A/N: Well, folks, this is it. The final chapter for a story that I've thoroughly enjoyed writing. At risk of sounding like a broken record, thanks again to everyone who have left such kind and positive reviews. They're all the incentive I need to keep writing for these wonderful characters.

I hope to have the next story posted here soon. There's a sneaky tease for it in this chapter. But, for now, let's bring this one to a close. Thanks again, and see you soon!

Aftermath

Chapter Fourteen - Resolutions

By the time they left the launch bay, it was approaching midnight. Half way back to Trip's quarters, they took a mutually agreed detour - both seeing the wisdom of his more sensible, no less enjoyable alternative to an alcoholic nightcap. The time honoured way to secure a full night's sleep, without the risk of a king sized hangover.

'Best thing about warm milk an' cinnamon? Best night's sleep in the world, and no regrets in the mornin'.'

With a full day's duty ahead of him, Jon hadn't argued. Besides, he hadn't had warm milk in… hell, too many years. The memory brought both joy and regret. He'd forgotten how just its aroma, and his mother's own secret recipe, had woven its magic on a child consumed by grief for a father who'd ceased to recognize him.

The father he'd idolized, who hadn't lived to see his life's work change the history of space travel. Every time they went to warp, he felt his father's spirit. The same bitter regret, for everything he'd missed. God, how he missed him.

As it had always done, and would do more than ever now, having Trip around instantly lifted his spirits. So did the happier memories that tended to come with him.

He'd also forgotten those nights back at the Academy. Raids on the mess hall, oddly similar to this one. Just days into their friendship, he'd found out how dangerously mischievous Lieutenant Charles Tucker III could be. Missed the last meal of the day? No problem. Just hit the kitchens yourself, and make your own.

Nine years on, that playful sense of mischief was as strong as ever. To Jon's further amusement, it was also maddeningly contagious.

Studying the goodies that Trip had also 'requisitioned' from Chef's stores, he couldn't help but smile. Forget the bright-eyed, infamous charm. If Chef found out that a certain chief engineer had ransacked his precious supplies, there'd be hell to pay. But the call of those cookies had also been irresistible. Against a Trip Tucker who'd suddenly re-found his appetite, he just hoped he got to see one of them, at least.

Midnight munchies were all well and good, of course, but… God, he was tired. Right now, he could sleep on his head. Not yet, though. Not until he'd talked out the shadows that still lurked inside his friend's eyes. This last demon that he had to defeat wasn't going to go down without one final throw of defiance.

Still, if anyone could beat it with hot milk and cookies… hell, he had no doubt that person would be Trip.

Safe now, in the sanctuary of his quarters, that battle could be resolved, once and for all. And just as he'd done before, Jon waited in patient silence for him to gather, and reveal, his thoughts. Settling on the edge of his bed, absently tousling Porthos' ears, it was several minutes before he finally spoke.

"Y'know, I heard once, that it takes greater courage to die than it does to keep on living. But seein' it from the other side, Jon, I'm not so sure… seein' her there, instead of you… God, Jon, I was terrified."

After a few false starts, Jon now knew exactly how to react to the fear he'd seen flash through Trip's eyes. He moved from the chair he'd been sitting on, to sit instead at Trip's side, sliding a reassuring arm across his shoulders.

"Yes, Trip, I know. But as you said yourself, there was a reason why she had to be there, not me."

"Yeah, she was the only one who could tell me I wasn't to blame for her death. The only one who could convince me to come back," Trip agreed, shaking his head now, that such a simple misassumption had driven him to take such unthinkable measures. "All that time I was blamin' myself for what happened to her, then to find out that she didn't. To hear her tell me to live my life for her, it…"

Letting that thought trail away, Trip then frowned. His eyes weren't just wide, they were bright too. The clearest blue that Jon had ever seen. They reflected the same realization in his voice. The same hope to believe that he finally had his answer. Understood why he'd tried to take his own life.

"Do - Do you think that's why I did it, Jon? Why I had to do it? To - To go there, so she could help me understand why I couldn't go through with it?"

In truth, Jon had come to this conclusion already. But he had kept silent, knowing it was even more crucial for Trip to reach it himself. Now he smiled, shrugged, and gave Trip's shoulder a proud squeeze of acknowledgment.

"With everything we face out here, Trip, I'd say anything's possible. But for what it's worth - yes. Yes, I think you're right."

Even with this vital breakthrough, though, he still felt the tension linger through Trip's shoulders. Yes, he'd found his answer. But as a quiet voice reminded them both, it had come at a cruelly high cost.

"Well, for whatever reasons I saw her, I know I'll never forget her. An' I've learned my lesson, Jon. Playin' God with other people's lives, it… damn it, Jon, all it causes is a whole world of trouble."

"Yes, that trouble does seem to have a knack of finding us. Usually before we see it coming," Jon agreed, turning thoughtful himself now as he stared through Trip's window, at the boundless realm of space outside it.

Every day - no, every minute - they spent passing through it, he had to face its dangers. Make decisions to safeguard the lives of his crew. Subconsciously at least, Trip's life would always come at the top of that list. And if the worst should happen, what would he do? How far would he go, to save the life that meant so much to him?

The answer was frighteningly simple.

"But you're right, Trip. Playing God can cause you nothing but trouble. And you never know… maybe some time in the future, I might still have to do it."

"Well, I hope to God it doesn't end like this. Cost someone their life," Trip replied just as quietly, running his hand through his hair, until it left the tawny blond mop even more tousled than usual. When he spoke again, his voice was even softer – expressing not just his regrets, but Jon's too.

"This has been hell, Jon. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy, let alone my best friend."

Maybe it was the tiredness talking, but a note of dejection had crept back into Trip's voice. Gripping both his shoulders now, Jon moved quickly but gently to dispel it.

"I know, Trip. We've both been to hell and back. But it's over. We've both come through it. And we're gonna be okay."

When Trip didn't answer, Jon frowned, studying him in concern that soon turned to fond amusement. While those cookies had given him his second wind, Trip's exhaustion was fast catching up with him. Leaning more and more against him, Trip Tucker was asleep where he sat. He just wasn't ready yet to admit it. That's why he needed his best friend's help sometimes, to nudge some sense into that stubborn, Southern boy head.

"And we can talk that through in the morning. But for now, you really need to get some sleep."

Remembering the promise he'd made to himself, Jon resisted the urge to turn it into an order. Then again, he doubted it would be needed anyway. The Leaning Tower Of Tucker was now listing more and more against his shoulder. He was probably imagining it, too, or maybe it was the tiredness that had thickened Trip's accent, but –

"Yes, mom."

– no, that drawn out drawl, that priceless smirk, confirmed what he'd heard. It also made it impossible for him not to grin too.

He was back. His irreplaceable friend was back.

It proved how tired he was, though, that he allowed Jon to gently nudge him down into the comfort of gently adjusted bedclothes. He was out for the count long before Jon finished draping them around his shoulders.

Jon was exhausted too. And, although nearby, his quarters suddenly felt an awfully long way away. But since Trip had now curled up on his side, kindly leaving him that space at the corner of his bed – well, as Trip would say himself, to not make good use of such consideration would be downright unneighbourly.

Unfortunately, Porthos had had the same idea. By the time Jon returned with an extra pillow, and a couple of blankets, that little corner of bed was occupied by a snugly curled dog. Torn between amusement and exasperation, and not wanting to disturb Trip, Jon gave in without any objections.

Besides, Trip's armchair was just as comfy. His desk chair, scooted across to act as a footrest, made its comfort even better. A mug of warm milk, a chocolate chip cookie that Trip had somehow missed, and a peacefully sleeping friend at his side, made it just about perfect.

Retrieving Trip's book, Jon leaned back in his chair, and settled down to read through the last page that he'd marked. Two hundred and seventy two words, that had helped to change the course of his ancestors' history. Its meaning was as profound now as it had been then. Glancing to where Lincoln's current day counterpart lay, safe and asleep beside him, his smile grew even wider.

"You know, Trip, he'd be proud of you. But I'm even prouder."

Answered with a muffled snore, Jon rolled his eyes, then gratefully closed them. Yes, he could sleep too now – a clearing conscience bringing them both the healing comfort of peaceful, trouble-free dreams.