Sanctuary

By Laura Schiller

Based on Star Trek: Voyager

Copyright: Paramount

When Tuvok lifted his hand to Noss' face and touched his mind to hers, right there in front of the transporter platform, she was not the least bit frightened. Surprised, yes, that this intensely private man would communicate with her in such an intimate fashion, but not frightened. It was so simple, like the natural extension of all their conversations; like the many questions she had asked, once she'd learned enough Terran, finally being answered. Including the most important question of all.

She saw a cave, lit by dozens of candles, its sand-colored stone and hot dry air not unlike the sinkhole planet where she, Tuvok, his comrade Tom and the hologram had been stranded together. A young Tuvok, defying his teacher, his parents, the values and beliefs of his entire race, for the love of a girl who didn't even feel the same. Jara. A girl of a different species, with electric blue eyes and spiky hair, with a glare that shot sparks across the classroom as she turned his flowers away. How can you be in love with me? I don't even know you!

Anger. Shame, so powerful it made Noss dizzy, even though a hundred and twenty years had passed since that event. His teacher's stern voice: Love is the most dangerous emotion of all. It leads to fear, jealousy, anger, grief. If we do not control our emotions, they control us. The young student's bow of submission. Long years at Starfleet Academy, on his father's orders, bottling up annoyance towards the loud, exuberant classmates who dared to live out the feelings he was afraid to acknowledge.

Then came a memory which plainly made him feel even more ashamed than the rest, undecided whether to shield it from Noss' perception or to let her see it for the sake of completeness. What she perceived was pain, urgency, a life-or-death matter – but vaguely, as if seen through fog at a distance. The only clear image that emerged was that of a woman: olive-skinned, dark-eyed, her black hair in a bowl cut, wearing a soft silvery robe, holding out her hand with the middle and index fingers extended. She did not smile, but joy and serenity shone from her like moonlight. T'Pel. His wife, mother of his children, kal-toh opponent, confidante and friend. His sanctuary. He'd known enough of the dark side of love, but no one had ever told him how beautiful it could be.

She saw T'Pel reading to their children to get them to sleep; correcting student essays, her glossy head bent low, a tiny frown between her eyebrows the only sign of weariness she permitted. T'Pel's black eyes turning glittering when they argued, her logic meeting his with the metallic clash of daggers. T'Pel tending orchids in the greenhouse, trailing her hands over the lush pink petals; her face lit by a flickering candle during her daily meditation.

It may not be entirely logical, Tuvok thought-spoke, addressing Noss directly for the first time, but no matter how low the chances of seeing my wife again, my first loyalty is to her. I apologize for any distress I caused you.

She saw herself through his eyes: a desert warrior, fierce and cunning and lovely, with blue eyes like Jara's shining in her dusty face. Someone extraordinary; someone he was grateful to know, and would always remember with respect.

I hope you find a sanctuary of your own.

"I understand," Noss spoke aloud. "Thank you."

Her eyes were wet with tears, but she was smiling.