Disclaimer: They aren't mine, and I am only playing with the characters Paramount owns. From this piece, which I wrote because my muse is both heartless and relentless, I will not get a penny.
Without Regret
Hoshi is a linguist, and I suspect that she has long since figured out that my wording is no coincidence. With that in mind, I wouldn't blame her a bit if she treated me as though I was a snake sliding along the desert. That she hasn't speaks volumes for her compassion.
Her daughter was born today on Earth, and I've already received pictures. How can she not hate me? I must admit that there is a part of me that hates myself. Because no matter how sorry I was, no matter how much her child needs a father, even though I've retired and am now living on Vulcan, of all places, I can't regret my choice.
Regret implies remorse, means that if given the opportunity, I would not do the same thing, and I couldn't even offer a grieving woman a small lie. I couldn't tell her that I regretted what I had done, even after she told me she was pregnant. I know that I would save T'Pol again and again, no matter how many times I faced the choice. Yes, even knowing that Hoshi was pregnant, I would save T'Pol.
I am a selfish bastard, but a shred of decency left in me forced my retirement from Starfleet. T'Pol and I decided to come to Vulcan. It is unorthodox, and I thought that knowing how selfish I am would make her leave me in the dust.
She says that she cannot completely understand my human emotions, but that "the idea of life without you is…unappealing." Most of the time, I keep busy as Earth liaison to Vulcan, and it is good to know that she is only a few kilometers away, holed up in the basement of the Science Directorate studying the idea that time travel may indeed be possible. The small group she is a member of is not popular in Vulcan society, but she tells me that the truth, whatever it is, will validate their efforts.
Sometimes I realize what a horribly selfish person I am, and then she wisely allows me to wallow in self-hate for a few hours before telling me that "lamentation is not productive." Maybe when her pon farr comes, if the mental bond works like she has tried to explain, she'll understand that what I hate is how I am so happy. It is a paradox, but she knows the cause. She is also wise enough to know that I do not blame her for it.
I could save her. I could save Malcolm. There was no way I could save both of them. We were damaged and only had enough power to transport one of them. The shuttle was going to explode in forty-five seconds, and despite Trip's best effort, it would be a minute and a half before the transporter even had a chance of working again. At least I had enough decency to transport her myself. "Ensign," I'd told Hotier at the controls, "I'll do it." When the nightmares come, and T'Pol pretends to sleep through them beside me, I hope that Hotier doesn't have them. Then I look at T'Pol, and am so overcome with love for her that I know it's all worth it.
That's why Hoshi should hate me. Because if I could do it all over, I would not save her husband, the father of her child. I would save the woman I love. Sorrow I feel, but regret I do not. I love T'Pol more than I thought was possible. In her own way, she loves me as much, though she never says it. She doesn't have to. Though I would give my life to be able to save both of them, I don't regret saving her instead of Malcolm. I can't.