And These People Are(n't) Your Friends

She'd figured it out too late.

Tricia Harper had gotten to captain by showing no fear, by making friends, and by being competent. Then one bad decision led to another and another and another, and she was rolling down that hill because of a fifteen minute affair and orchestrating a cover-up so Kessel wouldn't end up dead. Then he'd covered up for her and destroyed everything she cared about in a single shot. She could kill him, really, really kill him.

These people weren't her friends.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. How had she fallen for him for those stupid fifteen minutes and ended up here? How had she ended up actually killing him? How had she ended up with her best friend, anguished, demanding, in front of her with a gun to her head, begging for understanding?

How could she tell him, I didn't figure it out until it was too late. I care; I just can't take it back. You should hate me. I hate myself.

She couldn't.

He stared at her and, anguished, pleading, figured it out too late.

This person wasn't his friend. And it hurt.