[Private Message to Trip]

( Which is basically going to crush his soul for the foreseeable future. )

[Open Spam for the Pub]

After finding the message Elizabeth had left him, Trip hadn't really known what to do with himself. He honestly felt kind of in shock, somewhere between wanting to cry and throw things before storming the bridge and punching the Admiral in the face because where the fuck did he get off on bringing people's dead family members back without giving them a chance to actually say anything to them? And there was a lot he wanted to say to her. It just felt like the cherry on the sundae of his shitty existence on the Barge, and he didn't want to deal with it right now.

He got up to leave his room, but as soon as he was in the hallway, he realized he didn't have any idea where he actually wanted to go. He didn't want to talk to T'Pol or Jim or anyone, really, because he didn't know what there was to say about it that he hadn't said already, years ago now, and he didn't want to bring it all up again. He didn't want to forget about Lizzie, but all that post traumatic stress and everything that went along with it had been handled. He didn't want to go through the grieving process again, he didn't want to deal with people asking him questions or talking about how wonderful the flood had been, and he really didn't think he wanted to be here at all right now.

So he headed to the pub. He helped himself to a bottle of whatever he could get his hands on first, a shot glass and set himself up in a corner away from everyone else, planning on getting really, really drunk, and good luck to anyone who decided to convince him this was the opposite of a healthy way to cope with what had happened.