A/N: Well, folks, this is the penultimate chapter. It also replaces chapter twelve as the longest one so far! An awful lot happens within it, too, so get yourselves comfy - and hold onto your hats, because it's going to be one hell of a ride!

Enjoy!

Violations

Chapter Twenty One - The Power Of Three

Dwarfed by the massive hangar that now housed it, the ship had looked smaller than Trip remembered. Stripped of its power, its technology, and its crew, it seemed almost… harmless.

Those thoughts brought him a curious sense of comfort now, as the hand on his shoulder gently guided him to where he'd asked Jon to take him. For all the memories that were now rushing back into his mind… God, yes. God, yes, he needed it.

Because there it was. The tiny, hellish chamber that had led him into this unthinkable ordeal.

Swallowing hard, Trip wondered, just for a moment, if he shouldn't have taken Jon's advice.

'Maybe it would be better, Trip, not to go there first… if we… well, see other parts of it instead…'

He'd smiled then. Dryly related the time when he'd fallen off his bike, and scraped off half his knee. How his mother had smiled at him. Cuddled and comforted him. Then doused it in a flood of iodine.

'…damn near sent me through the ceilin'… but it taught me how to deal with pain… no pussyfootin' around, just hard, fast, an' head on. An' the quicker you do it, the quicker you start healin'…'

He wasn't experiencing that childhood mishap now, of course. And he sure as hell wasn't smiling. Remembering what had been done to him here, twenty years later – God, it had been infinitely worse than scraping his knee. It was taking every bit of his courage not to turn around, and hightail it back to Enterprise.

Jon's presence had been - still was - an immeasurable comfort. But still not as much as the voice inside his mind. A voice that brought the threat of tears to his eyes, and the courage which soothed them away, before they started to fall.

"I know, baby-boy… I know… but hush your cryin' now, Trip… it only hurts for a second…"

In truth, it had hurt like hell for minutes more than seconds, but the thought still made him smile, again, at the memory. He had his mother inside his head, and Jon's solid strength beside him. Helping him to fight the terror that was still threatening to overwhelm him. Safely held in their respective comfort, he could feel his fear, his terror, starting to ease its grip.

With Jon still seemingly glued to his side, Trip stepped through its door, into the chamber itself. There, he paused for a moment, running his fingers over its walls, as if to prove to himself that it really, really, couldn't hurt him.

Still watching him, Jon then glanced back, meeting another pair of worried eyes with a proud smile.

'He's okay, Malcolm… he's okay, he's just fine…'

Satisfied by that assurance, at least for now, Malcolm nodded, his eyes still focussed squarely on Trip. Yes, he was fine. Facing his memories every bit as bravely as both he, and his Captain, had expected. But a far greater demon – and, by God, that was the perfect word to describe him – still lay ahead.

Even if he couldn't admit it, his own encounter with Trena'l had left him sickened. Disgusted. Ashamed that he'd let the sick bastard into his mind, and allowed him to strip out its defences.

So when Trip finally emerged from that chamber, Malcolm fell instantly back into place at his side. Took that wry, martyred smile on his face as the greatest compliment, but still refused to budge. Hell, not even one of his own torpedoes could have made him move away from where he had to be.

Just to make this show of solidarity complete, Tol'ren had also re-taken his place behind them. From his own sense of duty, feeling a natural connection to these three humans, he stayed there. Quietly observing them, until their journey finally brought one of them to where he had to be.

Again, Trip felt a rush of emotions surge through him. Again, he felt Jon's hand tighten on his shoulder. On his other side, Malcolm's hand did the same. Two quiet voices gave him the strength to face and defeat them.

"We're right with you, Commander... Trip. The power of three, remember?"

"That's right. And remember what I said, Trip. If he tries anything on you, if he even looks at you the wrong way, I'm getting you out of there. Okay?"

If still nervously, Trip nodded. Somehow managed to smile back at them. Then, as one, they were moving again. Guiding him along the long passageway ahead of them, until they reached its far end. Then they stopped, and two anxious protectors watched phase two of this deeply personal mission slip into play.

To an outsider, its significance would have passed them by. All Trip had done was take a deep breath, and closed his eyes. Not in fear, or resistance against where they were taking him. No. Just as T'Pol had shown him, through most of the previous day, and the whole of that morning, his eyes were closed in preparation. Helping him to focus. Concentrate. Build a protective wall around his mind, to shield it against the traumas to come.

Silently willing him through this whole process, Jon saw them finally open - a brighter, more brilliant blue than he'd ever seen within them. In both pride and concern, he met those eyes, and nodded.

He was ready. It was time.

Trena'l's reaction was just as both Jon and Malcolm had expected. As if greeting a lifelong friend, his face split into a delighted, thoroughly sickening smile.

"Commander! You've finally come to see me!"

That moment of gloating triumph didn't last for long. In fact, it lasted just seconds. Locked in the sights of three sets of eyes - piercing green, unyielding grey, and darkening blue - the smile began to slip. Gradually, reluctantly, it disappeared completely. Now he was the one left defenceless against this silent, damning onslaught. Within those eyes, he saw three, deadly serious promises.

'You're finished.'

'You're history.'

And, within the pair of now glacial blue, the third that sealed his fate.

'You're mine.'

"Well, I heard my opinion doesn't mean much to you. So I thought I'd just drop by, an' put you straight on that," Trip said at last, in that deathly soft tone that could even make Jon run for the nearest cover. Glancing deliberately slowly around Trenal's cell, Trip then caught him once more. Trapped him in the lethal sights of his eyes. The full force of his fury.

"See, the way I see it, you're a captive audience. You ain't goin' nowhere. So tough tamales, 'cause you're gonna hear it anyway. Then you're gonna hear my judgement."

If he'd been human, Trena'l would have been terrified by now. Beneath its dermal plating, Trip liked to think the face in front of him had turned a satisfying shade of white. Or green. Or whatever colour a Xyrillian went when it was having the **** scared out of it.

The thought made him smile now. Just like his eyes, though, it was stripped of its usual, cheering warmth. Cold, ruthless, and completely without mercy, it now joined the deliberate exaggeration of that deadly Southern drawl.

"Yeah, that's right. As one of the few survivors of your reee-search, an' with the blessin' of your Government, I get to decide on what to do with your miserable, good for nothin' hide. An' I can't begin to tell you how much of a pleasure that's gonna be."

Behind him, Jon and Malcolm traded glances. A private exchange of pure satisfaction. The deepest definition of pride, that passed through their respective, silent encouragement.

'Attaboy, Trip. You've got him down. Now knock the bastard out.'

'In every sense of the word, Commander, give him hell.'

Those thoughts had somehow transferred themselves into Trip's mind, because his smile then widened. If Trena'l had taken this as a sign of mercy, though - well, that thought withered and died inside the fire of those blazing blue eyes.

"See, you're the one in this cell, an' I'm the one who'll be free to walk away from it. Free to live an' enjoy the rest of my life. 'cause don't think for one second that what you did to me is gonna change that. I'm stronger than that. Stronger than you could ever be. I'm the one who'll be free to walk away from this, while you... well, like I said, what happens to you lies fair an' square with me."

As enthralled as they all were by this masterclass in courage, Jon almost felt he had to pinch himself to believe what he was seeing. His kind, gentle, generous friend - transformed into their polar opposites. He had never seen Trip Tucker so angry, yet so perfectly in control of its power, and - damn, he just wished T'Pol were here too, to see it.

In complete control over his emotions, her unlikeliest student was taking this little bastard apart. And, Jon thought with even greater satisfaction, the best bit was still to come.

Right on cue, come it did. Both barrels of deadliest Southern fury.

"You're already facin' the death penalty, for what you've done. To me, an' everyone else you used as your personal lab rats. But that'd be too easy. Too much of a mercy. I mean, you'd be dead. Killin' you would mean you'd never have to pay the real penalty for what you did to us."

From Trena'l's reaction, this was clearly what he'd been hoping for. To turn this ultimate punishment to his advantage, so that he'd avoid the greater suffering of spending the rest of his life in prison.

Well, to hell with that. A voice that dripped with as much sarcasm as it did contempt destroyed those self-serving hopes as effectively as one of Malcolm's torpedoes.

"If you're anglin' for that easy option, hopin' for that kinda mercy, then forget it. 'cause thanks to Governor Sha'len an' the good Major here, that's off the table."

A pause, then. A few seconds to regain his composure. And just as he'd done with Jon and Malcolm, Trena'l made one last attempt to turn that hesitation to his advantage. In rising desperation, he tried again, and again, to press his influence into this maddening human's mind. But all he found was the resistance that he'd once so brutally subdued. Courage, strength and spirit combined, into an impenetrable wall.

And those eyes. Blue fire, locked with his own. Fighting him. Defying him. Glaring him down, until his were the eyes that were finally forced to drop away.

For Jon, for Malcolm, and for Trip the most of all, it was a priceless moment. One that Trip was determined not to let slip away from him.

Everything he'd been through at this sick bastard's hands, from being drugged and brainwashed to having his DNA used to create a child he'd bitterly mourn for the rest of his life - it all came down to this moment. This final act of retribution that would make looking himself in the mirror each morning just that little bit easier.

"Yeah, I think you'll find your leaders aren't the cowards you claim them to be," he said at last, letting the snake in front of him wriggle just a bit longer, before skewering him right through the hook. "The good Major here tells me Hellia is just lovely at this time of year. Too hot for me, of course, but a perfect hell for you."

Another pause, just long enough for him to bring his face as close as he dared to the forcefield in front of it, and whisper one last, heartfelt sneer.

"An' I hope you burn in it."

And, with that, it was over. Turning on his heel, Trip strode away, so abruptly quickly that both Jon and Malcolm had to lengthen their stride to keep pace with him. With Tol'ren following behind, they were well on their way along the corridor before Trip responded to the arm that was gently trying to slow him down.

Only then did the walls that had defended him so bravely start to break. The rush of adrenalin crash out of his body, through tremors of helpless emotion. Then he was enfolded once more, inside arms that wrapped themselves around him, and refused to let him go. Gave him the comfort he needed to feel, while a voice as full of pride as it was concern whispered the words he needed to hear.

"Easy, Trip, it's okay, I've got you. I've got you, Trip. And it's over, Trip. It's all over."