Disclaimer: If I owned Enterprise, do you honestly think it would be cancelled?

Revised February 3, 2005. I wrote this in such a daze last night that when I re-read it, I realized it could be better, and Enterprise deserved it to be better. So I revised it.

To Scott, Connor, Jolene, Dominic, John, Anthony, and Linda, if you're reading this, please remember that you have true fans who will feel your absence painfully. This will be the first time in my life that there will be no new Trek on TV, and it's killing me. I love you guys; stay strong, Trek on. Push for a movie! Your characters are great and we all want to see more of them.

Decommissioned

"You're being decommissioned," Admiral Robert Stanson said quietly. There was more than a hint of sadness in his Mississippi-accented voice. Jonathan Archer just stared at him, uncomprehendingly, and let him continue. "The NX-02 is still gonna launch… few months from now. But while we were building her… we uncovered some basic system faults. They're in the '01 as well. I'm sorry, Archer. Until we know she's up to standards, we can't take her across the galaxy. Hell, we can't take her to Pluto. Was talkin' to some of the engineers the other day. There've been some new developments in warp since you've been gone. Turns out you were sittin' on a time bomb the entire time."

Admiral Forrest's replacement looked sincerely sorry, but that didn't matter. Archer couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Had no idea what to say, so he forced himself to blurt something random.

"When?"

"You and the crew will receive your new assignments within the week." Stanson stood and extended his hand to the captain for a sympathy shake. "Archer, I'm sorry. You know I'm sorry. Hang on. The NX-03 is already in the works, and she's gonna need a captain."

"In six or seven years," Archer growled.

"In six or seven years," Stanson echoed "We're onto a major warp breakthrough. It'd practically be a sin not to wait and incorporate it into the next model. But upgrading the '01 is out of the question, I'm afraid. Go home, Archer. Get to bed. Get some sleep. There's nothin' you could do." He eyes bore somberly into the captain. "It's not your fault. Don't you blame yourself."

Archer walked out of the office shaking from head to toe. Not blame himself? How could he not blame himself? All his father wanted was the dream fulfilled.

All he wanted.

Archer felt his thoughts start to wonder, felt the first tendrils of self-pity tugging at his heart. He let it come; it didn't much matter now.

He'd let him down. He, Jon Archer, had let his father down. Let everyone down. How to tell his crew? What would they say? What could they possibly say? They and that ship had gone to the ends of the universe together, it seemed. And it was over.

Heroes, sure. They'd saved the world. They weren't let out of Starfleet. But a desk job was almost as bad. A captaincy of the NX-03? In seven years? How was that for a future? He'd be fifty-six by then. Some way to be spending these years, sitting at a desk somewhere, pushing papers.

Hoshi was going to cry, he knew. Tell her soon, get it over with. Tell Trip and T'pol and Malcolm first, though. He hoped they'd understand. Phlox would be offered a position at Starfleet Medical Headquarters, he assumed. Archer just hoped he wouldn't refuse and head back home. But after all, Earth was really no place for him. He wondered if Travis would stay either. There was no way he would stay earthbound for the next seven years of his life.

Archer's thoughts were a blur, even to him. His legs carried him back to his apartment without his command. He didn't realize he was moving until his hand reached out to open his front door.

His first move was to sink against a chair with his head in his hands. Porthos jumped up and curled on his lap, only to be rudely jolted awake again a few minutes later when Archer leapt up and dashed to the bathroom. He was sick for minutes; he knelt on the hard tile floor shaking and dizzy. There was nothing else to do; he had never felt such a profound sense of absence before. He wasn't one to cry. He wasn't one to cope. So instead he threw up. Nice way of dealing, Jonny, he thought bitterly.

Then he called Trip. Trip would know what to do. Trip who he hadn't been there for much lately. Trip who needed him, who he had let down. His best friend, who really wasn't anymore. Archer had to talk to him first.

"We've been decommissioned," he said blankly. On the screen, Trip's face was a mix of agony, anger, and sheer refusal to believe.

"I'll be right over."

Archer curled up in the chair, shuddering, Porthos in his lap once more. It was freezing in that apartment. His teeth chattered. If there was anything left in him at all, he might have been sick again.

Trip arrived twenty minutes later. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he were already drunk, or holding back tears. From a shoulder bag he produced two glasses and a tall bottle of bourbon. Trip always knew what to do, Archer mused sadly: bring alcohol.

It's over.

Trip sat down at Archer's kitchen table and poured the liquor, passing a glass to Archer. "I won't say 'to the Enterprise'," the engineer said quietly, his voice uneven, "because I'd probably cry. So… to the NX-03." Trip raised his glass, then drained it fully.

There had been tears burning in Archer's eyes for over an hour now. But it finally became too much. Trip's foolish optimism, alive and kicking after everything he had seen and been through… Archer felt Trip's hand on his shoulder and wondered why. It was then that he realized the tears had spilled over and were rushing down his cheeks.

What to do from here? How to tell the others? "Shhh. Shhh. 'Sokay. 'Sokay now." Trip's eyes were glistening, too.

It's over. What now?

"Decommissioned," Archer whispered, disbelievingly. He felt empty.