Disclaimer: I own neither Enterprise nor its characters. This is for entertainment purposes only.
Author's note: Thanks to my betas, whom I horribly forgot to thank in the prologue. That would be gaianarchy, kate98 and silvershadowfire. And if you haven't read the prologue yet... it makes more sense when you do. A horizontal line indicates a break with no change in POV. (dds) indicates a change in POV.
Chapter One: The Confidence Man
Trip braced himself, watching as the lips curved into a familiar smile, and the eyes twinkled with that brilliant blue spark. Here it was, the past come to kill him and ferry him into hell.
"My, my, what a surprise! All the way out here, and I find my big brother."
"Hello, James." His voice sounded dead to his ears, hardly a shock since he felt dead. Was dead. Commander Charles Tucker was no more. He couldn't be. No one would let him live through this.
"This is your brother?" Jon sounded amazed, as though two identical people shouldn't be related. "You didn't mention that you were…"
"We're not." Not according to chronology. James Tucker was born two years after Charles Tucker, thus nullifying any possibility of twinship.
"Well, you might find some scientists who would disagree." James' smile widened and he extended a friendly hand. "James Tucker, but my friends call me Jimmy. Trip and I were both well planned. Very well planned, you could say."
"Can we discuss this later?" Preferably not at all. But he knew Jon was interested now, and T'Pol too. And when Phlox found out…"What the hell were you doing on an Orion slave ship?"
"Rebelling. Like good Southern boys do." A few other people crowded around the door to the shuttlecraft now. They looked scared and uncertain, but that was never James, never unless he found it necessary. "I decided I wasn't going to spend my life on a mining colony. These people agreed."
"Just like you weren't going to spend your life in prison?" The words came out before he could stop them. He hadn't meant to say that. That gave away too much. But Commander Tucker was dead, so what was the point in trying to save him? Better to try and save the innocents.
James' face clouded. "Are you having your troubles again, brother?" He lowered his voice, so that no one outside the small group could hear.
"Troubles?" Jon's eyes narrowed and darted back and forth between the two.
"We don't talk about it much, outside family. Anyway, the doctors said it was just something hormonal, and it settled down right after puberty." James looked concerned, right down to the nervous darting of the eyes and the lick of the lips – like he felt uncomfortable or something.
Yeah, right. Trip shook his head. "James…"
"He'd pass out for no apparent reason. Then he'd come to and start saying crazy things."
Jon's gaze flicked back over to Trip. The world did its crazy shift again. That hadn't been what the doctors said. They said it was panic attacks. Anxiety. But nobody believed him when he said why he was anxious. Nobody listened. And then it was too late. Then it was too late.
(dds)
The big guy grabbed Trip's shoulders before he hit the floor. "Get Phlox again." He looked at Jimmy with a glare that demanded the truth. "You and I are going to have a chat."
"Yes, Sir." Jimmy helped lower his brother to the floor. "Anything I can do to help." Sounds like you haven't told your friends here much of anything. But that was Trip. Always pretending that things didn't happen. The master of denial. Prob'ly weren't too happy to see me showing up. Not if this spell was any indication. But that was Trip too: he'd never quite mastered subtle. And always making up all those stories. Looked like he hadn't changed much.
He heard hurried footsteps and sensed someone behind him. Probably the pilot and that skinny little guy who claimed to be from Security. Not exactly who I would have pictured in the job. But looks could be deceiving, he knew that better than anybody. The expressions on their faces when they got a look at him told him everything. I bet you barely even told them that you have a brother. Then again, Trip never did like the truth of that. And what Trip didn't like, he simply ignored, or ran away from.
Nobody said much until the alien guy showed up. He must have been the doctor, because he started running scans before he even noticed Jimmy. That's a doc for ya, patients first. But when he did…
"Astonishing." He ran the scanner over Jimmy too, then blinked at the results.
"Yup." Jimmy grinned. "Bet he never told you about that."
"Right now I'm a little more concerned about Trip, Doctor." Obviously, the big guy was the one in charge. He had that command aura about him: you instantly started to obey everything he said.
As they hustled Trip out of there on a stretcher, the big guy turned to Jimmy. His face was unreadable, but those eyes seemed to be trying to read Jimmy. "I'm Captain Jonathan Archer. And like I said, you and I are going to have a chat."
More like an interrogation. Then again, some people just couldn't get out of that mode, especially when dealing with strangers. And this Captain Archer seemed to have a lot of built in hostility and frustration. Understandable, really. After all, when it turns out that someone you thought you knew hasn't told you a thing about them… well, that could be pretty shaking.
"Trip says you're not twins, but Phlox says you are. Who should I believe?"
Jimmy laughed, disarmingly. "I guess that depends on what you're using for your definition of 'twin.' Yes, genetically we're identical. But I was born two years later."
Archer wrinkled his brow, trying to work it out the way everybody always had trouble working it out. Conventionally, it was impossible.
"Like I said, we were very well planned. I'm sure you've heard the term 'test-tube baby' before."
"Yes…"
"Well, that's what we were. The embryo split, and Mom and Dad had one of them frozen for a couple of years. That would be me." And there you had it. Identical genes on a two-year delay. Just a case of well thought out family planning, that was all. Nothing serious.
"I see," Archer nodded. "I've got to admit, that defensiveness does kind of go with Trip. Insisting that…"
"…he's the big brother," Jimmy agreed. "Yeah, that's always been Trip. Always trying to keep me out of trouble."
"Sounds like he didn't quite succeed."
Jimmy laughed again. "You mean that prison thing? That's a little more complicated. You should probably ask Trip all about that."
Archer raised his eyebrows.
"I just don't think I should be discussing it, if he hasn't. I mean…" Jimmy cut himself off. It was big-brother's story as much as his, after all.
"I'll definitely be talking to him," Archer confirmed. "In the meantime, maybe you can help us with the medical mystery."
"Like I said, he used to be like that all the time. He'd have these… episodes. He'd just suddenly pass out, then when he woke up he'd say some of the strangest things." Jimmy shook his head, sadly. "Most times it was accusing me of stuff – one time he even said I killed the neighbour's dog."
"Did you?" Archer seemed inclined to cover all bases here.
Jimmy snorted. "Are you kidding? Nah, the dog ran away or something. But man, you should have heard him. He was convinced. Mom and Dad even took him to a doctor." He sighed. "But I thought he was over all that. I mean, when I heard he made it in Starfleet, I thought he was okay."
Archer shook his head, disbelief written on his face in block letters with black crayon. "I've never seen anything like this, before. I've known him longer than almost anybody else here…" He blinked. "But after today, I'm not sure how well."
Jimmy looked contrite. "I'm sorry. I wish this hadn't gotten to be such a problem." He sighed. "Sometimes… sometimes I really feel sorry for him."
(dds)
Please, oh God, no. Trip stared up at the lights, knowing he was back in Sickbay, and that somewhere out there was James. What had he said? How much had he told? I wish you were dead. That was the worst thing: that the Xindi took Elizabeth and left James roaming around. How could you believe in a God, when things like that happened? He felt a sudden urge to call his parents, and to warn them. But it would be useless. They didn't know. They didn't even want to know. Even when the truth had hit them in the face, they'd denied it.
That's why I don't go home. That was why he'd hid out on Enterprise when they last went back, running with T'Pol for the safety of Vulcan. Elizabeth was the only one. Maybe she didn't believe, but she didn't disbelieve either. She remained wary, maybe of both of them, but at least that kept her safe. But how do you tell people what they don't want to hear?
You didn't. You just kept it to yourself and played the game that everything was fine. You covered up, and played nice. It was the only way to survive.
"Doc?" He found his voice. "Can I go?" He didn't want to stay here. Phlox couldn't do anything for him.
"Commander, you have passed out twice within the past hour, and for no apparent reason." Phlox fussed over a couple of read-outs. "I still have more tests to run."
I had a reason. It's called 'my brother is back, and my life is over.' But he couldn't say so, saying so would only give credence to James' claims. 'He'd come to and start saying crazy things.' If he told the truth, Phlox would lock him up, probably in restraints. He had to get out, he had to find out what kind of damage had been done.
"As far as I can tell, the cause seems to be extreme hypertension. Do you have any idea what could be causing it?"
Yeah. His name is James, and he's not my twin. "I've been a little stressed lately, Doc. Lots of things have happened. I'll be fine."
"You are not fine, Commander. According to your brother this is a reoccurring medical condition. I find that rather interesting, since he doesn't appear to suffer from it, and given that he is your twin…"
"He's not my twin!" He felt his hands beginning to shake. There were lots of differences between them. We never shared a womb. Any number… any number of things could have been different. Different chemical influences, Mom probably didn't eat all the same things. Different physical development. Just because the DNA was the same, didn't mean that they were the same. Because we're not. We're not, we're not, we're not. Why couldn't people see that?
He knew the answer, of course. What people saw was the identical exterior, and thought that things ran deeper. Not everybody, of course, but when you threw in the upbringing… which wasn't identical, either. It couldn't be, with one older and one younger. Different experiences, different responsibilities. Different identities, for Chrissakes.
"Genetically, however, he is identical. The differences are no more than they were between you and Sim…"
Oh God, Sim. The third, unwilling member of the trio and, if anything, more proof that identical was not. That funeral… he hadn't seen himself in the coffin, he'd seen James. He hadn't cried, because he'd never cry for James. But he'd finally felt like it was over. He'd prayed his brother was dead, and seeing Sim in the coffin somehow made it real. My mistake.
Then he remembered something. Thank God for Denobulan medical ethics. "No, Doc. No more tests."
"Commander, I have to run these tests or…"
"I don't want you treating me. I am refusing medical care." Phlox couldn't treat a patient without their consent, though God knew Jon had forced him into it enough times. But Jon wasn't here right now, and didn't have a say.
"Commander, that's highly…"
"I don't care how much you don't recommend it. Now leave me alone." Trip pushed himself off the biobed. "If anyone wants me, I'm going to my quarters." At least if they locked him in there, he could escape. But his quarters were home, his space. A comfort zone where he might stand a chance of being able to think, and come up with a plan.
But as soon as he stepped through the doors, he knew he was wrong. His quarters were no longer safe, no longer comfortable.
"Hello, brother."
James' voice oozed out of the darkness. He should run, he knew it, but he froze instead like the scared rabbit he was. The snake had him hypnotised.
"That wasn't very nice of you, earlier. Leaving me alone like that without even a formal introduction to your friends.
"I…" he cut himself off, mid-apology. He didn't need to apologise. He'd done nothing wrong. "No."
James stepped out of the shadows. "And what you did say wasn't nice at all."
Trip shook his head. "What did you tell him? When he asked?"
"I told him it was your tale. You know, he strikes me as a man of integrity."
Trip nodded.
"I don't think he's gonna be too pleased. That you lied and all."
"I didn't lie," Trip said, softly.
James' eyes grew wide. He could fake anything. "You mean you told him all about it?"
Trip said nothing.
James chuckled. "I didn't think so. A lie by omission. Your favourite kind, if I remember."
Trip stayed silent. There was nothing he could say that James couldn't twist.
"No, I don't think he's going to be too pleased at all." James smiled. "Pity, he seems like a nice man. Shame to disappoint him like that. But you never could keep your big mouth shut, could you brother?"
Damnit, why? Why James? Why now? He'd tried so hard. And now…
James stepped even closer. Trip felt his heart speed up, heard himself starting to hyperventilate. He tried to focus, use the breathing tricks that T'Pol taught him, but it was no good. Panic had him now, a near Pavlovian response. James had him too well trained.
"Say it." James backed Trip up against the wall and planted a hand to either side of his brother's head. Personal space was gone.
"No," Trip heard his own whisper of defiance. He wouldn't say it, he wouldn't. This was a kid's game, and they weren't kids.
"Say it." James leaned in until their faces almost touched, his breath hot and sour in Trip's face.
Trip closed his eyes, feeling himself begin to shake. He turned his head away, knowing it was useless, knowing that there was no escape.
"Say it." James' voice grew harder now, and Trip heard himself whimper. He shouldn't do this. He was older now, stronger now. Independent. He didn't need to do this, didn't need to play this game. But as Sim had proven, the genes remembered, and that memory was stronger than any will he possessed. His jaw moved of its own accord, his lips and tongue forming the words that James wanted to hear, the words that would make him go away.
"You're better." They weren't even a whisper, barely a breath, but it was surrender nonetheless.
"Say it."
"You're better." Louder this time. Let him win. With James there were always two ways things could go. You never wanted to know about the hard way. Trip knew the hard way, better than anyone. It was Trip whom James perfected things on. His favourite toy.
James smiled, a bright friendly smile, and patted Trip on the cheek. "Don't forget it. I'll check in on you later." He walked out the door, and Trip heard him greet someone in the hallway with a laugh. Trip sank down to the floor, his body giving out entirely. He wondered how long he had.
Twenty minutes later, the comm chimed. "I'd like to see you in my ready-room."
"Yes, sir." Trip scrambled to his feet, and by a miracle, they supported him. Dead man walking. James was right, Jon wasn't going to be pleased at all. I may never be allowed to call you 'Jon' again. He looked around his quarters and swallowed hard. He might not be coming back here again. He might end up going straight to the brig, which might be what he deserved. It all depended on how mad Jon was.
He closed his eyes as he rang the doorbell. This physically hurt. He'd finally thought he was starting to make it. He had friends, good friends, and a good job and even – hardest to believe of all – a good name. But it was all illusion, a carefully constructed con in which he was the mark. He'd played himself, made himself believe in something he knew was too good to be true.
"Come in." He could tell from the steel in Jon's voice that this wasn't going to be a friendly chat. This wasn't Jon and Trip, good buddies from way back, this was Captain Archer and Mister Tucker. He wasn't even sure he'd get to call himself 'Commander' anymore.
He stepped quickly through the door and stood stiffly at attention. Play by the rules. Assume nothing.
"Phlox told me that you refused treatment. Why?" Jon didn't even look at him. Instead, the captain stared out the window, a sure sign that he was emotionally close to snapping.
"There's nothing he can do for me. It's stress."
"You've been stressed before. You haven't passed out."
"No, Sir." No sense elaborating, he was in enough trouble already.
"And despite the fact that you are very highly educated, I don't recall hearing about any degrees in medicine." Now Jon did turn around, wearing that mask of barely controlled emotion that Trip had only seen once or twice. No, he was certainly not pleased. "Of course, it shouldn't surprise me, seeing how little I know about you at all." Of course, Jon would be hurt. It was never good to find out that your best friend kept secrets.
"No, Sir." He fancied he could hear James laughing. How could he have given him that opening? He should have known that James would pick up on the fact that Trip and Jon were more than just Captain and Commander, and that this friendship would be the first that James would try to destroy. I'm not allowed to have friends. Friends were a support network. Friends would threaten James' control. Which made it wrong on another level too: anyone who Trip let be his friend would get hurt, and that would just be irresponsible.
"Would you care to elaborate on that?" You couldn't put more sarcasm into Jon's voice. It simply wouldn't fit.
Trip said nothing. What could he say? There was nothing to say.
"According to James, I should ask you about what you meant by him and prison."
You don't want to know Jon… you just don't…
"Commander…"
He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Why? Why, why, why, why, why?
"I'll make it an order if I have to."
"Jon, please." His throat tightened, making it hard to breathe.
"Fine. It's an order. What's the story?"
Just tell him. Tell him and get it over with. Otherwise James would relate his version, and things would only be worse. "We robbed a liquor store. Somebody died." It shouldn't have been like that. Nobody should have gotten hurt. Hell, they shouldn't have done it at all. But for James, 'shouldn't' meant nothing. James wanted to do, so James did.
"You did what?" He could sense Jon looming. This wasn't something Jon could ever understand or forgive. "What do you mean 'we?'"
"I mean… I mean James and I, and some other guys. The guy who died… it was the clerk." He felt himself shaking again.
"How?" Rocks would break against that tone. You could drill diamond with it.
"I… I shot him." It was so confusing, too bright and too noisy. Then there'd been a movement and another yell, and he panicked. And then…
"You…" Hatred dripped from the word.
Trip nodded. He hadn't let James carry the gun. He'd hoped to be able to mitigate the damage. He should have known. He should have known.
He could hear Jon breathing hard, trying to control himself. "You murdered somebody, and you thought that it was just something to leave off your resume? Because I don't know how else to see this. How the hell did you get into Starfleet?"
"It was a juvenile record. That was part of the deal. It got wiped at eighteen, and I wanted to start over." A new life on a new coast. A chance to become a decent person.
"You were a juvenile. And that makes it all better."
No, no it didn't. Nothing could make it all better. But I'm not the same person anymore. At least he hadn't thought he was. But now…
'Say it.' James' voice echoed again. And he had. What James wanted, James got. I haven't changed. No, he was still the same scared little mouse in the corner. Watching the drooling cat and waiting for the claws. And just like a cat toyed with its prey before lunch, James played with his victims, drawing it out. And I'm his favourite. How had James felt when he saw who he'd run into? Overjoyed, probably. He probably hadn't had this much fun in a long time.
"So, essentially you haven't told the truth about anything, have you? Any other lies you care to confess to?"
Trip felt a couple of tears streak down his cheeks, but shook his head. How much else was needed? I can't make things any worse.
"Get out of here." Trip knew the words left unsaid. 'You make me sick.' But that was understandable, because he was sickening even to himself.
He staggered from the room and made a break for the turbolift, forcing himself to get inside before collapsing onto his hands and knees. His stomach twisted and lurched and he threw up. It seemed to go on forever until there was nothing left. His ribs and throat hurt from the strain, but he didn't notice it under the rest of the pain.
I hate you, James. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. Except this wasn't all James' fault. He wouldn't have been able to do anything if Trip hadn't given him a foundation to work with. It would have been story-no story as Lizzie used to say, rather than a front cover exposé.
He took off his jacket and shirt and used them to clean up the mess as best he could. He couldn't do much about the smell. Maintenance would have to take care of that, the poor bastards.
He tried to ignore the stares as he got off, he might have only been half-dressed, but the stench would tell them anything they needed to know. Most of the ship had to know that he was passing out, so they had to know that he was sick. You just don't know how much. He wondered what they'd decide when they found out that Jon was no longer his friend. When James started up with his games on a larger scale, and they learned so much more about the man they thought they knew.
Once inside his quarters he threw out his clothes. There was no sense keeping them, and it wasn't like he'd be welcome to wear the uniform again. Then he staggered into bed as the headache behind his eyes threatened his vision. Maybe there were brain problems. Maybe he'd get lucky and just stroke out right here. He turned out the lights and tried to convince himself that nothing was real.
He woke, unable to breathe. There was a weight on his chest, and something over his face. He tried to fight back but his attacker was stronger, and he'd been starved too long of oxygen. He was going to die.
Then the pillow came off and he gasped down a great gulp of air. "I'm… I'm telling."
"No, you're not. Nobody will believe you." James smiled. "What does it feel like? Dying?"
Trip shuddered and shook his head.
James put the pillow back and pressed down hard. Spots started to appear in front of Trip's eyes. Then the pillow was off again. "What's it feel like?"
"You're gonna kill me." He could barely talk.
"Maybe," James smiled. "I could. Do you want me to?"
Trip shook his head rapidly.
"No? Are you sure?"
Trip nodded.
James looked disappointed. "Okay. But remember that, brother."
He tried to scream, but he couldn't breathe. There was a weight on his chest, and something over his face. He tried to fight back but his attacker was stronger, and he'd been starved too long of oxygen.
Then the pillow came off, and James smiled. "Just a reminder, brother. In case you were inclined to try something."
I wasn't.
"Nice piece of ass on that Vulcan girl." James spoke almost casually, but it would never be casual, never with James. "Lotta nice pieces of ass around here. You've got yourself pretty well set up, don't you?"
"Leave her alone," he knew he shouldn't say it. Now James had something else to leverage him with.
"I bet your captain's calling home to find out all about me." James cocked his head. "I think he needs some information, don't you?"
"No." No, he wasn't going to do this. He'd hurt Jon enough. He wasn't going to…
"I wonder if she could tell us apart?" James seemed to be contemplating. "They say Vulcans have interesting… talents. And there, uh, weren't a lot who could tell us apart…"
"If you…"
James' eyes glittered. "What? What are you going to do to me, brother?"
Nothing. There was nothing he was capable of doing, and James knew it. Nothing except…
"Don't worry, all I need is some access codes. I won't ask you to lie to your friend again."
"I can't give you those," Trip whispered. "I…"
James increased the pressure of his knee on Trip's chest. "I want them. I need them."
"No."
James brushed a gentle hand across Trip's forehead. "Don't make me keep asking for them. Just give me them, and everything's going to be okay. I want to have them. I want them." His voice became low, almost hypnotic. "Just tell the truth, you know how much you want to do that. I'm not going to hurt anybody. I don't want to have to hurt anybody." The hand cupped itself around Trip's throat. "It's all up to you, brother. Just a few simple codes and I go away."
No. They trained him not to give those up, even under threat of death. But deeper, older instincts surfaced. This wasn't some alien enemy, this was James. There was no threat to his life… James would kill him, it was no mere bluff. I don't want to die. Not at the hands of his brother. And he knew that James would never give up. Just tell him and he'll go away. Everything was fine if James wasn't there. He could breathe. He could think. And it was one thing to tell you not to give away information, but procedures like that were never created by people who'd stared into the eyes of someone who'd kill you slowly and enjoy every minute of it. Somebody for whom the main objective wasn't the information itself, it was the production of terror. James could adapt, he could work without the information, but this was more entertaining.
I can't. He tried to remember the Starfleet training, but it was no good. Childhood training was stronger. He whispered the codes, knowing he should lie, but knowing that a lie would only make things worse. "There are spiders down there, brother. Big black spiders that'll crawl all over you. They'll get inside your ears, and under your clothes, and maybe in your mouth." Years disappeared: he was just a boy, terrified of the dark and what might be in it. Believing in the spiders, because he didn't dare look, for fear they might be real. Imagining them, like big, fat drops of blood.
No wonder the tests at Starfleet had been so easy. They'd been designed by decent people who could never fully imagine what an indecent person could devise. And the testers had been limited in their approach. They hadn't actually been allowed to inflict torture and make the test-takers truly convinced that they were going to die. Nothing they could arrange could match the sheer emotional terror of staring into a set of calm, but fully familiar eyes as you struggled to breathe, knowing that it was futile, and that your seconds were limited. Knowing that there could be no perverse victory in dying, because your enemy would be happy either way, and that no justice would be done. No, the psychologists and strategists and other assorted rule-makers didn't have a clue.
James smiled approvingly. His gentle fingers brushed the sweaty hair away from Trip's brow, then he tenderly tucked the pillow back under his brother's head. "See? That wasn't so hard at all. I knew I could still rely on you, brother. We're family."
Trip nodded. Yes, they were. That was what was so scary.
"And we'll always stick together. Because family is important, isn't it?"
He nodded again, too terrified to do anything else.
James sat back. "You know, I've really missed you, brother. All those years of being alone… and knowing that you abandoned me. How could you do that?"
How could… It was the only solution, the only way to survive.
"You were my big brother. You were supposed to look after me. I was just a kid."
No. In years only. Even when shorter, James had never been a kid. He'd never had a kid's interests. 'Bright,' people called him. 'Precocious.' But neither one was right. Oh, he was smart, there was no denying that. He knew all the ways to lie almost before he'd learned how to talk. He'd figured out quickly that he had an automatic scapegoat in most affairs and sacrificed it mercilessly.
"But I forgive you. You're my brother. You're my family, so I can forgive things like that." James sighed. "I just wish you could see that."
Trip lay still, as James got up and wandered over to the closet. He selected a uniform and put it on.
"Don't worry, I'll return it, nice and safe. No one will ever know."
That was the problem. No one ever did. If James were caught, it would be Trip whom Jon would blame. And wouldn't that be perfect? Another transgression on the record, another wedge driven between them, forcing them apart.
But even after James left, he didn't move, didn't call, didn't give warning. He didn't dare.
