Fulfilled - Pt 6

Fulfilled

by Samantha Quinn

Spoilers: Vague mentions of T’Pol’s mental state up to “Azati Prime,” kinda. Also refers to some of the events of “Azati Prime,” followed by speculation and twisting to make it fit in with the evilness of this AU reality. At least, I hope it’s twisting. :) No spoilers past “AP,” though.

*****

Chapter 6

Remorse

T’Pol’s POV

A/N: Wow, this was hard. Feedback is always welcome.

~~~

I have killed my son. Though I would have taken whatever measures necessary to prevent his death, there can remain no doubt that I contributed to his death, as surely as if I had broken his neck with my own hands.

The presence of Koval’s katra only reinforces the accurate source of the blame for his death. At the initial time of transference, I found it incredibly difficult to function, as though I was engaging in a continuous meld. In the past forty-eight hours, however, I have gained some control. His katra’s presence encircles my consciousness in much the same way as the heavy blanket that my mother bestowed upon me when I told her of my first posting to Earth. The very same blanket I passed to Koval when he grew old enough to sleep in a bed made for an adult. As a half Vulcan, Koval shared my need for a warmer environment to be comfortable. However, he also found decidedly. . . unique uses for the blanket.

~~

“Koval, Charles Tucker IV, what are you doing?”
“Hello, Mother. We are camping.”
“Camping?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“From what I know of this ‘camping’, one does not engage in such an activity indoors.”
“Well, we can’t go outside, Ambassador. It’s too cold for Koval.”
“If you are ‘camping,’ what is the use of my mother’s blanket? Other than to obtain a sufficient amount of dirt by lying on the floor?”
“Mother. It is part of our tent. We cannot camp without a tent.”
“No, ma’am. It’d be illogical.”
“I see. Then I would ask only for you to lower your voices to a more appropriate volume. Jonathan and I are attempting to sleep.”

~~

Although not entirely successful at their attempts to lower their voices, Koval and Charlie spent the remainder of the evening camping on the living room floor, under a tent made of my mother’s blanket and in front of a fire that existed only in their imaginations. Jonathan slept through their adventure, but my Vulcan hearing heard their voices continuing to converse well into the morning hours.

I have no doubt that Koval intended to pass the same blanket onto his son. As the fleeting but intense sensation of loss that is associated with Koval’s unborn child passes through me, I realize that I am unable to discern whether I should attribute it to the presence of Koval’s katra or my own grief.

*Grief.* Surak wrote much on the subject. In fact, there is an entire volume of writings on dealing with grief in a logical fashion. I once found it intriguing that Surak did not consider grief in the same category as other emotions. That was before I truly had anything to grieve. Now not only does the fact hold no intrigue, but I cannot help but wonder if Surak had ever actually experienced grief as great as the one I hold now.

He could not, I am certain. Both of Surak’s children reached adulthood and continued a line of Vulcans that continues to this day. They were alive and able to mourn their father’s death, as is appropriate. The grieving of a parent over the loss of a child . . . is not. This should not be. Even given my son’s human blood, I should not have outlived him.

I feel the pressing warmth of his katra again, and I wonder if it is possible that even in death Koval is attempting to comfort me. Such a contemplation sounds almost too mystical to be worth considering logically. Yet, if the katra is all that one is, I know it to be possible that my son is seeking to comfort me, even in death. The death which I have helped cause.

* Comfort. * I believed it once to be such a human sentiment, once. In my early years on Enterprise, I would have scoffed at any perceived benefits of “comfort.” Following the toil brought on by the time in the Expanse, I first became familiar with the advantages associated with * comfort. * After Enterprise’s near defeat at the hands of the Xindi, I found solace in the friendship that had grown steadily for the past three years with Commander Tucker. In the midst of repairing both the ship and my own mental control, our relationship’s foundation only solidified. While it was not the beginning of our relationship, it was certainly a watershed.

~~

“I brought ya some soup, T’Pol. There wasn’t any plomeek, but I brought some vegetable.”
“Thank you, but I shall pass. Chef insists on ‘flavoring’ his vegetable soup with beef broth.”
“Actually, this wasn’t Chef’s. It’s a recipe of my momma’s.”
“You prepared this?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you were working on the engines. They – "
“Are in awful shape, and I’ll get back to ‘em, T’Pol. But you’ve been workin’ for thirty-six hours straight.”
“You have been working for forty-eight.”
“And before I get some sleep, I thought I’d take five minutes to make sure you ate something.”
“It typically takes longer than five minutes to prepare soup.”
“Not the Tucker family vegetable special.”
“It does not contain beef broth?”
“Nope. All veggies and water. I brought ya a Georgia peach for dessert, too.”
“Thank you, Commander.”
“You’re welcome, T’Pol. I know you’re worried about the Captain, but –"
“I am concerned about the welfare of this ship.”

~~

In spite of Charlie Tucker’s attempts to make these quarters comfortable by manipulation of the environmental controls, I cannot suppress the shiver that overtakes me. The typical longing that normally accompanies memories of my time with Commander Tucker is now joined by intense sensations of grief. For every wrong move I undertook in the Expanse that lead towards my relationship with Jonathan also lead towards the death of my son.

~~

“You really care about him, don’t ya?”
“I have told you repeatedly that my primary concern is this ship.”
“Ya know, T’Pol, there’s nothin’ wrong with tellin’ someone how ya feel about ‘em.”
“I may have lapsed in my methods, Commander, but it still remains inappropriate for a Vulcan to ‘feel.’”

~~

It is inappropriate for a Vulcan to dwell upon that which cannot be changed, as well. Regardless, I cannot help but linger over the potentially different life I would have had – that everyone in Koval’s life may have had – if I had taken Commander Tucker’s advice and been truthful with the one I held affection for.

Perhaps I would have, had the Captain returned a day later. Commander Tucker would not have gone to the planet with Lieutenant Reed, the village would not have been attacked, and I would not have pulled away from the man who had been a source of strength for fear that he would challenge my already fragile emotional stability.

And Koval would still be alive.

I am giving into emotional fluctuations. I am aware of them, but can dredge up very little effort to suppress them. My son is dead, and I am at fault. Both Surak and his path seem far beyond my grasp. Indeed, part of me dreads the ever impending return to Vulcan. It shall take all of the inner strength I possess not to strangle with my bear hands the first one who bids me long life and prosperity, when my own quick death is the only way I may ever obtain prosperity again.

Again, I feel an increased warmth. The sensation is so strong, there can be no doubt of its intent. I close my eyes and allow the gentle caress of my son’s katra to sooth away the memories of my mistakes. The embracement is a combination of affection, tenderness, concern, and sincerity only serves to remind me of the many times I held Koval as a child. I recall going to him in the midst of the night when there was no logical reason for Koval to be crying. I remember reaching down into the crib where he lay and feeling the minute fingers latch firmly onto my index finger as relief flooded through my son. I tried – in vain – to reason logically with the infant. I told Koval that he was well fed, not in need of a change, and there was no reason for him to continue crying. My reassurances did little to ease his discomfort and he promptly began to cry with renewed vigor as I left his quarters.

Even now, I can remember the dilemma I faced standing outside his quarters. As the sound of his sobs reached my ears, I tried to steady my resolve by reminding myself of the conversation I had engaged in with Jonathan that very morning. Koval was four months old now, and we simply had to ignore his cries for attention when they came without reason in the middle of the night. Otherwise, how would he ever adjust to sleeping in alone, after three months of sharing our quarters?

I spent exactly seventy-nine seconds debating myself before the Vulcan logic lost the argument to the mother in me. I went back in Koval’s room, lifted him close to my chest, and murmured sayings of Surak quietly until he fell asleep.

Given recent events, I cannot help but be relieved at the choice I made twenty-five years ago outside Koval’s quarters. Had I chosen not to return to my son’s side when he so plainly begged me to, I do not know how I could bear to continue.

The warmth envelopes me again, and unbidden the contents of the last communication between Koval and myself return.

~~

“Why did you not meld with your father?”
“I suspect for the very reason you did not. I could not bear to hurt him. Please understand, Mother.”

~~

Unfortunately, I understand entirely too well. Koval paid the ultimate price for the decisions made by his father and me years ago.

The chime of my door interrupts my ruminations and I rise to give permission for the guest to enter. I had expected either Charles, Jonathan or perhaps Charlie. Instead, my son’s bondmate stands in the frame of the door.

“May I come in?”

“Certainly, Maggie. Please make yourself comfortable.”

Maggie glances around the room briefly before lowering herself onto the meditation rug in the middle of the floor. Her movements are slow and calculating; within another month, sitting cross-legged will be an activity she will no longer be able to conduct. When she speaks, she demonstrates a directness that is quite reminiscent of both of her parents. “T’Pol, I’ve spent the past two days alternating between crying, sleeping, and meditating. Please know that and realize that absolutely nothing you can say will make the situation either any better or worse, but I do need you to answer me truthfully.”

I have a very good idea what she is going to ask, and I would very much rather not answer her at all. Still, it is her right. “You have my assurance that I will answer you truthfully, Maggie.”

“Why did Koval refuse to meld with the Admiral? Was it because of his heritage?”

It is not an unexpected question. She and Koval shared a bond, and through that bond, she unquestionably was privy to all that he knew. The sharpness of the pain associated with the remembrance of my son’s bond only serves as a reminder of that which I do not have. Indeed, that which I shall potentially never have. She deserves, however, to know the truth. “Yes.”

To her credit, though the tears fill her eyes, they do not fall. I suspect that such control is for my benefit, though I doubt I am worthy of such an effort. When she speaks again, her voice is more steady than I would have expected. “He wished to keep your secret.”

“Yes.”

“More than he cherished his own life?”

“His primary reason was not simply to continue deception. He did not wish to cause Jonathan pain.”

There is a lull in the conversation as Maggie contemplates what I have said. “Why did he cut his thoughts off from me? He must have known that he was in danger. . . why did he not communicate through our bond?”

“He was in pain. He wished to spare you.”

I am surprised to hear a laugh come from her. However, the laugh holds considerable bitterness, and I discerned that it completely lacked humor. “Like father like son.”

I ignore the sentiment imbedded there. It brings unpleasant memories that have been at the forefront of my thoughts since the moment of Koval’s death. Instead, I continue, suddenly overcome with the need to make her understand her husband’s actions. “He could not control the sensations sent through the bond. Given your condition, Koval did not wish to cause any undue – "

“Undue? Undue? My husband – and bondmate – died, T’Pol. I hardly think any emotion or sentiment is undue. And if he was so concerned about not hurting me or the baby, why the hell didn’t he think of that before he willingly gave his life?”

“He did. It was his belief that you would be able to understand his reasoning, in time.”

Again there is a lull, and I wonder briefly if Koval accurately knew his wife. She takes a deep breath before answering. “I do understand. And in time, I’ll attempt to help our son understand.”

I feel the pressing of the warmth again, along with my own sense of admiration. She is more understanding than I would be if our circumstances were the reversed. If I were human and someone had caused the death of my bondmate, I would permit myself to revel in the hatred that would no doubt course my veins. “Koval chose his mate well, Maggie.”

She smiles. Koval stopped doing so at age seven when he decided to follow the path of Surak exclusively. I frequently watched him at his most contented, with the wish that he would smile again. Not only did I have the maternal longing to see my son content, but his human parentage was never more evident than when he smiled. The combination of his father’s blue eyes and mouth curvature made him nearly identical to Charles.

I shall never see that smile again.

“Thank you, T’Pol. I was honored to be his mate. And I loved him with all my being.”

“As he did with you. I hope his quest to be Vulcan did not forbid him from communicating that with you.”

“No, it didn’t. He . . . Koval knew first hand how denying one’s feelings for another could affect people. It made him determined to tell me at least once a day how much he cherished me.”

The warmth returns, but is overpowered by a sensation of loss. Had I only employed as much logic as my son, he would still be alive. But I did not. I insisted on deception which ultimately caused his death. “While I am relieved that Koval learned from my mistake, I deeply regret that the same mistake ultimately took him from you. . . and from me.”

“T’Pol.” A sigh fills the air before Maggie continues. “When I first realized why Koval chose not to meld, I was furious at you. I wanted so badly to hate you and Trip for what you’ve done.”

“That would have been a reasonable response.”

“But I’ve been inside Koval’s head – I’ve been his bondmate. I know what you and Trip did was not done with malicious intent. You made all the wrong choices, T’Pol, but you made them for the right reasons.”

Yes, I did. But that does not change the fact that I was flawed. “I am relieved you understand. I would not want to miss the opportunity to know my son’s offspring.”

“Are you kidding? I’m going to need you more than ever. You’re my sole expert on all things Vulcan now. Besides, Koval adored you for good reason. I want my son to have the same opportunity.”

“Do you still intend to work at Space Station Four?”

“No. I’ll be returning to Earth until the baby is born. After his birth, I’ll be moving to Alpha Centauri, to lead the Starfleet defense there.”

Relief floods my system. “I am pleased. Alpha Centauri is much closer, and will permit much more time spent with my son’s offspring.”

“What about you? Will you be returning to Earth. . . or staying on Vulcan?”

The unasked question is clear. She is more concerned with the future of my marital relationship, not my living arrangements. “ I am uncertain at this time, Maggie. Concern with my future plans will be postponed until after the katra ceremony.”

She nods and rises laboriously. “Being bonded is a truly wonderful experience, T’Pol, and I hope it’s one you experience during your lifetime.” She is gone before the full impact of what she has said occurs to me.

It occurs to me that my son’s bondmate has permitted herself to indulge in questions concerning my possible future with far greater depth than I have permitted myself. I have not ventured out of my quarters at all in the past forty-eight hours, though both Jonathan and Charles have contacted me to check on my well being.

I was not prepared for the sensations that contact with them stirred within me. During both instances, my sense of grief only increased, and during my conversation with Charles, I felt the full impact of my need to blame myself for what occurred. Our conversation was short and succinct, but along with the familiar longing and affection, the conversation produced nothing short of mental pain.

I cannot help but reflect upon the fact that my last legitimate tie to Jonathan is gone. Following the katra ceremony, perhaps there will be no need to maintain association with my husband. But if this ache that I associate for the first time with Charles’ presence does not end – and I do not see how it could – then I do not see how I could possibly remain in Charles’ presence. The sorrow from a three minute comm. conversation was agonizing. I suspect that prolonged exposure to his presence may make the remorse and pain unbearable. Though my affection for Charles has not diminished, I am uncertain that I shall ever be able to shed the burden of responsibility for Koval’s death that accompanies Charles’ presence. Will I ever be able to revel in his presence without knowing that our union was not only a source of pleasure, but a source of remorse and pain as well?

Remorse and pain. Two sensations that some Vulcans would deny the existence of. I would have once, and I long for the days in which I knew such naivety.

As grief and longing for my t’hy’la and my son overwhelm my senses, Koval’s katra presses gently against my consciousness. Conceding that attempts at meditation have failed, I lie on the bed and surrender to my son’s presence.
()()()()()()()()()()

A/N, II: the camping scene came to my muse via Tammy Cochrane’s song, “Angels in Waiting,” which I also do not own.

Part 7

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Seven people have made comments

Oh, Brava, Brava! This is so sad and so touching. A beautiful elegy for a beloved son.

Well done.

-Delirium

Another great chapter, and a truly lovely send off for a son that was loved so much. It's just sooo damn sad!

But please, keep it coming.

Very moving and sad, but also very well written. I'm interested to see the choices T'Pol will make now, as well as Archer and Trip.

::sigh:: I'm depressed after every post you make here Sam but I can't stop myself from reading your story. I fear until this story ends I'm gonna be like this all the time. But I just can't stop reading a story as good as this. I miss Koval. I miss happy Trip. This story is a great one, sad but then again some of the best stories put you through an emotional whirl wind so keep up the good work! Just uh, be easy on me here... I'm dying from heart ache! :(

Great chapter Samantha. Lots of angst. Great characterization regarding T'Pol's remorse and guilt. It appears that short of Koval's ressurection, T'Pol will likely not be with Archer or Trip. You're great at keeping us guessing. Personally, I hope Koval is revived somehow and we get a happy ending with T+T together and Archer with his "girlfriend".

Oh WOW, tears beyond all enduring! Powerful stuff and so emotionally charged it made my throat catch. Poor T'Pol, and poor noble and loyal Koval. I feel sorry for just about everybody and can't wait for the next part. Thank you for writing such a heart wrenching story with such skill. Now be good and pass the tissues... Ali D :~)

Apparently, I had become busy while reading part 5, and left, not finishing it. I wasn't aware that Koval had died. I read it now, and I'm bawling my eyes out. I can't believe it. this is worse than Similitude.

Charlie punching Jonathan. Thank god SOMEONE did it finally. The damned ass hole deserved it. I pray to god that Jonathan doesn't get to be one tenth as much as an ass as he is in your story Samantha. I wouldn't be able to take it.

This story, as Ali D. said is heart wrenching, truly. Couldn't be anymore so. Thank you for writing it so well.