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"In Good Time"
Rating: PG The Mural (3) Something that happened after ‘Double The Blind’ Archer stopped outside Trip’s door and pressed the doorbell. There was no response. Archer looked down at Porthos standing beside him. The Beagle looked up at him, slowly wagging his tail. “I guess he’s not here. Let’s go.” Archer turned to leave as the door opened. Porthos dashed through the open door. “I can use all the company I can get,” Trip said from inside. “PORTHOS! Hey buddy! How are you and the old man, pooch?” Archer walked into Trip’s quarters and stopped short from shock. The first shock was Trip was only wearing a pair of black linen loose-legged lounge pants. Judging from the numerous paint stains, they were what he normally wore when he painted. The second shock were the four one-half meter by one meter stretched canvas panels propped up against the wall on crude easels. They were partially started but the subject was clearly a mural of the crystal prison he and T’Pol had mentioned in their reports of the Bitanag. Trip was currently working on the far left panel and he had paint splattered on his exposed skin and drop clothes on the floor under the panels. At the bottom of the two middle canvases were two sketched figures without any features; one was lying and reaching for the second who appeared to be running toward a sketch of a shuttle pod. Trip had started painting the Bitanag around them in opaque whites, blues and greens. On the horizon of the left canvas he had started painting the spectacular colors of the nebula and the blackness of space that blended into the colors, muting and fading the colors. Archer didn’t recall the red giant Trip was currently painting, but he suspected that either he’d missed it while everything was happening or it was an element Trip was adding that didn’t exist. On the far right panel, between the edge of the nebula’s colors and space, was a pencil sketch of Enterprise being pulled into the Bitanag. Archer sat down in an oversized chair across from the paintings and thought about how to address his concern with the mural before speaking. He had just finished Trip’s report a few hours earlier and this scene was not in the report. It had been mentioned in T’Pol’s, but Archer doubted she would ever recount it with such detail even to Trip. “Trip, I don’t recall this what you’re painting in your report,” Archer said quietly, trying not to sound accusing, “Why’d you leave it out?” “Didn’t remember it until last night, after the fact. If you haven’t sent it to Starfleet, I could put it in. You haven’t sent it, have you?” “Yes. I did. You didn’t remember it?” “Nope.” Trip stepped back, looking at something. He turned and picked up a jar of water and several used paintbrushes. “Be right back.” Trip turned and disappeared into his bathroom. He returned with clean brushes, pallet and a fresh jar of water. Trip walked over to his desk and began mixing three new colors on the pallet. Archer watched him for a few minutes before speaking again. “You didn’t remember it until last night?” “Naw.” Trip returned to his painting. “I was dead asleep and bam! There it was. Clear as day. Had ta paint it.” Archer knew Trip would never lie to him about something like this, and this little bit of information wasn’t really relevant enough to recall the report, so he changed the subject. Archer leaned one arm on the chair arm and hooked the heel of his shoe on the edge of the chair. Porthos appeared from the bathroom, ran over to Archer and jumped onto his lap. Archer looked back at the canvases. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed, Trip?” Archer asked. “Yeah, but I can’t sleep.” Trip moved to the next panel over and began working on more of the Bitanag. “Why not?” “I remembered this, so I woke up and started it last night. Then I went back to sleep and woke up again and started working on it. I’m not used to eight hours of sleep, ya know that?” Archer had to smile at the comment. “How much sleep have you had, Trip?” Trip shrugged. “Dunno.” “You need to get some rest. These canvases aren’t going anywhere, you know?” “I’m all sleeped out! I really can’t sleep anymore, Jon. Do you remember, when we were stationed in Sydney, how we’d go clubbing on leave until three or so in the morning?” Archer smiled as the bygone days Trip was talking about resurfaced. “Oh yeah. I especially remember that brunette at ‘After Five’.” Trip laughed. “Oh, she had curves in all the right places! And she could burn up the dance floor! Wow, she was a mover!” “Yeah. Too bad she was never interested in you, huh?” “As I recall, about the only time she ever noticed you was when a tango came on after two in the morning.” “And what does that, or her, have to do with sleeping?” “You know how we’d all get together at that diner across town afterwards and sit there drinking coffee and hitting on the waitresses?” “Yeah. Course, when you were exceptionally toasted, you hit on anything that walked.” Trip looked back at Archer. “Should we talk about how you were when you were toasted?” Archer grinned. “I can’t remember anything when I was toasted. Except a few mornings that were…what did you call them?” “The mornings when ya woke up next to someone so ugly you’d rather chew off your arm than wake ‘em up.” “Yeah. What did you call that?” “Coyote ugly mornings.” “Yeah. There were a couple of those.” “I tried to save you from them when I was sober, so don’t pin those on me. Back to the diner. Remember how wired I’d get after the fifth or sixth pot of coffee?” “Yeah. And pee at every bush and convenience store on the way back. Yeah. Yeah, I remember that.” Archer laughed. Trip laughed, shaking his head. “You weren’t any better!” Archer laughed. “And again, I ask, what does that have to do with sleeping?” “Well, that’s how I feel. Like I’ve had five or six pots of coffee, minus the peeing part, and I cannot sleep. I am sleeped out.” Archer chuckled at Trip’s joke. Archer looked down at Porthos, gently rubbing the dog’s ears. “Is this whole thing bothering you, Trip?” “Bothering me how?” “Was being trapped in the Bitanag bothering you? Keeping you from sleeping?” “Yeah, it bothers me, but not like that. I mean, the thing tricked us and then was going to have us for lunch. Literally. That bothers me, but I’ve been through worse.” Trip turned back to painting. Archer laughed. “So is this painting just a passing time obsession?” Trip stopped working suddenly and stepped back. He looked at Archer. “Obsession?” “You just told me you slept, got up and started painting twice.” “Yeah. I did.” “Sounds like an obsession.” Trip smiled. “No. It’s not.” “Really? Enlighten me.” “It’s not. It’s just…me.” “Trip, I didn’t know you painted until seven months ago after knowing you for years. I call this an obsession; you say it’s not. Enlighten me.” Trip started painting again. “See, sometimes I get these images in my head and once in a while I can’t get ‘em out of my head until I do something with them or distract myself. They just keep coming back again and again and it really makes me nuts. Once I get ‘em out or forget about ‘em, then life goes back to normal until the next one hits.” Archer smiled when Trip glanced at him. “I don’t get it, but I’ll try to figure it out. Promise.” Trip smiled. “Doc said I couldn’t do any extraneous exercise, otherwise I’d be doing what I usually do when this hits and I’m supposed to be doing something else.” “Which is?” “Jump rope, beat you at hoops, go bug T’Pol or Vardee or Malcolm.” “Glad to hear this isn’t a full time behavior disorder.” Archer laughed. “So, Trip…” “Yeah?” “What the hell are you going to do with these when you get them done?” Trip stopped again, stepping back. “Dunno. Figure that out when I’m done, I guess.” Trip moved to the next panel over and went back to painting. “Probably recycle ‘em like I usually do.” “Let’s put ‘em up in the mess hall.” “Naw.” “Why?” “You know why.” “Come on. Let the rest of the crew admire your work.” “My work!” Trip scoffed. “They admire your engineering work.” Trip laughed. “Oh yeah! There’s a lot of artistic ingenuity when dealing with a warp engine, Jon!” Archer smiled. “It was the only rebuttal I could think of. Seriously, when you’re finished let’s put ‘em up in the mess hall.” “No.” “I’m ordering you to let me hang them in the mess hall.” “I’m refusing your order and moving to selective hearing now.” Archer laughed. “Trip?” Trip pressed his lips together, which was hard to do with the smile that was trying to part them. “Trip?” Trip turned his full back to Archer, continuing to paint. Archer laughed, falling back into the chair. “Trip?” Trip started humming, making Archer laugh a little harder. “Oh, God! What’s next? Ya going to stick your fingers in your ears and start humming the Texas state anthem to tune me out?” Trip laughing. “Now that you mention it, Jon…” “Trip?” “WHAT!?” “Let’s put ‘em up in the mess hall when you’re done with them.” “No way.” “Trip?” “Yeah?” “Let’s put ‘em up in the mess hall when you’re done with them.” “No.” “Trip?” Trip looked askance at Archer. “You’re going to bug me into saying yes, aren’t you?” “Trip?” Trip grinned. “Yeah?” “Let’s put em—” “Okay! Okay. Fine. We’ll put ‘em up in the mess hall. Happy?” “And you have to sign them…it.” “No. That wasn’t part of the bargain.” “I just made it part of the bargain. I’m your Captain. I can change bargains in mid-stream, don’t ya know?” “No!” “Trip.” “No!” “Trip.” “FINE!” Trip looked back at Archer. “Finished and signed. Okay? NOW are you happy?” “Never been happier.” Archer stood up. “Try to get some rest, okay? You’re back on schedule tomorrow.” “I make no promises. Night, Jon.” “Night, Trip.” Archer walked out of the quarters with Porthos trotting beside him. Trip turned back to the painting. “Happy?” Trip asked to the empty room. T’Pol stepped out of his bathroom, with her hands held behind her back. She walked over to overstuffed chair and sat down, crossing one leg over the other as she sat back and rested her hands on the chair arms. Trip looked sidelong at her. “Happy?” he asked again. “About?” “Showing off some of my work. Happy?” “It pleases me. Yes.” Trip smiled. He dipped a brush in the jar of water, rinsed it off and moved over to the outline of a faceless person. “Should you not put faces on the people?” “No. That’s not how I remember this.” “Yes, but—” Trip walked over to T’Pol, kissing her on the lips to stop her talking. He leaned back, smiling when he looked in her eyes. “That’s not how I remember it, T’Pol,” Trip whispered, “and I can only paint what I remember.” T’Pol nodded once. Trip turned back to work. “Do you wish I should leave?” T’Pol asked. “Do you wanna leave?” “If my presence is distracting—” “T’Pol?” “Yes?” “Breathe. Stop and breathe. And when you’ve done that, you might just have the answer to that question.” T’Pol laid her head back on the chair. “There are times you provide sensible and helpful suggestions, Charles.” “Thank you…I think.” T’Pol watched Trip paint without further comment. |
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