Smiling was too much effort.

Arms clasped at the small of his back, Trip Tucker stood before the viewport, jaw aching from the fierce grimace that he wore on his face. He stared at the image before him, unblinking and unmoving. A part of him was screaming to turn away, to close his eyes to the nightmarish scenario being played out in the hard vacuum of space, but doing so would have felt like betrayal.

Nacelles dark, Enterprise drifted. She was a shattered wreck now, incapable of supporting life for even a minute and hazardous even to the repair crews. In the three days since Columbia's arrival, four members of the salvage crew had been injured during rescue operations, forcing Captain Hernandez, as the ranking officer in-system, to order everyone from the NX-01.

Trip had been the last one to leave.

Even now, he felt anger warring with despair as he studied what remained of Enterprise. For nearly ten years, she had been his one true love, and the starship had been a jealous mistress. His relationship with Natalie had fallen apart because of his obsession, and, in his less rational moments, he had wondered if his relationship with T'Pol would suffer the same fate. Even before the first duranium bulkhead had been crafted, or the first seam welded, Tucker had eaten, breathed and dreamed of Enterprise.

And now, she was gone.

The door annunciator chirped, and Trip scowled darkly before glancing toward the entrance.

"Enter," he snapped, even as his eyes returned to the unmoving husk of a ship.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" Captain Hernandez asked the moment she entered the cabin, and Trip grunted in response. Phlox had ordered him to quarters, going so far as to prescribe a sedative, but Tucker had insisted it wasn't necessary. That wasn't entirely a lie: Trip was so tired that he knew he'd fall asleep the minute his head hit the pillow, but he couldn't tear his attention from the ship he'd abandoned.

His ship.

"We've received word from Starfleet Command," Hernandez continued after a moment, evidently realizing that Trip wasn't going to reply. It was enough to draw his notice, and he shifted his attention to her reflection. "These ... Romulans nuked three other colonies," she revealed grimly. "As well as the Salem One station, Deep Space Two and Cold Station Five." She paused for a moment, visibly reigning in her anger. "The Vulcans have dispatched a ship to help tow Enterprise back to Earth. It should be here in seventy hours."

"Good." Trip couldn't manage more than that and his eyes drifted back to the dead ship beyond the viewport. He could sense Hernandez's study of him, but made no comment. Finally, she spoke.

"Jon is awake," she stated, and once more, he shifted his attention back to her reflection. "And I think he wants to talk to you." Grimacing slightly, Tucker turned slowly from the viewport, straightening his uniform as he did so. More than anywhere else, he didn't want to go to Sickbay right now.

It was ironic, he mused, that one of his best friends was a physician, yet Tucker couldn't stand the too familiar smell that seemed almost universal at every medical facility around the galaxy. Admittedly, he had far too many negative memories associated with sickbay to be entirely unbiased, whether it was the shock of learning that he was pregnant because of putting his fingers in a bowl of rocks, or discovering the hows and whys of Sim's short life, or watching an unexpected but not unwanted daughter slowly slip away and not being able to do anything about it. More recently, Phlox's pronouncement that T'Pol might not be able to have children only added to Trip's growing hatred of medical facilities.

Exhaling softly, Tucker forced a smile on his face as he tried to suppress the emotions that suddenly threatened to overwhelm him. T'Pol needed him to be positive right now, and Doctor Phlox had pointed out that he wouldn't know for certain until the Vulcan healed. Besides, as T'Pol had argued, they could always adopt when the time came, or use the same process that had birthed Elizabeth. Focus on the positive, Trip ordered himself as Captain Hernandez preceded him out of the cabin.

His smile faltered slightly at the number of Enterprise personnel assembled in the medical bay, and Trip felt his mouth go dry. Every one of them was eyeing him, and more often than not weren't even trying to hide their smile. Phlox was standing before Hoshi Sato, currently seated in an uncomfortable-looking wheelchair. Jonathan Archer was lying still upon his biobed, dressed in an ugly one-piece hospital gown. Despite his apparent weakness – he had just undergone surgery, after all – Jon was grinning, and the smile was so bright it robbed him of several decades. For a few moments, the war weary veteran that Trip had served under for years now was gone, replaced by the eager commander who had wanted to prove to the galaxy that humanity was ready for the stars.

Trip gave his old friend a quick nod before turning his eyes to T'Pol. Stretched out atop her bed, she looked tired, but in otherwise good shape. Like Archer, she was wearing the hospital gown, but, in Trip's opinion, it looked much better on her than the captain. She gave him that not-there smile of hers as he approached, and Tucker returned it with a slight smile of his own.

"Couldn't convince them to let you out of bed, huh?" he asked flippantly. The Vulcan quirked an eyebrow in response.

"Obviously not," she retorted. Their fingers touched – discreetly, of course – and he felt the flood of her emotions swell through the bond. She was exhausted, he realized, and more annoyed about being ordered to remain in bed than she appeared. Her concern over his own tired appearance made him smile again.

"Commander Tucker," Jon said abruptly, speaking in a formal if somewhat raspy tone, and Trip felt his stomach twist slightly when he realized why Archer had wanted him present. After all of the missteps he'd taken in his career, Tucker had given up the distant dream of ever experiencing this, and now that it had come, he realized that he still wasn't ready for it. He shoved aside the butterflies that were playing football in his stomach, and walked the short distance to where Archer reclined. On the other side of the captain's bed, Hoshi straightened in her wheelchair and lifted a PADD. Without being told to, Trip assumed the position of attention before his commanding officer, and Jon nodded to Sato.

"Attention to Orders!" Hoshi said loudly. To Trip's mild embarrassment, the nurses and orderlies in sickbay snapped to attention with a loud clack of boots striking. Every one of the wounded officers and enlisted personnel who could walk did the same, and Tucker could feel his ears reddening. Even the bedridden crewmen straightened.

"The President of United Earth," Sato continued, "has reposed special trust and confidence in the patriotism, valor, and fidelity of Commander Charles Tucker the Third." As she paused, Archer smiled and reached into his hospital gown pocket, wincing with each movement. He removed a small box, and nodded discreetly to Hoshi. She continued. "In view of these qualities," the lieutenant declared, "and his demonstrated potential for increased responsibility, he is, therefore, promoted to the rank of captain, effective 15 March 2156."

"Bend down here," Archer ordered with a broad grin. Trip knelt, feeling a rush of emotion that was not his. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see T'Pol watching from her bed, eyes glittering with pride. "These were mine," Archer revealed as he extracted the four pip rank insignia. "And I want you to have them."

"Thank you, sir," Trip whispered softly. His voice cracked slightly as he spoke, and his old friend grinned once more. Without further comment, Archer removed the commander's rank from Tucker's uniform and pinned on the four pips.

"Congratulations,Captain Tucker," Jon said loudly, offering his hand. The moment that Trip took it, the assembled patients and caregivers broke out into applause. Phlox was especially vocal, going so far as to attempt a whistle. The doctor quickly abandoned the attempt, however, when both T'Pol and Hoshi winced, and shot him identical looks of annoyance.

"Detachment, present arms!" a familiar voice shouted, and the ten MACOs present saluted crisply. From where she stood at their forefront, Sergeant Amanda Cole offered a tight smile. "Order arms!" she ordered, and the salutes were lowered just as sharply. Cole strode forward, offering her hand. In the back of his head, Trip felt T'Pol's irrational dislike of the sergeant, even though she knew that Amanda was hardly a threat.

It made him smile.

"Congratulations, Captain," Cole said. Her grip was slightly stronger than Trip's, and his smile faded slightly.

A dizzying number of Enterprise crewmembers wanted to offer their own congratulations, and every one of them asked if Trip had a place for them on Endeavour once the NX-06 launched Every single one. It left him reeling in mild shock that they trusted him enough to ship out under his command. He lost track of how many times he shook hands with someone he barely knew, or promised that yes, there was a berth on Endeavour for them.

"You look shell shocked," Jon told him after things settled down, and Trip gave him a nod.

"That's 'cause I am," he replied. "Never would have expected all of them to want to go back out there," Tucker continued. "Not after what happened..."

"They trust you," T'Pol pointed out from her bed. Her mood had soured since the ceremony; Phlox had steadfastly refused to allow her to stand in order to offer her own congratulations, and had even threatened to have her sedated if she tried.

"I still don't see why they didn't promote you," Trip said. That wasn't entirely true, though. He did understand the reason behind that, even if he didn't agree with it. As a relative newcomer to Starfleet, T'Pol didn't have the requisite time in service to be given her own command, even if she had more time in space than most of the admirals. There had nearly been a revolt in the officer corps when Admiral Forrest gave her a commission at the rank of commander, thus bumping her past many junior officers who had spent ten or fifteen years in service attempting to earn such a coveted rank. The truth was that Starfleet just wasn't ready for a Vulcan captain.

That Starfleet Command had deemed him worthy of a captaincy still puzzled him. When he had ordered Enterprise into Andorian space against orders, Trip had done so knowing that it would doom his career. Ultimately, it had worked out, and both Ambassador Soval and Minister T'Pau had written glowing commendations for his work in preventing a war, but there were too many flag officers who had hadn't forgotten that Tucker had ignored a direct command. Promotion had seemed unlikely at best.

The Romulan attack changed everything.

Overnight, Starfleet found itself involved in a war it didn't want and wasn't prepared for. Trip's mistakes suddenly seemed less important than the fact that, against all odds, he was an excellent combat commander.

Two hours later found him evicted from sickbay at Phlox's order. Though Trip wished he could visit longer, the doctor had been adamant that his patients needed their rest. Tucker couldn't really argue that, as Jon had already dozed off due to the painkillers he was on and T'Pol was doing a poor job of hiding her own discomfort. Realizing that he hadn't eaten in nearly two days, Trip made a beeline for the mess hall.

Once there though, Trip found himself standing before the viewport and staring at the endless blanket of night with a growing frown. Five years ago, he realized darkly, he would have looked at the twinkling stars with hope and eagerness. Five years ago, they held nothing but the promise of a better tomorrow, a chance to boldly go where no man had gone before, and to explore strange new worlds.

Now, they only seemed to represent death and destruction.

He had been an optimist when Enterprise launched, and now, so many years after that fact, looked back at how naïve he had been with the kind of mild scorn one generally held for their idiot cousin. How many more lives, he wondered, would be lost as mankind tried to find their place in the stars? How many more Malcolm Reeds, or Travis Mayweathers, or David Kelbys would die? Anger and grief pressed in on him, and Trip closed his eyes against the tears that wanted to flow. He couldn't afford to grieve, not yet. Not while the Romulans were out there, waging their war against humanity. Not while there were people relying on him.

Trip opened his eyes. There was work to do.