The BLTS Archive - Dinner Plans in the Desert by Thessaly Brightbear (brighthillsbear@gmail.com) --- Spoilers: For 1st Season, 'Desert Crossing' --- Trip's head was throbbing and it was a moment before he was aware that someone was speaking to him. "Commander," said a voice loudly. Trip winced and opened his eyes. After a moment, the darkness in front of him solidified into a blurry Captain Archer. Trip was confused until he remembered that they were stranded at night, in the middle of a desert with no food or water and no allies. "The warp reactor," continued the Captain. "What?" said Trip. He focused a little harder and the determined look on the Captain's face became visible. The sound of his own heartbeat sounded too loud, as if it were being replayed back to him through speakers and an amplifier. He thought was unlikely given that they had taken shelter in an abandoned settlement with less than half a dozen walls still standing. There was no technology here and only minimal relief after an eight-hour trek in forty-degree heat across the desert. "What are the eight main components?" said the Captain. Trip could barely think with bruised ribs and his heart thumping loudly in his ribcage. "You gotta be kidding me," he said, wheezing. He would have laughed out loud if he'd had the strength but all he could manage was an aborted cough. He was aware that the Captain didn't want him to fall asleep but he'd forgotten the reason. "Name them," insisted the Captain. "That's an order." Trip forced himself to think about the Starship Enterprise where he'd been serving as Chief Engineer for more than ten months. The ship's shape appeared behind his closed eyelids but he couldn't quite find the words that matched. It was saucer-shaped with two protruding sections that made it look a little like a trussed up turkey. "Well... ," said Trip loudly, finding it easier to think with his eyes closed. "There's the drumsticks... thighs... wings... " The image of the starship Enterprise abruptly morphed into a roasted chicken so real that Trip could smell it. "We got anything to eat around here?" he asked hopefully. He could tell from the Captain's silence that it wasn't the response the Captain expected. Trip tried to remember what the Captain wanted but his brain felt like it was overheating. "Not at the moment," said the Captain easily, as he settled down to sit opposite Trip. Trip sighed in genuine disappointment. "But when we get back to Enterprise," said the Captain. "I'll have Chef make you a dinner you'll never forget. What would you like? Anything." Trip managed to open his eyes enough to see the barren sandy floor they were sitting on. He remembered the last time he and Jon had trekked through a desert together and he knew what he didn't want. "No snakemeat," he said firmly. "No," chuckled the Captain. "Chef doesn't do snake very well." Trip closed his eyes but was shaken roughly by the shoulder. Trip half-opened his eyes again to look at the Captain. "Tell me what you want," insisted the Captain. The heat helped him think of an answer. "Prime rib," he said firmly. He closed his eyes again and thought about how the meat would taste. He could even see the setting on the table as he, the Captain and Sub-Commander T'Pol sat down to eat their normal meal. Trip and the Captain had been friends for years and he had come to respect T'Pol but something seemed not quite right about the imagined scene. "Okay," said the Captain, sounding faintly pleased. "What else?" "Mashed potato with mushroom gravy," managed Trip, feeling his lips crack. "The kind he makes on Wednesday nights." "No problem," said the Captain, huddling closer to the fire he'd lit earlier. Trip remembered from his desert survival training that at night, temperatures could fall below freezing. If the heat of the day didn't kill you, the cold of the night would. The Captain's shivering and his insistence in building the fire hinted that the air was already cold. Trip couldn't feel it for himself, his fever was too high. He felt like he'd never be cool again. Ironic considering that he'd almost frozen to death a few months ago. Trip must've drifted off because the Captain poked him. "Hey, vegetables," said the Captain. "Broccoli," said Trip. Trip closed his eyes to see how the meal looked now. It looked wholesome and tasty and he wished he could reach out and touch it. There still seemed to be something missing though. "Dessert?" said the Captain. Trip didn't have to think too hard, "Pecan pie." The Captain laughed his approval and it was a familiar sound, but Trip wasn't too sure. Something still felt wrong to him about their imagined meal. Besides a good Claret (and he doubted they would be allowed to drink on duty), there wasn't anything the food lacked. Trip supposed it might be the imagined company that didn't suit. The habit of eating with the Captain and T'Pol had originally been due to rank and the Captain's intention to 'acclimatise' T'Pol to human company. Now, genuine friendship played its part but he wasn't sure that they would be his ideal choice for company. T'Pol had recently implied over dinner that sexual frustration was reducing the crew's efficiency. She had also pointed out that rank prevented both the senior officers from finding company on-board the ship. Trip contemplated the images of all the girls he had ever dated. They struck him as fun company, but not really what he was looking for. He wanted someone who would hang around for more than simple flirtation. He wanted someone who appreciated prime rib. --- It was nearly half an hour and a game of geography later when the mortars began to fall. It started as a rumbling vibration that sounded distant and muted. The Captain frowned and walked to peer outside, leaving Trip sitting on the ground with only a pillar for support. The Captain must have seen them coming because he turned and sprinted towards Trip. "Get your head down!" yelled the Captain. "What?" said Trip. "Get your head down," repeated the Captain. The Captain threw himself at Trip, forcing Trip's head and shoulders down towards the ground. The two toppled to the ground in an awkward pile. Trip's head ended up in the Captain's lap, sandwiched between his legs and chest. The incoming mortar exploded less than twenty metres away. The entire building shook. As the Enterprise's Chief Engineer, Trip was uniquely qualified to be disturbed by the shuddering of strategic support beams in the roof. His fears were realised when part of the ceiling fell in. The majority of the debris fell to their left but sand and grit showered down upon the two of them. A rock or two must have been carried with the sand as Trip felt the Captain tensing against the odd blow. He wanted to help, to take the blows himself, but he couldn't even find the strength to push the Captain away. The awkwardness and indignity of the position had to be endured. Trip and the Captain had been friends for decades but Trip had never before had his head in the Captain's lap. Apart from a difficulty in breathing, it also brought certain anatomical features to attention that he had been perfectly happy to ignore. He was whimsically reminded of a meal they had been served in the camp of the merchant who had invited them here. They had been served a dish known reassuringly as 'Blood Soup'. Trip had foolishly asked what the fleshy bits in the soup were. The answer had been, rather disturbingly, 'Essence of the male'. Neither the Captain nor Trip had spoken but they both mentally translated the fleshy balls of meat into 'testicle'. Trip had desperately wished Malcolm could have witnessed that moment. Malcolm would have appreciated it. Trip imagined the meal with Malcolm joining them. The picture seemed much better. In fact, it seemed just perfect if Malcolm, and Malcolm only, joined him for the meal. Trip was shocked to realise that the withdrawn Malcolm Reed had become a friend as dear to him as the Captain. Malcolm's quiet intensity and constant presence was a comfort. "We've got to get out of here," bellowed the Captain, far too close to Trip's ear. He dragged Trip to his feet and walked him from the shelter as mortars continued to fall. Trip's heat exhausted brain struggled to focus as they moved. A small ship approached them, coming in low over the dunes and pinning them in the glare of its searchlights. "Leave me," gasped Trip. "Save yourself." "I don't take orders from you," snapped the Captain. Trip wasn't sure whether his knees gave way or the Captain dropped him, but he ended up face-first in the sand. The Captain stood over him shakily, waving his phase pistol threateningly at the approaching craft. Trip was disappointed that he would die without getting to eat that perfect meal. He wouldn't even get the chance to tell Malcolm about it, let alone invite him. It was probably just as well since Malcolm might misinterpret the invitation as some kind of romantic overture and be awkward and offended. The thought that Malcolm might be offended was somehow worse than the thought of a misunderstanding. Trip was even further surprised to realise that he probably did mean the dinner as a romantic overture. The Captain grabbed him hard, laughing, and pulled Trip back to his feet. Trip tried to push the Captain away to encourage him to save himself. Sand was being thrown up into the air by the craft's thrusters. The craft settled to the ground in front of them. They were halfway across the sand before Trip recognised the ship as one of Enterprise's shuttlecraft. The hatch opened and T'Pol bodily dragged Trip inside. Either Trip was lighter than he remembered or Vulcans were stronger than he realised. Trip's knees collided with a seat and he allowed his momentum to pull him down onto it. A waterbag was pressed to his lips and T'Pol's firm voice directed him to sip slowly. The inside of the shuttlecraft was bright and Trip desperately wanted to shut his eyes. Before he did so, he forced himself to look throughout the shuttlecraft to see who was there. He met Malcolm's clear blue eyes and relaxed. There seemed to be some sort of answering flicker in Malcolm's eyes that was almost relief. Trip himself was relieved. He still had a chance to ask what he wanted to ask. Then Malcolm turned back to his console. The shuttlecraft rose back into the air and Trip surrendered to blissful unconsciousness. --- The End