Rating: PG

Part: (1/1)

Standard disclaimers apply.

~*~*~

It had been a unique opportunity to study the ruins of a culture that—for whatever reason—had abandoned them. They happened upon the moon by chance. Archer was shocked when T'Pol coolly reported the presence of several square kilometers of ancient buildings, foundations and ruins.

They couldn't resist.

Archer led a small away team down. Several hours of research could not uncover the identity of the former residents, but scans showed no life had been there in almost two thousand years. Small tremors marked the instability of the moon, but the team remained.

Three hours into the search, Trip found what had once been a medical lab. The only advanced technology—comparable to 19th-century medical and radio tech—was in this room. Nothing worked, but the temptation to figure it out was too much for Tucker. After a few minutes of poking around, he found the basement.

Sort of.

A section of wall slid away to reveal a stone staircase descending into darkness. Trip and Archer were of the same mind on the subject.

They went down.

The moon didn't approve. The earthquake began deep in the moon's core, growing to devastating strength in seconds. The away team scattered to arches and doorways to avoid rubble falling off the ruins. The quake lasted two minutes.

A comm check located all members of the away team…

…Except for two.

~*~*~

Two very simple words with the scariest of possibilities. Any fool can utter them and any sucker can listen.

I'm no sucker.

I saw an old movie once on disk. Don't remember the title or even the plot. But someone said, "Trust me." His pal replied, "Coming from you those are the two scariest words in the English language." In the context of the film I'd have to agree.

In the context of today, I wholeheartedly trusted him. Trust me. At least I think it was today. That's still sort of hazy.

I've having that whole out of body experience. I think so, anyway. I mean, I can see myself on the floor of a cave—dear God, another cave—half buried under a pile of rock. My ear is bleeding. Funny, I don't remember hitting my head. I don't feel anything either. Not in the body on the ground or whatever is floating above it. I think I'm floating.

He's by my side, scrambling for the flashlight that had fallen away. He shines it at me—at least, at the me that's on the ground. He finds a communicator, smashed into several large pieces. I don't think I could even fix that mess. There's a deep gash across his chest, but he hasn't even bothered to bandage it. I try to yell at him, but it doesn't work. I don't think I have a mouth up here. My body's jaw twitches and that alerts him. His mouth moves—maybe my name but his head is angled down—and I don't hear the words. My ears seem muffled, the emptiness of absolute silence.

He rocks back on his heels. I see something that should alarm me, but doesn't. Bright red blood oozing from under the rocks where my legs are. There is an artery in your leg. But I can't feel my leg. Is that bad? It doesn't seem to matter.

He still talks, lips forming words I can't identify. Several times I think I should recognize some of the words.

But I don't.

~*~*~

Their communicators were smashed. The staircase had crumbled in on itself. They were trapped down here. They were trapped in a tomb.

For the dozenth time in the past few minutes, Archer thanked God that his flashlight had not been crushed. It cast precious light on the underground cavern. While Archer was glad he could see to tend to Trip, he also wished the light didn't reach so far.

This basement room was a smooth rectangle, walls ten feet high and a good fifty feet back. Every two feet a crevice had been carved deep into the wall. Inside each crevice was a mummified corpse.

Being around so many dead people was unnerving. Especially with Trip…

They had been at the base of the stone steps when the quake began. Sections of the tunnel and entrance had come loose, showering down in a hard rain of stone and mortar. Archer remembered something hitting him in the chest. Trip shouting. A sharp noise followed by deafening silence. Archer never lost consciousness, but knew he lost a few minutes somewhere.

The flashlight had been knocked several yards away, its beam lighting the far wall of the catacombs. Archer found the smashed communicator first.

"Trip?"

No reply.

He reached for the flashlight. It cut through the dusty darkness. Trip lay on his back, both legs and his left torso buried under a pile of rubble. He bled from his ear—not a good sign. Even in the dull glow of the flashlight, Trip's skin was deathly pale.

"Trip," Archer repeated.

He crawled over to his friend, immediately feeling for a pulse. He found it on Trip's neck, weak but steady. Then he noticed the blood. Only a little at first, oozing out from the rocks near Trip's right leg. As Archer attempted to move some of the rubble, he watched the pool grow steadily.

He's going to bleed to death.

Archer found Trip's communicator in one of his sleeve pockets. It was in working order, but he was unable to get a proper signal.

"Well, dammit all anyway."

He examined the rubble that had once been a staircase. The entire entryway had collapsed in on itself. Even if he could clear the bottom, he'd have a good twenty feet to go. Upward.

"If you have any bright ideas," Archer said to his unconscious friend. "I'm all ears, buddy."

Archer sat next to Trip, casting worried glances at him. Enterprise would be coming for them. The away team should already be searching for them.

He just hoped they came in time.

~*~*~

I am five years old. I have just seen a Vulcan for the first time. I run and hide behind my mother. She thinks it's funny. I do not.

I was just five.

I wonder if this is what people mean when they talk about your entire life flashing before your eyes. It isn't flashing so much as jumping around.

Now I'm back here, watching my own body and watching Jonathan Archer look helpless. I've never seen him look helpless. And I've known him a long time.

I'm a first-year cadet, a country boy with a lot to learn. He's a senior with a lot of potential. We race each other in the spring Class Games. Five hundred meter dash—his specialty. I beat him by 1.51 seconds. I am terrified he will be angry. He goes out of his way to be my friend.

I'm in the catacombs. His lips are moving again. This time I study them. I try to understand. I want to hear him. I concentrate on hearing him, on speaking to him.

I must manage an audible groan, because he is suddenly alert. He says something over and over. I believe it is my name. I try to say his, but my body makes no more sounds.

He fiddles with the communicator. He wants to call somebody.

I am in Pensacola. Natalie is with me. I love her hair. It is long and blonde and shines in the sun. We spend an entire weekend camping on the beach. We make love in the sand. I am happy and warm here.

~*~*~

His first indication of rescue was a soft beeping from Trip's communicator. Not the standard chirp, but a persistent beep-be-beep-beep. Archer spent several minutes adjusting the frequency, hoping to make voice contact. Enterprise must have a lock on them. They must be aware of Trip's condition. But they would not risk transport.

Unless he could contact them.

He cursed himself for not learning Morse code when his father tried to teach him. It could have proven extremely useful right now.

The communicator finally chirped. A broken voice spoke. It had to be T'Pol.

"T'Pol, this is Archer. Commander Tucker and I are in the catacombs below the medical lab. Trip was injured in the earthquake and needs immediate medical attention." He paused. "Respond!"

Nothing.

Whatever connection had been made was lost.

Archer groaned and dropped his forehead into his hand. The pool of blood continued to grow. He put down the communicator and gently took Trip's right hand in his own. Trip's skin was cool and dry.

"They're coming for us," Archer said. His voice sounded hollow, as if the cavern were accusing him of an empty promise. "They're coming, so you just…keep breathing. Keep breathing, Trip."

~*~*~

He said that, I heard him.

But I can't breathe. We are on Titan, about to begin the Omega training mission. It is his responsibility to check the EV packs.

He is distracted that day. Melinda left him and he is still sad. And angry sometimes.

We begin our training.

Something is wrong with my EV pack. My head is swimming. The helmet is suffocating me. I have to get it off. I claw at the helmet.

He stops me.

I have to get the helmet off. It won't let me breathe.

I have to take it off. I'm going to die. If I take it off I can breathe again. I don't want to die.

I don't want to die.

I trust you.

I leave the helmet on. He gets me inside. Then I can take it off. I can breathe again. I can breathe. He is shaking. He is scared. So am I.

I trust him.

I do.

I breathe. My chest hurts. My lungs are on fire. But I breathe.

~*~*~

Archer couldn't sit still any longer. Waiting was never his style. Sitting on his ass made him feel helpless. He hated feeling helpless.

He began to move away the rubble. First the smaller rocks, stones and chips of mortar. He would go by layers, working to uncover Trip and make a dent in the great mass standing between them and help.

Some of the bricks were paper light from age, others heavy as deck plating. They were dusty and dry, throwing up great clouds of grit until Archer found himself coughing. The dust filled his nose and throat, but he kept digging. He tore a piece of cloth from his uniform to protect Trip's mouth and nose from the dust.

He dug, tossing ruble onto the cavern floor in haphazard heaps. The noise alone should give him away. His fingers ached from the dry, jagged stone. After some time the tips cracked and bled. Archer gritted his teeth and threw more stones.

The beam of the flashlight had dimmed noticeably. He wondered how much time had passed. He had been hungry for some time. It was probably hours. It seemed like days. Time felt irrelevant. All that mattered was moving the rocks.

His lungs seized. The force of coughing drove Archer to his knees. He gasped for air and realized it wasn't just the dust. The wound on his chest was bleeding again. His ribs hurt when he coughed. Had he broken a rib? He didn't know.

The coughing eventually subsided, but he remained where he was. He glanced at Trip. The scrap of fabric did not flutter. His chest did not rise and fall.

"Oh, God," Archer muttered.

He reached out. Just as his hand brushed against Trip's, the world dissolved into a grid of shiny blue sparkles.

~*~*~

I can't breathe. It's not the helmet this time

I am in the catacombs. He is throwing stones, coughing. He is in pain.

I can't breathe.

I pull away from myself, from the cavern, from him. I pull away as if lifted up on a crane, up and away. It blurs the further away I get. I wish I could focus.

I can't breathe.

There is blue everywhere. It sparkles.

Where'd I go?

~*~*~

They re-materialized in Sick Bay four hours after the quake. Archer blinked around the room as he realized where he was. Dr. Phlox had drafted two biologists as temporary nurses. Archer clutched his chest and refused care until they saw after Trip. Phlox and Ensign James hoisted Trip onto a bio-bed. A gash in his right leg squirted crimson across the floor.

Archer began coughing again. Ensign Ferguson put him on a bio-bed and gave him a small oxygen mask. He took the mask, but stayed perched on the edge of the bed. Watching.

Phlox's words and orders blurred together. Archer didn't understand much of it anyway. Only a few things made sense.

Archer watched Trip through glazed eyes, the oxygen working too slowly to ease the pain in his chest. Relief hit him like a hammer when Trip's mouth opened and he sucked in a gulp of air.

They worked to stop the bleeding in Trip's leg. An artery had been severed. Both legs were broken in several places. Damage to his liver and kidneys.

Ensign Ferguson cleaned and bandaged Archer's chest and hands, careful not to block the Captain's view. Phlox and James worked steadily. Minutes passed. T'Pol entered Sick Bay—the away team was accounted for. T'Pol stood by Archer's bio-bed, watching.

Trip was moved to a sterile room for surgery. With his visual link broken, the adrenaline Archer had been running on subsided. A great wave of fatigue engulfed him.

"Was anyone else hurt?" Archer asked.

T'Pol gazed coolly around the empty Sick Bay. "No one," she replied. "Perhaps you should rest, Captain."

He yawned. He didn't mean to. Archer found himself lying down. His eyelids drooped.

"T'Pol," he mumbled. "Feed Porthos…no cheese…"

~*~*~

The cavern is gone. The blue lights are gone. But where am I now? Am I anywhere? Am I dead?

I don't feel dead. Then again, this is all new to me. I think I'm breathing. At least my chest doesn't hurt anymore. My legs hurt, though. A lot.

I stop jumping around. Titan is gone. Pensacola is gone. That scary Vulcan is long gone. Was I ever really there? I want to be somewhere. This endless nothing is irritating.

So I close my eyes (were they ever really open?). I think about my legs, the dull throbbing. Then I feel—I'm sure I feel—the same throb in myhead. I can't open my eyes. But I can feel my hands. I think about my little finger. It twitches.

Soft hums. Voices? Yes, familiar voices very close to me. Something warm covers my hand. It is pleasant, so I don't move my finger again. I try my mouth instead. My lips are stuck together. I struggle to pull them apart, but all I manage is a grumble deep in my throat. The pleasant warmth on my hand increases.

The voices make words. Up. Trip. Come. Wake. Trip. On.

I understand Trip. That's my name. Strange name, but it feels right. The other words make no sense. Not in that order. I listen. There is a dull roar in my ears. In a rush of sound, I am aware. I hear beeps, feet shuffling on the carpet, loud breathing by my ear.

Then he speaks.

"Come on, Trip," he says. "You've slept long enough. Time to wake up."

It feels safer to stay where I am. But I think of something this voice…this man told me a long time ago.

I do.

I open my eyes.

~*~*~

T'Pol stepped back, quietly observing her human crewmates. Commander Tucker had been unconscious for thirty-six hours, his body giving itself time to heal. Captain Archer had been in Sick Bay as often as duty allowed, watching over his engineer. No, watching over his friend. It was…fascinating to witness such a friendship.

When Tucker showed signs of waking, energy had sprung back into Archer. He practically ordered the younger man to wake up.

It worked.

Tucker was awake and smiling. His vitals were stable. He was even hungry, which was a good sign. Dr. Phlox predicted a full recovery.

Archer said something about chopsticks, making Tucker laugh. T'Pol raised an eyebrow. She observed that the Captain still held Tucker's hand, offering the support of physical contact. Humans had various sayings about the healing power of touch. She supposed this could be considered proof of its existence.

And of the human will to live.

Amazing.

END

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