A/N; This is my second story for Enterprise. As with Trippin' Out, it's a tag for another of my favourite episodes, Cogenitor. Its ending, and that final scene between Jon and Trip, was such a shock that I didn't see coming. Poor Trip certainly didn't!

Unlike Trippin' Out, this will be a far more serious, darker story, as Trip struggles to come to terms with what's happened. It's also my first attempt at a multi-chapter story. I hope you enjoy it, and I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed my first story so kindly!


Aftermath

Chapter One - Fallen Hero

Alone in his quarters, Trip Tucker lay on top of his bed, staring blankly into nothingness. He was too exhausted to sleep, and too scared to try. He saw her everywhere now. The cogenitor's ghost followed him like a shadow, day in, and night out. Each time he closed his eyes, even when he kept them open, he was forced to face her bitter damnation.

\I died because of you. I trusted you, put my faith in you. Now I'm deadbecause of you/

Along with the bile that had filled his throat, his heart was now trying to beat itself out of his chest. Hammering out the same warning that had seen his younger cousin into a prematurely early grave.

There'd only been five years between them, but Clayton Tucker had made the youthful most of it, dismissing concerns over his lifestyle with the cheery conviction that he was going to live forever.

'Slow down? Me? Hell, Trippy, you'll be feedin' worms long before me!'

Three months later, Trip had helped to carry his casket, gently lowering it into sacred Georgia ground.

He'd cried then, unashamed tears for a life that had ended far too soon, its potential never reached. He was grieving again now, consumed by guilt and regret for another life that had ended just as cruelly. Not just grief for such tragedy, but a growing envy that they now had what he was so desperate to find. Wherever their spirits had taken them, they were at peace now. Those they'd left behind… well, they just had to live on. Make mistakes, and try to learn from them.

'You've always been impulsive. Maybe this will teach you a lesson.'

Just as it had done before, Jon's rebuke hit his already stricken conscience like a verbal sledgehammer. Causing an innocent being to kill itself. Oh yeah, this was a lesson in life that he'd never forget.

Closing his eyes against a fresh swell of tears, he lay cursing his own, stubborn stupidity. He didn't want pity. He knew he didn't deserve it, and he was in no state of mind to look for it now. All he wanted, all he craved, was the silent peace that now drew him, yet again, back to his window. He'd stood here for hours already, staring out at the breathtaking expanse and emptiness of space.

It summed up his mood perfectly. After the shock and numbness had worn off, he'd felt… empty. Anger had given way to a despair that grew deeper, and deeper, each day. Like a cancer, it was consuming him. The haggard face that stared back at him reflected how deeply its infection of him ran.

Six days had passed now, since he'd been called into his Captain's ready room to face his fury. Every word still cut Trip to his core. Every memory etched even more pain into his reflection.

'You're damn right you are!'

'It's time you learned to weigh the possible repercussions of your actions.'

'You've always been impulsive. Maybe this will teach you a lesson.'

It had been the final part, though, just one word, one gesture, that had shattered the remains of his heart.

'Dismissed.'

That was it. In that one moment, nine years of unbreakable friendship had crashed down around him. His desperate attempt to save it had been met with silence, and a friend's back that refused to turn.

How he'd got back to his quarters was still a blur, but his first actions within its sanctuary still lingered. He'd only just made it, too, before the shock, the horror of what he'd caused, had hit with brutal force. His dinner, and that extra portion of pecan pie, had painfully hurled itself into the base of his shower. By the time he'd finished, his gut felt like it had been ripped to pieces, and torn through his throat.

The rest of him had been totally numb. It had taken him several minutes to identify its cause. The water that had poured over him had run cold for several minutes, before he'd pulled enough of his senses together to turn it off.

Afterwards, he'd sat there, shaking. Huddled against the wall, he'd sat, soaked and frozen, and fell silently apart.

'What have I done? Dear God, what have I done? How the hell can I live with this?'

From the core of his character, he'd tried. He'd tried so hard to forgive himself, and live with his guilt. Thoughts of his family had given him the strength to fight the despair that still crippled his conscience. A soft Southern drawl that he'd so proudly inherited had reminded him of the pride and faith beneath it

'I didn't raise my boys to be quitters, son. I won't accept you'll be the first.'

Now, though, the answer to that last question was starting to breach the last line of his defences. The photos that filled his quarters with precious connections to home no longer offered him comfort. His father's voice had fallen silent. In its place came a call that his exhaustion could no longer resist.

Turning away from the window, Trip glanced along the rows of photographs that ran along the sill below it. Throughout this mission, through everything he'd faced and endured, they'd been his anchor. Now he couldn't bear to look at them. Any of them. Especially those that featured himself and Jon, arms slung around each other's shoulders. Brothers, in all but name.

But not any more. The friendship that had forged this closest of bonds was now broken, beyond all hope of repair. Without its strength and support - no, he just couldn't go on. Couldn't live with what he'd done.

Laying them face down on the sill, he whispered a choked apology, then strode out of his quarters. He knew where he had to go, to find the peace he yearned for. He knew exactly what he had to do.