A/N: Well, after all the angst and drama, we're in the home straight now. There's a few more bumps in the road to come, and one last part of his experience for Trip to confront. But before he gets there, I thought I'd give him, and Jon, a bit of lighter relief.

Thanks again, for staying with me, and I hope you enjoy this latest chapter.

Aftermath

Chapter Eleven - A New Birth of Freedom

In terms of its physical healing, Trip's recovery from his latest close call bordered on the miraculous. Just four days after his collapse, and under strict orders to rest, Phlox released him back to his quarters. The psychological healing, though, and fully repairing a friendship that had come so close to breaking – well, as Jon had realized from the lingering awkwardness between them, that would take a little longer.

They'd laid the groundwork back in sickbay, although that in itself had also been a frustrating process. He'd had to strike a fine balance between their need to talk, and Trip's equally important need to regain his strength. The breakdown they'd shared had taken a lot out of him. And just because Phlox has released him that morning, that consideration would have to continue. The fact they were talking at all… well, all things considered, Jon would gratefully settle for that alone.

Even so, he wasn't so naïve as to think they'd just bounce back from this, as if it had never happened. This whole sorry experience had shaken him. Affected him every bit as deeply as it had affected Trip. With trust to rebuild on both sides, he was all too aware that it was still very much a work in progress.

'As long as it takes,' he now reminded himself, studying the peace offering that he'd brought from the mess hall. 'If it means bribery, and more helpings of humble pie, I'll do whatever it takes to get him back.'

That Trip answered his hail so quickly was an encouraging sign. So was that wry, much missed smile. Best of all, though, were the folded arms. The raised brow, above mischievously bright eyes. And a barrel load of finest Southern sarcasm.

"So you think you can buy me with pie?"

From surprise, and sheer relief at seeing his friend more at ease with himself, Jon grinned back. It had been an admirable attempt, but it hadn't fooled him in the slightest. Trip's eyes had latched onto those plates with all the deadly accuracy of one of Malcolm's torpedoes.

"A double treat from Chef. Your choice of pecan, or finest Key Lime. Or both," he winked, nodding towards his other secret weapon, who'd already made himself snugly at home on top of Trip's bed. "And if that doesn't work, there's always Porthos."

Even if it had come from trying to stop Porthos licking his face off, Trip's response was priceless. Not so much the fondness behind his words, but, more significantly, the quiet laughter that joined them.

"Yeah, there's always Porthos."

Feeling happier than he'd done since this whole mess had ended, Jon followed him into his quarters, quietly noting the small but significant changes that Trip had made since the last time he'd seen him. He'd showered, for a start, and taken the same pains to remove several days growth of stubble. Even in his civvies, it still confirmed Jon's hopes that he'd started to regain some of his self respect, and pride in his appearance.

Books that he now gently rescued from Porthos' attentions indicated another, equally precious return. As avid a reader as his Captain, the shelf above his bed held an impressive range of subjects and titles. From literary classics, to natural history, to his beloved engineering and archaeology, Trip's curiosity and thirst for knowledge held no bounds. For him to be taking an interest in them again filled Jon with a warming tide of both pride and relief.

One volume in particular caught his interest as he picked it up, and tested its weight between his hands. When he saw the subject that governed its size, he couldn't resist throwing his friend a quizzical smile.

"A little light reading before bedtime?"

Still fighting a losing battle against a hyperactive beagle, Trip frowned for a moment, then shrugged. To Jon's surprise, he looked embarrassed now, almost to the point where Jon feared he'd overstepped the mark. So it was a relief when the smile reappeared, without any help from Porthos' eagerly ticklish tongue.

"Yeah, the… uh, Civil War. Just re-readin' Lincoln's address at Gettysburg. It… uh… well, it felt kinda appropriate."

Recognizing its significance, Jon just nodded as he passed the book more reverently back to him. He couldn't help but feel guilty for causing it, but the mood had definitely changed now. And as he sat down at Trip's side, he quietly respected it. Resting his hand in Trip's shoulder, he waited in patient, supportive silence for him to continue.

"You know the craziest thing, Jon? She thanked me. She actually thanked me, for what I did."

Reliving that experience, that memory, Trip shook his head, as if in doubt that it had really happened. Studying his book, running his fingers over its covers, it was some moments before he spoke again.

"She said I'd given her the greatest gift. That just for those few days, she learned to live. Be free."

Suddenly restless, he then rose to his feet, striding the short distance across the room to his window. Pausing there, he walked slowly along it, until every one of his photographs had regained their place. One of them, the last one he'd turned downward on that fateful day, lingered slightly longer in his hands. Gently polished against the sleeve of his shirt, it too joined this moment of private healing.

When he turned around again, his eyes were suspiciously bright. For seeing who'd featured in that photograph, so were Jon's.

"Goin' a bit stir crazy in here. And it's only been six hours," he said at last through a shaky smile, hesitating for several more moments, as if trying to decide if he should ask what he finally said next. "D'you think Phlox would mind if I… y'know, got out of here for a while?"

Already guessing where he wanted, needed, to go, Jon had already moved instinctively to his side.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," he said gently, smiling back at him, resting his hand on Trip's shoulder, and keeping it there, as they left his quarters.

One last hurdle to face. One last memory to confront. And one last, remaining demon to lay to rest. And just as he'd promised him, during that endless night at his bedside, they'd face them all together.