The Price of Brotherhood

By: Lieuten Keen

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I just needed to fix the finale.

Chapter 1

This was the moment he'd been working for his entire life. Nothing could go wrong now.

Stepping out into the bright lights, the crowd caught sight of him immediately and rose to their feet in thunderous applause. Anybody who was anybody was in that room right now. The Andorian Guard, the Vulcan Council, the Tellarite Ambassadors and half of Starfleet stood and clapped their hands together at the sight of him. There were Coridans sitting in the back, still unsure if they would be part of the treaty, and a small delegation of Xindi sitting in the corner. They were all here to honor an historical treaty promoting peace in this section of space.

Captain Archer stood for a moment at the top of the ramp, having just left the greenroom. The lights were too bright and the noise was deafening. He could feel his chest pounding in time to the rhythm of the room. His head swam around with the commotion. There was the distinct possibility that he was merely a passenger inside his own body and someone else was in command of his actions, as his body moved forward of its own volition, forcing one foot in front of the other, ignorant and uncaring of the voice that screamed inside his head. The screaming was the sound of a pain so deep that it would never be heard by the human ear, only felt by the broken human heart.

This was all wrong.

He shouldn't have hugged her.

Not too long after Henry Archer died, Trip had dragged Jon home to meet his family at Christmastime. He dragged his friend all the way to Florida to meet the Tucker clan. They were loud and gregarious. Archer sat numbly in their midst. Trip's younger sister, barely out of the schoolroom, presented her brother with the same bottle of cologne she'd been giving him since she was in the third grade. The scent was so atrocious that its odor could be smelled through the sealed stopper.

Trip wore it proudly, swearing that women loved the stuff. He grinned and insisted that it made him impossible to forget.

Commander T'Pol was wearing his cologne and the scent transferred to Archer's clothes when they hugged and now he carried the scent of his friend with him, around him like a tent, keeping him separated from the spectacle that he was currently taking part in.

The scent hovered around him, infecting his nostrils and making his head spin. Blackness crept into the edges of his vision. He'd not felt the loss of his friend quite so keenly as he did in this one moment, and no matter how he told himself to get a grip and keep it together, Jon was afraid that he was losing the battle.

He looked down at his hands, which shook uncontrollably. He looked up and realized that he was standing at the podium. Around him the noise subsided. This world and all worlds were waiting for his speech.

Clearing his throat, he made to speak but no sound came out. His chest heaved up and down, desperately trying to fill his lungs with air, but every breath was a struggle. Every compression of his chest hurt as though he'd been underwater too long.

A clear panel in front of him displayed the words he'd written, acknowledging the efforts and sacrifices made by everyone present in the endeavor to bring peace and brotherhood to the entire galaxy. His voice choked on the words, so ridiculous and meaningless now that Jon had lost his own brother. He tried to force the words out.

Uttering the appropriate salutations and greetings in a halting strangled voice to the long list of diplomats on hand, Jon felt a wave of nausea sweep over him and he swallowed hard to force the bile back. Sweat ran down his back but he couldn't stop the shaking. His voice faltered when he spoke of his father's dream to travel at warp speeds.

His father should be here.

Trip should be here.

So should Admiral Maxwell Forrest, the man who had taken Henry's place in a young man's life as best he could, to honor his late and lamented friend. Admiral Forrest died in an explosion on a foreign world, executed by those in power who refused to give it up and thought to demand peace by force.

Jon's hands clutched the podium harder even though he couldn't feel his fingers; they were so numb. He tried to get a grip on his ragged thoughts but his brain just wouldn't respond. He just kept tallying up a list of those lost to this peaceful effort as a tear finally slipped down his cheek.

Hoshi was kidnapped, tortured and suffered at the hands of a group that may yet become part of this treaty. Major Hayes died in the effort to rescue her. Ensign Cutler, who had a degree in exobiology and whose face crumpled up cutely when she smiled, would never smile again. She died in an explosion too, so far away from home, wishing most desperately for only the chance to see her loved ones again.

There was that crewmate from Engineering, who was just one more condolence letter that Archer couldn't bring himself to write. He'd passed that duty onto Trip, uncaring that he might still be suffering the loss of his sister. Trip's sister Elizabeth, whom Archer had briefly forgotten about at the time of the atrocity rendered on Earth, was the one who offered such horrendous cologne every Christmas. The Tuckers had suffered greatly for peace. They lost a daughter, a son, a granddaughter, and a Vulcan-in-law because humanity had insisted on a place in the intergalactic community that had not welcomed them, and had warned them away from their part in history. Archer himself was responsible for their presence here today, hoping when he made the offer that by their appearance he could replicate Trip's smile by the ties that bind. He wondered suddenly how he could have the audacity to interrupt their grief to make them hear a speech.

Xenophobes had tormented aliens on Earth. They created and killed Trip's daughter for their own meaningless reasons. Twelve million lives were lost to the Xindi weapon, a sanctuary was defiled, a colony called Paaragon was destroyed, and Trip was dead. Trip was still dead, in a careless moment that could have been avoided if Archer had reacted faster, if Shran had taken care of his own problems, if Security had been on the ball.

Trip had died for nothing. Everything was meaningless.

Jerked rudely out of his reverie, Archer looked up through the confusion of noise and lights around him to witness two familiar shadows on the balcony above. Staggering back from the pedestal, he tried to right his balance. His stomach rolled over and finally he dropped to his knees as his stomach emptied its contents onto the new red rug at Starfleet Headquarters.

The world spun around him in a kaleidoscope of color and light while the sound came dully through a long tunnel. Sounds were muffled but growing in volume to deafen his ears. Lights flashed overhead. He could see the colors trace through the air overhead. It was like looking at a carnival from under water or watching a firework without any sound, until finally the pain of existence was mercifully closed off by darkness.

He woke slowly, lying on a couch, covered with a dark blue blanket. His head felt like it was splitting apart and his mouth and throat were so dry they burned. Forcing his swollen eyes open, he found he was still alive, and the thought disappointed him somehow.

Somebody in the room became aware of his movements and came to his side. She was a pretty woman, dark blond hair swirled around her shoulders and green eyes looked at him solemnly. Dressed simply in well-worn jeans and a green tee shirt, she padded on bare feet to his side and sat comfortably next to him on the sofa.

"Drink this," she commanded gently, offering a small cup that emitted a tantalizing steam. Obediently he opened his mouth to accept the dark, bittersweet tea that caused the pain in his head to abate within moments.

"My name is Reese," she told him with a gentle smile. He noted an old scar that ran from her temple to her cheekbone, right next to her eye. "Do you know who you are?"

"I'm Jon," he answered simply, finding his throat closed off and tears threatening to fall again.

"Jon, what's the last thing you remember?" she asked, not surprised at his name. She put down the empty tea cup and offered him a glass of water, which he accepted listlessly.

"Conference," he answered shortly. "I was at a conference and Trip was dead." He wondered if it had all been a bad dream. Perhaps he'd just consumed a bad bit of beef, and his friend was waiting for him in the Ready Room with a couple of cold beers and a copy of the latest water polo match.

One eyebrow rose at his answer. He thought he might have amused her somehow, but he didn't know what was so funny. "For future reference," her eyes twinkled again, "You're aboard a scientific research vessel, called Picard." She said the name as though it was revered, but Jon didn't recognize the title at all. "It's named for a great starship captain," she explained, still seeming amused, although Archer didn't know what the joke was all about.

"Was he a good captain?" Archer questioned.

"Oh, yes!" she assured him softly. "The Picard made me into a powerful woman!" Her grin was infectious.

"Stop giving yourself airs!" A voice that was oddly familiar floated over his head from behind; he couldn't see the speaker. "She's just a means to an end!"

"She's my whole world, and I'm in command of all that I see," Reese sniffed with a glare at the figure that Archer couldn't see. "Therefore, I'm a queen, and you owe me fealty."

"First, that's not going to happen, and second, we have company! Go put on some shoes!" That somewhat petulant voice tried to sound calm and reasonable. Reese glowered at the speaker, but left the sofa where she sat.

Archer had finally placed that voice. The headache returned as he closed his eyes.

"Daniels."