through with Trip after that experience made him realize that he needed to better define his roles, to give people--Trip especially--clear cues as to when he was speaking or acting as the captain and when he was simply being a friend.

Trip stirred just once, still a few hours from morning. He didn't open his eyes, but his hand found Jon's and clasped it hard for a few moments, as he murmured, "Jonny..."

Jonathan wasn't sure if the other man was awake enough to hear his soft reply, "You're welcome. It's what friends are for, Trip."

Copyright Mareel, 06/29/03