Chapter Text
“Easy, Commander,” Phlox says as Trip nearly falls back on his ass for the second time as he tries to make his way across sickbay. “Take your time. No need to rush.”
Trip grips a nearby table, feels the solid coolness beneath his hand. Every sensation has him strangely captivated now. Even the pain as he crashes his knee into the sideboard. “Dammit,” Trip hisses, bringing the limb up slightly to wrap his hand around the injury. He miscalculates something, though, and almost falls over.
Fortunately, Phlox is there with a steadying hand on his arm. “Not to worry, Commander. It’ll take some time before you’ve regained your strength. Just take it slow.”
Together, they make it back to Trip’s bio-bed. Trip climbs on rather clumsily.
“When can I return to my quarters, doc?” he asks.
Phlox smiles. “When you can make it to the facilities on your own strength. Lie back now, Commander, so Crewman Cutler can deliver you your lunch.”
As Trip is eating, sickbay doors slide open and in walks Archer. He tosses a nod to Phlox and heads right to Trip’s side, smiling softly. “Hey, Trip. How are you feeling?”
How does he feel? Fine, actually. And it’s the truth—physically, he feels fine. Mentally he’s still scrambled, his memories returning to him slower than he would have liked. There’s also the fact that he feels disconnected from some of these memories. Like they didn’t really happen and he made them up, or he wasn’t really there for him. Phlox tells him it’s just a side effect from being separated from his body for so long. At least, the doctor thinks so. What does he know? This has never happened to anyone else before.
Trip realises he’s been staring off into space and clears his throat. “I feel pretty good,” he says.
Archer nods. “Mind if I sit down?”
“Please.”
Carefully, Archer sits on the edge of the bio-bed, mindful of Trip’s legs. After a moment of silence, he finally starts speaking. “I should have taken you more seriously,” he says, “when you told me you felt something was wrong.”
“Wait- hold on.” Trip drops his spoon, shaking his head. “Don’t tell me you’re blaming yourself for this.”
“When something happens to a member of my crew, I can’t help but feel like I’m responsible,” Archer admits. “I should have been more insistent telling you to see Phlox.”
“Hey, it’s not like the doctor found anything wrong with me,” Trip points out. “Are you sayin’ he’s to blame for this as well? Or what about Malcolm? I told him I was feeling off too.”
“No, but-”
“But nothing.” Trip sits back with an air of finality. “It wasn’t your fault. Or anyone’s fault, for that matter.” He goes to pick up his spoon again and misses. “Dammit.”
Archer grins. “Still getting used to being in a body again?”
“I feel clumsy.” Trip says. “Clunky. Like my body’s too big, or my skin’s too tight. It’s weird.” He shrugs it off. “I’m sure it’ll go away though.”
“Well, I hope it does soon.” There’s a moment of hesitation, then Archer leans over and envelops Trip in a hug that isn’t unwelcome. “See you on the bridge soon, Trip.”
Trip smiles. “Of course, Cap’n.”
It is some time before he’s back on duty, however. The physical exercises Phlox has him do to regain the strength he lost while in a coma are a breeze. It’s the “getting used to being in his body” part of things that he struggles with.
There are some changes in his brain chemistry, too, things that Phlox attributes to his merging with the Wisp. An increase in delta brainwaves, for example, is something he blabbers about quite frequently. Trip himself finds some differences in himself as well. Just like at the beginning, he’s far more prone to zoning out than before, often losing himself in memories reminiscent of the way the Wisps took them over. It frightens him sometimes, but he’s starting to reorient himself much faster now, with some help from those around him.
There are times he forgets he’s in a body at all. More than once, he’s been caught slamming face-first into a wall after forgetting he can’t just phase through it. One time it’s Malcolm who catches him, and the lieutenant sure as hell ain’t letting him live it down.
He forgets to eat too. Travis jokes that he’s ‘turning into another Malcolm’ with that. But actually, Malcolm’s made it a point to better his eating habits, and has been dragging Trip along in the process. Trip suspects it was for his benefit all along but it’ll be hell getting Malcolm to admit that.
One week after he merged with the Wisp, Trip is waiting in his quarters for the sound of the door chime. Malcolm’s about to drag him for lunch.
Sure enough, with the sound of the chime, Trip stands up. “Come in.”
The door slides open. “You ready to go?” Malcolm asks.
“Just give me a second to finish logging this report,” Trip says. Phlox put him back on light duties two days ago, and it seems it’s about all he can handle with his constant zoning-out, but the doctor assures him it’s only temporary while his brain chemistry stabilises. In the meantime, he’s perfectly happy just supervising his team as they work on the engine.
“If you could tear your eyes away for two seconds,” says Malcolm, “you’ll see that I come bearing gifts.”
Trip looks up, eyes widening at the sight of a plate of pecan pie in Malcolm’s hand. “I thought we were headed for lunch.”
“We are. It was the last piece, and I snatched it from under Ensign Peterson’s nose.” He places it on the desk. “You can eat it now if you’d like.”
It’s tempting, but Trip shakes his head. “We’re going to lunch first,” he says.
“Sounds good. How are you feeling, by the way? I haven’t seen you very much.”
Trip finishes logging the report and finally stands up, stretching a bit. His back cracks slightly. It feels good to stretch out his joints. “Feeling great, actually,” he answers. “A lot less mixed up than before. Phlox still has me on light duties, but that should change next week.”
“I’m glad.” Malcolm smiles. “Are you ready to go?”
“Go where? I’m kidding,” he adds, seeing the half-hearted glare in Malcolm’s eyes.
“Don’t joke about that, Trip,” Malcolm says, but he’s smiling too.
Trip throws his head back and laughs, and together they head down the corridor, and all feels right with the world.