Star Trek and all its intellectual property is owned by Paramount/CBS. No infringement intended, no profit made.

This story been beta-read by VesperRegina, to whom I offer my sincere thanks, as always, and is dedicated to Volley whose work was such an inspiration.

The story has been rated for occasional use of bad language. If this offends you, please bear that in mind before you read it.

"Right. Guess we're about finished here for the day."

"Suits me, Boss." Rostov helped him fit the last panel back into place, and the two of them got back to their feet. Both of them groaned as they straightened up, feeling the strain of so many hours spent hunched over the repairs. And it wasn't as though this was the last; they had another eight sections to do tomorrow, each with its multiple delicate junctions requiring checking. After the battering the systems had taken, it made sense to physically examine each of the connectors individually as well as run numerous tests via the computer. The crews on Beta and Gamma shifts had their own work set out, but this was a job Trip preferred to reserve for himself, however physically wearing it might be.

Sense, yes, but – jeez, it took some doing.

"Don't think I'll be along to Movie Night tonight," said Mike, rubbing his back wearily. "I'll catch something to eat, write to Caroline and then hit the sack."

"I can think of worse ways to spend an evenin'." Trip stretched, feeling the abused muscles between his shoulder blades almost solid with tension. If truth be told, he wasn't much in the mood for Movie Night himself. Maybe he'd do better to do some stretching exercises in the gym, and loosen up a little before he headed off to catch something to eat on his own account.

Not that he was feeling particularly hungry, he realized ruefully as the two of them said their good-nights and parted in the corridor. This in itself was pretty remarkable – usually he had the appetite of an alligator. Since his return to Enterprise, however, he'd had trouble settling back into his old routine in more ways than one.

It was plain that the crew didn't quite know how to respond to his return. Sure, they were grateful for his having saved the ship from the spectacular disintegration that would have been the inevitable end of the intolerable pressure on the warp engine. His old team had welcomed him joyfully, but the discovery that he was still one of Columbia's staff had introduced a note of shock and discomfort that most had shown all too clearly; and after that, he was neither 'flesh, fowl nor good red herring', and most of them had fallen back on treating him like he had some terminal wasting disease and should be handled with special care.

It was hardly surprising that Kelby could hardly bring himself to utter two words without being spoken to first. And even though Trip knew that his own skill with this warp engine was the product of five years of hands-on experience coupled with an innate instinct for his field of expertise that went way beyond anything that could be taught in a classroom, he couldn't help but feel some anger that the acting Chief Engineer hadn't even had the guts to suggest trying the manual shut-down and restart. True, technically it couldn't be done in the time – but as he'd proved by doing it, it's amazing what can be achieved when the alternative is to become part of a debris field strewn along your own flight path.

He sighed. Maybe tomorrow he'd have a word with Kelby, try to put the guy in the picture. But it wasn't something he was looking forward to. For some reason he'd never gotten along with his replacement particularly well; the guy was bright enough, but too hidebound, too conservative, too prone to thinking that if a thing had never been done before, it wasn't even worth a try. And right now he was sullen, displaying his resentment in any one of a dozen ways, each too small in itself to merit a rebuke. Well, that was understandable, and Trip was prepared to extend him a certain amount of rope. But if it carried on this way, the rope would have to be brought up with a damned sharp jerk.

He'd reached his cabin by this time, and shed his uniform in an untidy trail as he headed for the shower. His mood should have been improving, with the evening free before him, but instead it seemed to be growing blacker.

All the signs pointed to another night's poor sleep to come. He grimaced at the thought as he slapped shower gel onto his chest and began to soap himself down. After the work he'd put in today he should be sleeping like a baby, but he knew from bitter experience that things didn't work out that way. The days when he'd tumbled into his bunk and fallen into oblivion before his head hit the pillow seemed so far away from him now that it seemed they must have happened in another lifetime.

For no reason at all he found himself thinking about Charles, the Vissian cogenitor. He, she, it … damn, there ought to be a word for a third gender in the English language! …. Well, it, though it seemed somehow insulting, reducing that trapped and desperate spirit to some kind of impersonal object, which was exactly what the Vissians had tried to do. He found it easier to think of her rather than it, mainly because that sense of wonder, of discovery, of gratitude, was something he associated more readily with a woman. The fine bones of the small face had added to the impression of femininity, as had the quick, birdlike movements and the poised nervousness as he'd shown her around Enterprise.

It had been a long time before he'd been able to find any forgiveness for himself over Charles's death. Oddly enough, it had been Malcolm who'd shown him the understanding that Jon had not.

"You did all the wrong things for all the right reasons," the Brit had said, shaking his head sadly, when they'd finally gotten around to talking about what had happened. "I'm so sorry, Trip. I should have been paying more attention to what was going on rather than chasing Veylo's arse around the Armoury."

"Don't know what you could've done," Trip had replied moodily, staring at the now almost empty beer bottle from which he'd been swigging as they talked, lounging at ease in his quarters. "T'Pol warned me, plain enough, and I didn't have the sense to listen. Just went plowin' on, on my own little crusade, thinkin' I could fix the Universe."

Reed had sighed. "Wouldn't we all like the power to do that. But you never know, there might be some good come out of it someday. Maybe this will make the Vissians think about their other cogenitors, about the way they're treated. A snowflake will start an avalanche, if it falls in the right place."

The conversation had turned to other things, and the attack on Earth soon afterwards had given both of them more than enough to think about without remembering Charles all that often, though sometimes her gentle ghost had sat beside his elbow when he tried to immerse himself in a book. Nevertheless, Malcolm's words had provided a balm of sorts; it might be too late for Charles, but maybe – just maybe – her untimely death might have forced the Vissians to realize she'd been so much more than the dumb beast they'd seen her as. That realization, once made, would surely have forced them to confront the casual cruelty with which she and her kind had been treated. It was no consolation for his own blind, stupid irresponsibility, but it was hope salvaged from the abyss of guilt and despair. The lieutenant didn't offer absolution – such a thing wasn't possible – but still, his quiet understanding had been the nearest thing to comfort Trip had been able to accept.

It was the sort of compassion he'd have gotten from Jon once; but the friendship with Jon was another of the things that seemed to be part of another lifetime. It had cost him a pang afterwards to realize that the only ray of hope in the whole damned business had come from the man he'd once labeled the 'Grim Reaper' – and called him it to his face, not giving a damn how it would hurt.

Still, the sense of her presence was momentarily so strong that he wouldn't have been altogether surprised to find her sitting on his bunk when he emerged from the shower.

Heck, why am I thinking about her now? He hadn't done so for a while; these days his griefs were more immediate. He still mourned for his home town, for the seven million dead, for the members of his ship's crew who wouldn't come home, and most of all for his sister, his pretty little Lizzie who was just one of those who'd fallen victim to the Xindi attack. Maybe if they'd done what he'd set out to do in the Expanse – blow the hell out of the Xindi home planet and give them a few million dead to mourn – he might perhaps have found some peace. As it was, peace was a state of mind that seemed to have deserted him.

They hadn't blown hell out of the Xindi, unless you counted the weapon and a few Reptilians. They hadn't blown hell out of anybody much, except for those luckless Illyrians who were still limping home at a snail's pace – assuming they hadn't fallen victim to pirates in the meantime, given their inability to outrun pursuit. But Lizzie was still gone, and his peace of mind had gone with her, and it didn't seem likely to return anytime soon.

He leaned forward and braced both hands against the wall, letting the water course over his head and shoulders.

Who was he kidding?

There was only one reason he'd left Enterprise.

Everything else, he could have borne. Sure, he'd messed up with Charles, and Lizzie … well, someday the wound would heal over, or maybe he'd just get used to the fact that he'd never know how she'd died. Even already there were days when he actually didn't think about her, and when he realized that he was alternately ashamed and terrified and relieved: ashamed, because he'd forgotten her; terrified, because he was afraid he would forget her; and relieved, because there had actually been a period when her loss wasn't killing him – and the realization of that relief immediately made him feel sick with guilt. How could he even want to forget his baby sister, and the dreadful way she'd died?

The friendship with Jon … well, people changed and friendships changed with them, and he himself wasn't the good ol' boy who'd shipped out looking for adventure among the stars. How could he put all the blame on Jon, who'd literally borne the weight of the world on his shoulders all that time? Such an ordeal would change anyone, and he could guess that Jon, too, walked with a few ghosts these days.

Victory had come. But it hadn't come without cost.

Hell, why had he responded to Amanda's overtures?

It had seemed like a great idea at the time. He wasn't immune to her good looks, and the chance to practice the neuropressure techniques he'd learned during the sessions with T'Pol had been a great ice-breaker.

Yeah, well, maybe he had been flirting, just a little. Just to relieve the monotony, to try to remember what it felt like to smile and talk to an attractive woman who was clearly interested in him as something other than a damned engineer. And when she'd kissed him … well, maybe it hadn't been quite the surprise he'd made it out to be.

But he hadn't expected T'Pol to react the way she had when she'd found out about it. Hadn't expected her to be jealous – because whether she admitted it or not, that's exactly what she was. Hadn't expected to find himself feeling jealous too – jealous of his own clone, who'd gotten to tell the woman he loved that he had feelings for her. Above all, hadn't expected that unforgettable moment when the robe slipped off those smooth shoulders and fell to the floor, and he was finally able to feast his eyes on what he'd fantasized about for so long.

With a groan, he switched off the water. There was an ache in his groin and a worse one in his heart, and whenever he replayed the conversation in the Mess Hall the morning after that amazing night it was all he could do not to curl up in a corner and sob his heart out.

An experiment.

He was just an experiment.

The woman to whom he'd given his heart had torn it out of his chest and stomped on it, and nothing since had been the same or ever would be again.

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