Many thanks to my kind reviewers, particularly Sita Z. I think I've tormented Trip enough. I hope you find this a satisfying (though short) ending.
Epilogue - Rest in Peace
Trip awoke in one of the recliners in the media room in the basement. He found he still clutched the case containing the flag that had draped Malcolm's coffin just as he had done every morning for the past month. Every night he would come down here and try to find a movie that would allow him to put his grief aside for just awhile, but he hadn't found one yet. Last night, he thought Jaws might do it. A good old creature feature; but no, the great white shark was just another reason Mal would have had to fear the water. Once again, he'd hugged the flag case to his chest and cried himself to sleep.
He knew that today he would have to start sorting out Malcolm's things in the den they shared as an office upstairs. There was a whole list of museums and organizations that wanted, for their collections, something - anything - that had belonged to the hero of Green 135, the vanquisher of the Romulans and the savior of Earth. He'd been inundated by requests, and despite the fact that he understood their need and that it was, in its way, a tribute to Mal, he'd gotten to the point where he saw them all as vultures. None of them seemed to remember that the hero of Green 135, the vanquisher of the Romulans and the savior of Earth was also a man who had been, still was, and always would be, the love of his life. He was terrified that when they were done there would be nothing left of Mal for him, that they would turn the warm, gentle, funny, caring, loving Mal he knew into a cold man of marble as generations of historians had done to the great Confederate commander Robert E. Lee.
He took a deep breath, pushed the door to the den open and made his way to Malcolm's desk. He thought he'd start with the books. Although just about anything ever published was available in PADD form, Malcolm had collected books on military history as a hobby. Trip took down the two closest to hand: Garrett Mattingly's book The Armada and Ludovic Kennedy's book Pursuit on the chase and sinking of the German battleship Bismarck in World War II. They had been birthday gifts from Shran the year he had replaced T'Pol as first officer on the old Enterprise. Although they had shared a love of weapons, Malcolm had been the hardest of the senior officers for Shran to come to know. The books had opened a dialog between them. Shran didn't know the battles, and Malcolm had been willing to teach. Trip opened one and saw Shran's birthday inscription in his bold, flowing hand that reminded him of the script on the cola can. Then he saw the slip of paper on which, in Malcolm's small, neat, precise handwriting, was written the instruction that the book was to be given to Starfleet Lieutenant Tren Thy'lek Shran. As Trip worked, he found that Malcolm had already left instructions for the parceling out of all of his possessions that had had the most personal significance to him. Malcolm had undoubtedly done this to spare Trip pain, but it hadn't worked out that way. Trip's sadness only grew. Despite his assertion to the contrary in his farewell message, had Mal had some kind of death wish?
He was startled to see the phase pistol sitting on the desk. He had no idea how it had gotten there or how long it had been there. He didn't remember seeing it when he came in. Even worse, the safety was off, and the weapon was set on kill. Malcolm would never have left a weapon unattended like that! Trip gingerly picked it up, dialed the setting down, engaged the safety, locked the weapon in its case and then locked the case in Malcolm's desk. He took the keys, trudged into the kitchen and rummaged around in the cabinets until he found an old ice cube tray. He dropped the keys in the tray, filled the tray with water and placed it in the freezer. The weapon had been the production prototype for the first of the phase pistols Malcolm had independently designed. It was destined for the weapons collection at Starfleet's Staff College at Carlisle Barracks in Pennsylvania. Trip had to admit to a certain fascination with it and thought it best to keep it securely locked up until he could dispose of it properly.
When he looked outside, it was dark already. He really wasn't hungry, so he decided to go sit on the front porch for awhile. It was a clear, cool night. He looked up at the stars and remembered Jhamel telling him that the Aenar believed that a part of the soul returned to the heavens and became a star when a person died. "Which one are you, Mal?" he whispered.
From the porch of the house it was possible to watch the laser light show at Stone Mountain, the great granite outcropping that had a carved bas-relief of the figures of Stonewall Jackson, Robert E. Lee and Jefferson Davis and was colloquially called "The Confederate Mount Rushmore." As Trip gazed at the monument, red, white and blue lights formed the outline of a starship of the latest Enterprise class, the class to which Victory belonged, at one side of the monument. As the starship moved across the monument's face, it morphed into a giant eagle that flew off into the night sky when it reached the other side. Trip didn't know what music accompanied that part of the light show. He hadn't tuned the audio receiver to that channel; in fact, he hadn't turned it on at all. Rule, Britannia! would have been nice he thought, but this was America, so that was highly unlikely, even on United Earth. Perhaps it was My Country 'Tis of Thee. Mal would have known it as God Save the Queen.
He must have fallen asleep, he must have been dreaming, because suddenly he head a familiar voice: "Bloody hell, Trip, what were you about? Don't you ever go mucking about with that phase pistol again! It's not a toy! You're an adult and an engineer. I shouldn't have to tell you this! I didn't end up in sickbay time after bloody time after saving your bloomin' arse so you could commit suicide."
The voice softened. "I would have thought we'd settled that in the shuttlepod all those years ago. Trip, this really has to stop. Our love was the greatest joy of my life. Reeds don't beg, Trip, your know that, but I will beg of you not to remember it, and me, as the greatest pain in yours. I am fine, Trip, I truly am, and you will come to see that for yourself in time. Promise me freely that you will not expedite the occasion. Please don't make me frame this as an order. Live your life as you were meant to; that is the greatest honor you could show me. I will wait for you. I will not forget you. You have my word."
Trip awoke with a start. The starlight reflecting off the broad gold band he wore on the ring finger of his left hand caught his eye. "Bein' an old fashioned kind of guy, I promised years ago to love, honor and obey. That ain't changin' now, Mal," he murmured to himself. He moved to go into the house, but turned again at the door. They had it all wrong about that "'til death do you part" stuff. He looked up at the sky, picked out a particularly bright star and said with a smile, "Good night, darlin'. I love you, too."
He knew that tomorrow morning, he'd grab a mug of coffee and a slice of pecan pie and finally listen to the rest of Mal's farewell message. He was ready now. That night, for the first time since the events of Green 135, Trip Tucker was finally able to rest in peace.
