ENT WIP: Finding Home 14/? R/S [R]

[Philippe de la Matraque]

Title: Finding Home
Author: Philippe de la Matraque
Part: 14/?
Series: ENT
Rating: R (for discussion of violence and torture)
Pairing: R/S light
Archive: Yes to Trekiverse.org, otherwise, please ask.
Contact: pdelam...@gmail.com
Web: http://gabrielle.sytes.net/Trek/stories/findinghome1.html
Summary: Sequel to Alien Us. Malcolm Reed barely survived to see to be
reunited with Hoshi Sato. But things have taken a downturn and now he
needs a new heart and a way to heal.
Author's note: I deliberately use italics like this *in text** just
because it makes conversion to HTML so much easier.


Star Trek: Enterprise

Finding Home
by Philippe de la Matraque
Sequel to *Alien Us**

Chapter Fourteen

"Tell me again," Hoshi demanded.

Trip sighed. "Hoshi, we've gone over this for months. He's probably
not like that anymore. He's been with my folks and his therapist."

"Trip," she scolded. "I wanted to go with him. I didn't want this
mission. I was not mentally prepared for this mission. I need to be
with him, and I can't be. You were, so tell me again!"

Trip rubbed his forehead. "Fine, but please come sit down." She was
going wear a rut in the decking. She surprised him by flopping face
first onto his bed.

Well, it wasn't really that surprising. She'd become increasingly
stressed as the mission dragged on. She was incredibly high-stung now
and only her sessions with Phlox and her time with Trip really unwound
her enough to function during her shifts. As it was, she was sometimes
permitted to work from her quarters or the science lab as she could not
manage bridge duty. But that was only on the days she didn't have to be
at the table, right next to the admiral, captain, and ambassador.

Trip scooted the chair over the to the bed so he could reach her back.
"He's healthy, Hoshi. Remember that. The surgery was a success. He
got a new heart--"

"His sister's heart!" Her voice was muffled by the mattress.

Trip ignored the interruption. "Yes, his sister's heart. He also got
some of her nerves so his hands and feet work again. He can see
perfectly out of both eyes. He's healthy and surely regaining his
strength."

He really liked to lead with the positives. "You can read that in his
letters, right? He had some flashbacks, but he was okay. He was
actually talking to his therapist."

"Telepath therapist." She did know all the details already.

He tried to keep it fresh by how he packaged them. "Yes, an added
bonus. But he was talking to him, because you told him to. He loves
and trusts you so he talked with his therapist."

"Then his father. . . ." She started to cry.

*Then his father ruined everything,** Trip thought. He reached up on
his shelf and pulled down a box of tissues to place beside her. He
moved the trashcan onto the bed as well. "Right. His father came to
the hospital spouting nonsense about them murdering his daughter and
mutilating her body."

"And he wasn't worth it." She blew her nose and threw away the tissue.

Trip resumed rubbing her back. "He heard that and, well, he got stuck.
Trevon said he was cycling his traumas, one after the other, over and
over."

"He went to the pond." She sobbed harder.

That was always the hardest spot for her. "He did. That's where I
found him. And that's when I decided to follow your advice. I wasn't
going to leave him where he couldn't heal." He never told her how close
to that pond Malcolm had gotten. Or what he said there at the water's
edge. He just couldn't. "I took him home."

She turned over. "You didn't see him. After the tank. I could
*feel** him drowning. The panic, the terror he felt. I could hear them
talking, talking about him. The orcs trying to convince T-Rex to leave
him alone. He couldn't think straight for days! That's how I could
help him talk. No drugs that time."

Trip had heard various parts of that harrowing story in return. No
wonder Malcolm's aquaphobia was worse. "Then he probably really
appreciates the new shower my parents agreed to put in for him. All
sonic. No water!"

She sniffed and laid back down. So Trip went on. "He even met my mom.
He got up and walked to the kitchen that next night. She was still up
and made him some scrambled eggs, helped him drink some milk. He spoke
with her. He also spoke to me before I left. Like for one moment, he
broke through those constant traumas and really spoke to me."

Trip had his own doubts and fears about Malcolm. He shared them with
the captain when he got back to the ship. But he kept those light for
her. He didn't want to lie to her. He just didn't tell her everything,
and he tried to find a positive spin for what he did tell her.

"Trevon is amazing!" he told her. "Specializes in severe cases of
trauma. He came all the way to Mississippi just to keep working with
Malcolm. And Miguel, my brother-in-law, is his home health nurse. My
family has taken him in. We're basically adopting him, so he won't need
his terrible father anymore. He'll have a whole new family."

Her crying eased and she rolled over onto her side. "If I could just
call him!"

Trip nodded. He felt the same way. "I know. It's driving me nuts!"

She reached back and pulled the trash can from the bed. She dried her
eyes with another tissue and threw it away. "How long has it been? The
days just run one into the other."

Trip had to think. "Um, I've been back two months and three days, so
sixty-three days. With Trevon working with him every day, he's surely
better. He's probably doing PT and strength training. We've been
sittin' here all caught up in worry, and he's going to surprise us by
being fine, just you wait!" He smiled as told her. He was also
reminding himself.

She dropped another tissue into the can. "I'm tired of waiting! I
don't care about the Tzenkethi or the mission. I know I should, but I
just can't."

"I just concentrate on the work in front of me," Trip admitted. "I
leave the big ideas and strategy to the captain, the admiral, and the
diplomats. I'm just an engineer and you're just a linguist."

She sat up, her hands on her knees. "Focus on the words, the grammar,
the syntax. Work on the UT, so it can focus on the words, the grammar,
the syntax, the whole thing so I can get back to Malcolm. I can't
function without him in my head anymore."

Trip wasn't sure that was altogether healthy, but he didn't tell her
that. He'd promised Malcolm to take care of her, and he had every
intention on following through. And though she was high-maintenance
now, their eventual reunion should iron a lot of that out. Every day,
Trip hoped for the word that the mission was finished, and they were
going home for R&R and repairs. "Does the white noise help you sleep?"

She nodded. "T'Pol's neuro-pressure, too. But sometimes I have to go
to the gym and wear myself out. I'm not used to sitting in a chair for
eight hours anymore. I didn't enjoy being a slave, though it was maybe
better than the boredom Malcolm had from day to day. It got me moving,
gave me something else to think about."

Okay, now they were moving away from Malcolm-in-crisis. "It's wild to
thing that all their females are actually less evolved than the males on
that planet."

She shrugged. "Kept them from talking to me." She leaned back on her
arms. "Bothered me at first, but Malcolm was right. It was better that
way."

Trip chuckled. "Oh, I'm sure you would have led them on an epic
linguistic goose chase that'd take them centuries to unravel. You
practically already did."

Her lips turned up for the briefest of moments. Then she stood. He
stood, too, and she hugged him close. "Thank you, Trip. Maybe we'll
head home tomorrow."

"Right, so you better try and get a good night's sleep."

The door chime sounded. Trip kissed the top of her forehead like he
used to do with Lizzie. "Your escort has arrived. Come."

The door opened and T'Pol stepped in. "Trip, Hoshi."

Hoshi sighed once more then dislodged herself from his hug. "Good
night, Trip."

He smiled again for her. "Good night, Ladies." Trip waited for the
door to close them collapsed backward on his bed with his lower legs
handing over. It wasn't an every night ritual, but it happened at least
twice a week.

He had ten minutes before he was due in Sickbay. Phlox wasn't a
telepath, but he was pretty good at helping Trip remember the positive
possibilities he passed on to Hoshi. She had only heard the rosiest
descriptions of Malcolm's state when he left. Trip had seen it. He'd
been the one to pull Malcolm from the pond he was going to drown himself
in. He was scared for Malcolm, and it was getting harder each day with
no contact to hold on to the hope that he was getting better there with
Trevon and Trip's family. He needed the doctor to remind him. He could
usually get a neck massage, too, as a bonus. And he needed that today.
Sixty-three days since he'd been back. Ninety-five since he left. Even
if they turned around tomorrow it would take almost a month to get home.


Hoshi submitted the last of her reports for the day. Her stomach
rumbled and she remembered she'd worked through lunch. She dreaded the
crowds in the galley, though. She had an open invitation to dine with
the captain, but the admiral often did. It was hard for her to mask her
distaste for the man who had separated her from Malcolm, and who was
keeping her here for months when Malcolm needed. her.

And she needed him. She needed to see her parents, to be held by them,
to not be on this mission another day.

She didn't hate the ship or her job on it, but she wasn't in the right
frame of mind to serve either well. And even that was obvious to the
admiral. He needed her skills and talents, but, in her perception,
didn't consider her feelings or psychological needs.

Each day they weren't heading home, it got worse.

Her stomach growled again. She checked the time. It was late. Maybe
the crowds would be lighter. She stood up, straightened her uniform,
ran her fingers through her hair, then left the lab for the galley.

She felt the eye of everyone she passed. Phlox often reminded her that
that was another perception and not the reality of the situation.
Perception or not, she felt it, and it made her uncomfortable. There
she was, the lab experiment and clone factory, walking down a corridor
like she belonged here.

*I belong here,** she forced herself to think. *I am a Starfleet
Officer, a linguist, a genius, and a good person.** It felt hollow.
Positive self-talk, Phlox called it. Counter the negative thoughts.
She used to have Malcolm for that.

The galley was maybe half full, which still felt too crowded. But she
gritted her teeth and stepped in. She got a tray and a drink then
looked over the offerings. Enchiladas or burgers. She didn't want
finger food. She never got utensils on Sharu. She was a civilized
human being. She wanted a knife and fork. She practically slammed them
onto her tray. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm
herself. Then she turned, expecting everyone to be staring. But they
were all eating, lost in their reading or conversation.

Travis waved her over. She wasn't sure she wanted to sit with him.
She wanted to carry her tray to her quarters and eat at her desk.
*Nurture friendships.** Another bit of Phlox's advice. And she knew it
was good advice. Having Pippen beside her in their daily work had made
the work just a bit more pleasant. She joined him at the table.

"How're you holding up?" he asked as he picked up his burger.

*I'm not,** she thought. "Only just," she replied.

"Movie night is in thirty minutes. It's 'Shaun of the Dead.' Zombie
farce, lots of laughter. What do ya say?"

"Zombies are biologically impossible," she told him. "If they're dead,
they're not breathing, their hearts aren't beating, blood's not
circulating. Muscles need oxygen to move."

Travis smiled but shook his head. "It's a comedy. You're supposed to
laugh at them."

She didn't feel like laughing. At any given moment, she was a hair's
breadth from breaking out in tears. "I think I'll just head to the gym."

The conversation then just petered out, and they ate in relative
silence. Hoshi finished her enchiladas quickly. She stood up.

Travis put a hand on her arm. "It was good to see you today. Have a
good workout."

She just nodded and walked away. Could that be considered nurturing a
friendship? She put her tray away and hurried to her quarters to change.

She started with stretches and strength training, then moved to cardio
to really tire herself out. As she used the elliptical, she imagined
Pippen there, looking in wonder at the room around her and losing
herself in the reflection in the mirror.

She closed her eyes. She did not need that. Pippen was a friend, an
innocent, but where she came from, there were others. She did not want
any of them to visit. She was alone in the gym. In an effort to rid
herself of flashbacks, she started reciting Malcolm's letters in his
crisp British accent. By the time she was done, she was exhausted. As
she left the machine, her limbs felt like gelatin. She checked the
time. She'd missed her neuro-pressure with T'Pol. Oh well. She'd go
back to her quarters, take a shower and crash.

Once in her quarters, she stripped, simply rinsed herself in the shower
then slipped on some sweat-pants and a tank top. She laid down and
slipped the PADD from under her pillow to read his words again.

And she sobbed. Because those letters weren't where he was. Malcolm
had crashed without her there to be strong for him. He was lost and
suffering. At least when Trip left him. Yes, it had been a couple
months with Trip's family and a telepathic therapist, but did he still
feel alone in his head without her there the way she did without him?
She yawned and pushed the PADD beneath her pillow again. She hoped
she'd see him in her dreams for a change.


After the negotiations broke for the day, Admiral Barsinas followed
Archer to shuttle to *Enterprise.** Hoshi was sitting in the back where
the admiral was in front with him. Archer had hoped she be relieved to
be heading back, but he read her body language as somewhat aggressive.
Still, she neither said or did anything objectionable during the
negotiations or the flight back. She allowed the admiral and captain to
leave the shuttlepod first then hurried away.

Archer didn't comment on it. He knew she was barely holding it together.

The admiral, though, decided to voice his criticisms in the Ready Room.
"Your Communications Officer could use some retraining in decorum.
She's too stiff when translating. Inflection matters. A linguist of
her caliber should know that. And don't get me started on her body
language!"

He paced the small room as he ranted. Archer waited for him to finish
and sit down on the sofa. "Permission to speak frankly?" he asked.

The admiral nodded, leaning back and spreading out.

Archer steepled his fingers on the desk. "Ensign Sato is suffering
from Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She needed to go home to
rest and recuperate with her family. I unstressed that no one can do
what she can do with languages, but every day here is another she can't
even talk with her family."

Barsinas sat forward. "Is she not seeing your doctor regularly for
therapy? Her wounds seem to have healed."

Archer took a deep breath and walked to the other side of his desk.
"Just a few months ago, she, Lieutenant Reed and Corporal Moody left
this ship and crashed one year before they evey left. Moody was killed
on impact. Wounded, Sato and Reed were picked up by the natives and
taken to Kennisatae Research Silo, where they were vivisected while
conscious. That's not something you just get over. She was then
separated from Reed and put to work as a slave and violated regularly in
an effort to produce a clone in her womb. When we found her, she'd
managed to escape, climb a tree, and fall several meters, breaking her
hip, her ribs, her jaw. She then crawled into the hollow of a tree and
hoped to freeze to death. And she nearly did. For the eleven months of
her separation from Reed, she spoke to no one. A linguist of her
caliber, not speaking to a single person for nearly a year. Imagine
it." He sat back on the corner of his desk. "She's not okay. She's
not really fit for the duty she's performing anyway. She needs to go home."

The admiral had gone pale. "When you say 'vivisected'. . . ."

"I mean exactly that," Archer replied. "Her left arm, left leg, torso,
chest. They woke up paralyzed in the middle of it, couldn't even
scream. It went on for hours. For Reed, it happened multiple times
over the year only to get worse at the end. But even just once, like
for her, would break just about anyone. But she's getting up every
morning, reporting for duty, using her skills and talent, trying to
sleep at night only to do it again the next day. We have other
communications officers. She has probably entered enough into the UT
that we no longer need her at the table."

"She still couldn't go home," the admiral pointed out, "not until this
is done. She probably won't be able to even call home until you reach
Earth. Will a full day of idleness help or hinder her recovery?"

Archer answered truthfully. "Probably hinder. But she does a lot
better working here in isolation, with no expectations on her body
language. We can keep her as busy as she wants to be."

Barsinas rubbed his face with one hand. "I had no idea. You said
'traumatic' and 'crash.' A year in the past? How is that even possible?"

"A very particular set of circumstances around the planet Sharu," he
replied, understating it by a mile. "We set a beacon to warn others.
While she was down there, Carstairs and her team were translating news
reports, government meetings, scientific notes, using the UT. And that
was for two different languages. It can work without her."

Barsinas nodded almost imperceptibly. "Have Carstairs brought up to
speed. She can be available if they get stuck?"

Archer nodded, satisfied. It wasn't hme for Hoshi, but it was the best
they could offer here. He stood. "Thank you, sir. I'm certain she'll
appreciate it. Will you stay for dinner?"

Barsinas stood, too. "I'm not sure I could eat. I'm just imagining
waking up during that."

Archer opened the door and stepped out onto the Bridge. "Travis, would
you ferry the admiral back to the *Zelenskyy**.

"Yes, sir." Travis rose from his seat. "Right this way, Admiral."

Archer had a feeling's Hoshi's aggressive body language stemmed from
Barsinas splitting her from Malcolm. Well, he'd just ensured the
admiral wouldn't look at her with such a critical eye again. And maybe
she'd never even have to see him again this mission.


Trip went straight from Engineering to Hoshi's quarters. He tried the
chime. He waited thirty seconds then opened the door. Hoshi was
sitting on the bed with her fists clenched. She was angry. Maybe he'd
overstepped. "Hey, Hoshi. How'd it go today?"

"I hate him!" she said through clenched teeth.

Okay, so it wasn't him. "Who? The captain?" He hoped not. He
stepped inside and crossed to her desk chair.

"Barsinas!" she seethed. "He's kept us here for months! I could have
gone with him. We could've. I would have told his father a thing or two."

Yeah, the admiral had been the one to order *Enterprise** on this
mission and to stipulate that Hoshi Sato was required. He moved to sit
beside her on the bed and put an arm around her tense shoulders. "I get
it. It's not fair. But he's an admiral and we're not. How about we
get some dinner before you visit with Phlox?"

"Not hungry," she pouted.

"What if there's ice cream?" He squeezed her shoulders. They were
loosening up.

The door chimed again before she could answer. She tensed again and
just growled.

"Come in," Trip called, in as pleasant a manner as he could muster.

The door opened to allow the captain in. "Hoshi, I'm glad I caught
you. I have some good news."

She looked up at him. "We're going home?"

Jonathan frowned. "Well, not that good. But you don't have to sit in
on the negotiations anymore. Carstairs and the UT can take over."

Hoshi sagged. "I didn't do well enough?"

Archer sat down on her other side. "I said 'good news.' I could tell
you weren't comfortable around Admiral Barsinas. I got him to realize
it was putting too much stress on you. You can still work on the UT,
help out your team, but you can do it from here."

Trip smiled and rubbed her back. "No more admiral and ice cream all in
one evening. How will you contain yourself?"

She turned and hugged the captain. "Thank you, sir."

Jonathan patted her back. "You're welcome, Hoshi. I want you to do
what you need to do to get better. Stressing you wasn't allowing that.
Do only as much as you feel you can, take care of yourself the rest of
the time."

She let go and wiped the tears from her eyes.

"We were just about to go and get some dinner," Trip told Jon.

"And ice cream," she added.

"That sounds good. I'll let Chef know to have some chocolate syrup
ready for you."

Hoshi jumped up and headed for the door. Trip followed after her. He
looked back and shrugged to the captain who just smiled and waved him on.


Hoshi felt a lot better just three days after her outburst of anger.
She slept in--or at least rested in bed late. Her dreams were often
disturbing with visions of Zheiren and Buftanis and now Malcolm in
complete breakdown. Still, she relished some time to relax in her quarters.

She worked in the science lab for a few hours, took questions from
Carstairs and the team, but she never had to leave the ship or face that
tyrannical admiral. She didn't have to try and pretend she had it
altogether.

She still didn't. She started seeing Phlox regularly for therapy right
after Trip and Malcolm left the ship. They worked on her manifestations
of trauma from the vivisection, slavery, and molestation. Whether or
not she'd felt what Radagast and his buddy were doing, she'd heard and
understood them enough to imagine monsters implanted in her womb. She
felt nothing but relief for the failed pregnancies, even the last. She
knew now that they were trying to clone Malcolm, but it was a failed
clone, not viable. Above all, she hadn't wanted them to succeed in
whatever they were doing to her.

Then Trip had returned and, though she knew he was likely sugar-coating
it for her, he brought grim news about Malcolm. Despite doing well
after the surgery, his own parents had pushed him further into trauma to
the point he'd nearly put himself in a pond. Hoshi could read behind
those lines. And to top it all off, his sister had died to give him her
heart. So grief was in the mix.

So her therapy changed to work on her worry for him. It was
overwhelming and worsened by the lack of communication and news and the
duration of the mission. She had two letters from him, from before his
father's tirade. He had hope then, and determination. Was he drowning
even now?

They spent part of her session still on the trauma, as it still
affected her and added many terrible imaginings to what Malcolm might be
going through or had been through. She knew he'd been cut open many
more times than her. She knew something horrible had happened at the
end, though he hadn't let her see or hear what the orcs were doing to
him. She'd seen his wounds and her traumatized mind filled in the gaps.

She and Phlox met in her quarters, or the galley in between meals, but
never in Sickbay. She was grateful for that. They met three times a
week, or more if she needed it.

Having the pressure of performance lifted gave her room to practice
some of the mitigations Phlox suggested. If she felt a strong flashback
coming, she could look for different colored items in the room around
her, or find five unique sounds in her environment. She tried to take
time to practice mindfulness.

And when she got really sad and heartbroken over Malcolm's continued
absence, she went to his quarters. She laid on his bed and tried to
remember his face when he was healthy, or to recall the words of love
he'd shared with her during their ordeal. There was a faint fragrance
there. It was the smell of him, clean and manly. He'd last slept in
that bed before the shuttle crashed. She missed him so much it hurt.

She was lying there, curled up and clutching his pillow when Trip found
her. He sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand on her arm. "I miss
him, too," he said quietly.

"He needs me," she sobbed. "When they did their worse, I told him
stories about my life. Who's doing that for him now?"

"I know my mom did," Trip replied, surprising her. "She said she
didn't know if he was listening before he fell asleep, but she told him
about Lizzie. That's why she has trouble sleeping. She still struggles
with Lizzie's death. Hoshi, you gotta trust they are loving him right
now. They are helping him through it, I just know it. It's hard
because my last memories of him were like he was just barely there, ya
know. He was lost in his own mind, trapped by all the pain. But I knew
my mom and dad. I knew they wouldn't be scared off by that. They'll
love him, no matter what."

Hoshi thought of how he was after Radagast had taken his semen in
secret. He was broken. He wouldn't drink the fruit juice the orc had
brought in, and he was lost to pessimism about their chances. She
remembered how young he looked in that moment. She'd put his head in
her lap and told him that *Enterprise** would come. Ironically, they
were both right.

She snifffed. "Tell me a story. Help me get to know them."

Trip looked over at her with a light grin. "You sure? We could be
here for hours."

She sat up and backed up to the wall, still hugging Malcolm's pillow.
She took Trip's hand and pulled him, too, so he scooted back beside her.

"This one time," he began. And he told her about birthday parties
growing up, being 'forced' to let his baby sister tag along when he and
Albert went to play ball, of the whole family working together to help
little baby sea turtles make it to the sea. He told her how his father
held him after his first break up with a girlfriend, how his mother
stormed the school after a teacher had treated him harshly. In it all,
she heard love. Not just the love that bound his family to him, but
the love in his voice that showed his bond to them.

She knew in her heart that Malcolm hadn't had that. Maybe now he did.


Trip hit the chime to let the captain know he was there. The door
opened and he joined T'Pol in standing by the captain's desk.

Jonathan was standing behind his desk. "I just got the news from
Admiral Barsinas. The negotiations are over."

Trip wanted to jump and holler, but he read the room and kept his
composure.

"Are the Tzenkethi to be allies?" T'Pol asked, poised as ever.

"Not exactly," Archer replied. "It's more of a non-aggression pact.
We don't attack them; they don't attack us."

Trip felt deflated. "What was the point of months of no contact with
the rest of Starfleet or our families, if we're basically where we were
when we started?"

"I get it, Trip," Jon said, holding a hand up. "Let's not express it
that way when we share the news with the crew, hmmm? Especially not one
particular communications officer. We're going home. That's the
important part."

"Can we call home?" Trip asked for both his and Hoshi's sakes.

"I'm sorry, Trip. They wanna keep this totally under wraps until the
admiral and Ambassador Laquay are back. And, given that we have the
faster ship. . . ."

Trip groaned. "She will not like that."

Archer shook his head. "Well, the admiral is more sympathetic now.
But he'll probably try to avoid her anyway. At issue are quarters.
Barsinas has asked to bunk with the Macos. Said he's got a niece who
just joined up last year. The ambassador will need Malcolm's quarters."

"She goes there sometimes," Trip shared, shaking his own head, "when
she misses him real bad."

"She'll be able to see him in three weeks, four days, at Warp Five,"
T'Pol pointed out. "We can emphasize their eventual reunion."