A/N: I was hoping to post this chapter sooner, but real life has this annoying habit of getting in the way! Anyway, a little later than planned, here's the latest chapter. And for all of you who wanted a dramatic showdown between Jon and Trip - well, hopefully you won't be disappointed!

Aftermath

Chapter Four - Critical Mass

In the handful of seconds it took for Trip to react to him, Jonathan Archer had seen all he had to see. Appalled by his friend's appearance, he hated every part of it. Hated himself even more, for causing it.

He looked awful. His face, those expressive eyes, conveyed every part of the hell he'd gone through. Worse still, he'd gone through it alone. Without the support of the friend who'd always, always, stood by him. And not once, not once, had that friend thought to check up on him, or offer any kind of reconciliation.

No, the only comfort that Trip had managed to find was an already near empty bottle of finest Bourbon. He'd not even bothered to find something to pour it into. No, he'd just been slugging it straight down. Drowning his pain the only way he knew how, until he found the courage to end it, once and for all.

So when his eyes changed, and he turned to reach behind him, Jon knew what was coming. He needed every one of his reflexes to dodge the glass that flew past him, and smashed into the wall beyond. Whether comically drunk, or stone dead sober, Trip Tucker's pitching arm still had one hell of an aim.

As he'd just demonstrated, his temper could be just as deadly, and Jon knew it was fully justified. Perversely, he'd almost been glad to see it. If Trip was so spitting mad furious that he released it so violently - well, that at least meant he was still mad enough to fight for his life too. So Jon felt that earlier knot of fear return with a vengeance at what happened next.

Staring at the wall beyond them, all of its strength left Trip's eyes. This act of petulant violence seemed to have pulled all the fight, all the life, straight out of him. And when Jon saw the complete despair that took its place, he felt his blood run cold.

There was no doubt in his mind now, that Trip had come here to die. To take his own life. And if he closed that hatch before he could reach it, there'd be no way to stop him before he locked it. So the second Trip's eyes slid towards it, Jon's hand shot out too, seizing its handle into a vice like grip. From his own anger, fear, or just sheer desperation, his voice held the same edge of unyielding steel.

"No, Trip. No. I turned my back on you once. I'll be damned if I do it again, or – or let you do this."

Willingly or otherwise, their eyes locked. Contrite green against blue that held a storm of emotions. Such fury had surged back into them that Jon flinched, convinced that Trip was about to lay him out – hence his surprise when Trip lowered his arm and backed away, allowing him to cautiously follow.

This wasn't the reaction he'd expected. And, he realized, it had been so calm. Just far too calm. He could see it now, as Trip's eyes changed again – reflecting the same bitterness in his voice.

"So, now you want to talk."

Still wary of this deceptive passivity, even more alarmed by these switchbacking moods, Jon nodded. With so much at stake, he knew he had to get this right, first time. He couldn't risk needing a second.

"Yes, Trip, I do. I know I can't turn back time, and bring that moment back. Believe me, I wish I could. But I'm here to talk now."

He'd kept it simple, holding Trip's eyes through every word, so he could see how much he meant them. A stone faced silence suggested it hadn't been enough. Nowhere near enough. Taking a deep breath, and needing several more, he tried again.

"And I'm here to apologize, Trip, for… well, leaving it so long, before I came to talk this out."

As apologies went, it was pretty pathetic. No, completely pathetic. Jon knew it, too, long before Trip hurled it back at him.

"Damn it, Cap'n, I don't want your apology! I've never wanted your apology!" he yelled, more furious than Jon had ever seen him as he paced around the shuttlepod's limited floorspace. With no room to let him vent his anger, it came out through a voice that shook from its release.

Fuelled still more by a near emptied bottle of Bourbon, it was its very own force of nature. Wild. Terrifying. And completely unstoppable.

"What I wanted… yeah, past tense, want-ed, was for you to just turn around, and look at me! But no, you were up there, on your moral high horse, an' nothin' I could do or say was gonna make you come off it. Never mind all those times when you've stuck your nose where it don't belong. But that doesn't count, does it? Not when you're the Captain, not when you can make the rules up as you go along. Well, Captain, the hell with that rule book, an' the hell with you! Who the hell are you to judge me like that, you God-damn HYPOCRITE!"

Already reeling from the fury that was tearing into him, Jon resisted the natural urge to retaliate. Instead he stood, quietly humbled, letting Trip release the fury inside him. God knew, he had every right to.

"Yeah, I screwed up, big time. I know that! You think I don't? And yeah, chances are I'll be thrown out of Starfleet too, but…"

As quickly as it had risen in uncontrollable temper, so Trip's voice now fell into its other extreme. His legs, too, had lost the strength to support him. He thudded down onto the bench-seat behind him, a broken whisper mirroring all the pain, all the torment and anguish, that now flooded his eyes.

"I wanted to apologize, Jon! I – I was just tryin' to apologize, an' y-you couldn't even look at me!"

For one of the few times during their friendship, Jon caught a glimpse of the real Trip Tucker. Not the good ol' Southern boy, who faced everything life threw at him with such cheery courage. No, this was Trip Tucker the human being, who was as vulnerable to its fragility as everyone else.

He'd gone through its worst experience imaginable. Now it had overwhelmed him. Finally broken him. Not just with the sobs that were racking through his body, but another, far more horrifying sight.

The niggling pain that had been pounding through his chest now exploded into pure, raw agony. It hit him like a sledgehammer, sucking the breath out of his lungs, sending him to his knees, in a helpless scream of terror.

Through a blur of fading awareness, he felt strong arms holding him, lifting him, cradling him. Heard a voice raised in unnatural panic, yelling his name, as even deeper darkness swept him away.

From its centre, a face materialised. The face from his dreams, made impossibly, terrifyingly, real. And as he stared back at it, too terrified to move, so it smiled, its voice ghosting through his mind.

\Hello, Trip/