I wrote this story in response to a lot of commentary I had read from other authors who had strong objections to the addiction storyline in Season 3. Many people seemed to think that it was completely out if character for a Vulcan and amounted to little more than a character assassination of T'Pol. I always took a very different view of this plot line. Vulcans are often written as invulnerable, almost Mary Sue, characters that stick unbendingly to their culture and beliefs and are incapable of change. But what happens to a Vulcan who becomes culturally isolated amongst a group of aliens whose cultural mores are, in many respects, diametrically opposed to her own. T'Pol was subject to a number of situations that would have impacted her emotional resolve, both physiologically and psychologically. Culturally isolated as she was and from an intensely private species it would have been difficult for her to communicate the nature of her problem, even to Phlox. Add a crisis and moral quandary and you may have a situation that could push her over the edge.

This is set during the Episode Similitude, from my examination of actual dates mentioned in episodes, I estimate Similitude could have been about 3 months before the episodes Azarti Prime and Damage, when she admits she had been taking trellium for 3 months.

I tried as much as possible to follow the timeline obliquely outlined in the episode. According to dialogue it apparently takes 2 days for the larvae to develop into a newborn and Sim is 8 days old when he undergoes the procedure to harvest his tissue. I have to admit this timeline seemed a little screwy to me and I was going to adjust it, but in the end I just rolled with it.

I have rated this as T because it deals with the theme of addiction.

Day 1

Something feels off. There is something that is... not quite right, aside from the mess of twisted metal and smoking relays in engineering of course, but something else. She has a strange sensation. It is difficult to explain, because it feels and she is unfamiliar with feeling. It feels like there is something missing, an absence, there is a hollowness in her stomach that she can not logically explain. She goes over the diagnostics and damage reports again looking for some detail that has missed her attention but has been subconsciously noted. It is illogical, years of training and discipline means she should not have a subconscious. She should notice everything. Vulcan's do not have hunches, they did not have instincts, they do not have feelings, let alone ones in their gut.

She considers the odd sensation, perhaps it is a relic from the trellium poisoning she suffered a few months earlier. Maybe it is related to the Pa'nar Syndrome. The Doctor monitored her symptoms closely and kept the symptoms largely in remission, but experience has taught her the disease could progress suddenly and unexpectedly, requiring urgent tweaking to her treatment regime. The Expanse was also taking its toll on her physically and mentally. The combined effects of the trellium, the Pa'nar and the attack by the telepathic slave, Rajiin, has eroded her mental discipline to an extent she has never experienced in her adult life.

Focusing her awareness on the task at hand, she pushes the uncomfortable sensation aside in the manner of her people and concentrates on the reports and diagnostics, feeding the data into the beginnings of a repair plan, which Commander Tucker will no doubt refine when he is released from sickbay. She is confident that, if there is indeed something she has missed, he will notice it quickly and remedy the situation. She will meditate as soon as she gets the chance and that should take care of any and all feelings, odd or otherwise.

Then the Captain comes to Engineering for a report on the damage and repairs and informs her that Commander Tucker may not survive his injuries. The hollow feeling in her stomach remains, and is joined by a tightness in her chest.

Day 2

Her meditation has been unsatisfactory. She does not want to go to sick bay but with Commander Tucker indisposed she is required to be completely functional. The Doctor notices her gaze drift to the medical bay's tragic occupant. It disturbs her; she is Vulcan, her attention should not drift anywhere.

"His prognosis is not good," Phlox informs her quietly, seeing nothing unusual in her interest.

He does not understand how unVulcan her behaviour is. Given that she has been updated on Commander Tucker's condition and the likely negative outcome, it is not logical for her to seek out personal confirmation of data that has already been disseminated to her. A stream of crew members have visited since the accident the day before, all looking for reports on Commander Tucker's well-being. It does not occur to him that she should be any different.

She feels like she should answer the Doctor, that there is some correct arrangement of words that will convey her... her what? Her thoughts, her feelings, on the likely death of the Commander. She does not even know what her feelings are. She pushes them away so instinctively they are gone from her awareness before they have a chance to so much as alight on her consciousness, let alone be named and talked about.

It turns out her active participation in the conversation is not required. The Doctor obviously feels the need to talk. As he he scans her and monitors the results he informs her of his proposal to utilise the Lyssarrian Desert Larvae to cultivate neural tissue for transplant to Commander Tucker. This time her attention does not shift from the Doctor.

"I assume you are not ignorant of the ethical ramifications of such an undertaking, Doctor?" She asks him archly.

"What? Hmm...?" He briefly looks up from the scanner with an expression that suggests he is surprised she is still there. "Of course, Sub-Commander. As I told the Captain, I would not propose it lightly. But these are difficult times, we can not simply return to Earth to replace Mr Tucker and I would consider him a lynchpin member of this crew. Desperate times call for desperate solutions, wouldn't you agree?" The look he gives her suggests the question is rhetorical.

She's not very good at rhetorical questions, because she usually answers them. Worse, her answer often contradicts the asker's seemingly foregone conclusion. She has learned the body language cues that tend to accompany them but considers it an illogical practice to ask a question when you are looking for a specific answer and are not interested in opposing views. People usually don't like her answers. This time she does not answer, despite her misgivings about the Doctor's reasoning. It does not occur to her that it may be because she does not like the answer.

The Doctor places the scanner on the cart next to the biobed where she sits and returns his full attention to her health. "Your neuralitic enzymes are within the satisfactory range and I am not detecting any traces of trellium in your system or discernible degradation of you neural pathways." He joins his hands in front of him, rocks back slightly on his heels then rises on his toes. "You are in excellent health, Sub-Commander, all things considered." His accompanying smile lacks its usual width. "Of course, I need not tell you to maintain a strict course of meditation and sleep, under the current circumstances your role on the ship has become even more crucial with Commander Tucker's condition so uncertain."

"She nods in response, gets off the biobed and departs sickbay with out a backward glance. No one on board, who saw her stiff back and fixed expression would think it any deviation from the norm. Only she knew how much of her will power it took not to go and stand at the bedside of her dying crewmate and look for a trace of the man that he had been. He was brain dead, it was illogical to stare at his unconscious face and indulge in the hope that a spark of the man might remain.

Day 3

She finds Lieutenant Hess crying in the Reactor Circuitry Bay.

With Commander Tucker gone, crew morale is back under her purview. Technically, as First Officer, it never left her purview but no one on board even pretended she had been fulfilling that function. She has never shied away from her responsibilities in the past so she stands stiffly before Hess and asks her if she requires any assistance.

Hess sniffs rather loudly, runs the sleeve of her jumpsuit over her dripping nose and looks up at T'Pol with puffy, red rimmed eyes. "I'm okay here, Sub-Commander. The damage in this area isn't extensive. I should be done in about 90 minutes."

"I was not referring to your work Lieutenant, I am confident in your ability to assess the situation here and requisition support if you require it." T'Pol takes a deep breath and shifts her weight from foot to foot. "Rather, I noted you are somewhat discomposed and I was offering to support you emotionally."

Hess's eyes widen and she blinks slowly. "I'm sorry, Sub-Commander. I guess my feelings got the better of me." Hess wipes her eyes with the same sleeve she had wiped her nose with only moments before. T'Pol schools herself not to think about it.

Hess, seemingly oblivious to the hygiene implications of repeatedly using her clothing as a handkerchief, continues tentatively. "I just... well, I was thinking about Trip.. I mean, Commander Tucker. Yesterday Phlox was telling us he was going to die, and today he's got some miracle way that might save him, but we won't know for more than a week, and it might not work, and I'm 2IC, and..." Hess looks down at her hands and takes deep breath. "What will we do if he dies?" She almost whispers.

T'Pol cants her head slightly and mentally reviews the Lieutenant's stream of consciousness. She decides Hess must be concerned about her ability to perform As Chief Engineer should Commander Tucker fail to recover. She is confident she can address this concern.

"You have proved yourself to be a competent engineer, Lieutenant Hess. Commander Tucker has consistently reported his confidence in your engineering and leadership skills during your performance reviews. There is no reason to believe you will not perform adequately as Chief Engineer of Enterprise should circumstances require it."

Hess draws in another deep breath, presses her lips together and nods. "Thank you, Sub-Commander," she says flatly and turns back to her work without looking back up at T'Pol.

Later, in the mess hall she overhears Hess relating the conversation to Crewman Kelly and Ensign Sato. They are aware of her proximity and their voices are lowered but even after two and a half years they still have not grasp just how sensitive her hearing really is.

"Sub-Commander T'Pol offered to talk with you about your feelings?" Even with her limited experience of emotions, T'Pol can identify the incredulity in Crewman Kelly's voice.

"Yes, as she'd just found me sobbing all over a circuit board she obviously decided she needed to comfort me for the good of the ship."

"And did you?" Kelly prompts.

"Did I what?"

"Talk about your feelings, ya doofus,"

Hess snots with laughter. "Well I talked about something. I think I came over with a terminal case of verbal diarrhoea and blurted some crap about what we would do if Trip died."

"What did she say to that?" Kelly asks.

Hess snots again, this time not with laughter. "She told me I would be adequate as Chief."

"Ouch," Kelly replies. "Talk about dammed by faint praise."

I know it sounds bad, but for Vulcans calling someone adequate is high praise." Lieutenant Sato speaks up for the first time. "There are no degrees of ability on Vulcan. You can either do the job or or you can't. T'Pol was actually expressing her confidence in your abilities."

"Yeah, on an intellectual level I know that." Hess sighs. "It just wasn't what I needed from her. To be honest, I know I can do the job. I'm a damn good engineer and, I think, a pretty decent leader. I've been working towards being a Chief my whole career. I don't need T'Pol to tell me I can do it. It's not about the job, it's..."

Hess tails off, for some reason unable to finish the statement. If she wasn't Vulcan T'Pol would have been frustrated. How can she improve her crew interactions if even they are unable to verbalise their emotions.

"Yeah, I know, it's Trip, he's... special." Hoshi responds quietly

"Special," Hess scoffs. He's one in a million, one in billion. He's a fricken Faberge Egg. Once he's gone..." Hess' voice breaks and she's unable to finish.

The other two say nothing. T'Pol can hear sniffing and assumes it indicates more crying on the part of all three women. She reflects on what she has just heard. She can remember every word exchanged between her and Hess in the Reactor Circuit Bay and even adding the information from the overheard conversation, she still can't fathom what Hess required from her.

She looks up Faberge Eggs on her PADD and is impressed by their beauty and artistry but considers them completely without purpose and entirely illogical. Was Hess suggesting Commander Tucker was attractive but illogical? She is not sure if she disagrees with that conclusion or not. The eggs are unique, but every person is unique. She wonders if Hess is referring to the clone currently gestating in Doctor Phlox's lab. Do they feel that cloning Trip violates his uniqueness? If she hadn't been Vulcan she would have sighed. She still feels no better informed about the source of her failure in her interaction with Lieutenant Hess than she did at the time.

She places the PADD on the table in front of her and ponders, once again, the moral implications of the clone. Should she have been more emphatic with Phlox and the Captain about her objections. Did she really even object or did she just feel obliged to provide an ethical perspective which she knew to be logical. She looks again at the picture of the diamond studded egg and the tiny jewelled replica of a pre-industrial horse drawn vehicle and she knows, a copy would never be the same as the real thing.

The invisible band around her chest tightens.

Day 4

After three days of secretly wanting any excuse to go to sick bay she is now determined to avoid going there at all cost. One encounter with the infant copy of the Commander was more than enough to satisfy any curiosity she may have been suppressing. While she has a strong urge, desperately suppressed, to see the prostrate original; with Sim, as he has been named, in occupation she is resolved to avoid sickbay and the possibility of confronting the ghost of the man in the face of the child.

The feelings, about the clone, about Commander Tucker crowd her consciousness refusing to be either expressed or repressed. It is fortunate Vulcans can survive for long periods of time on very little sleep. Her inability to meditate satisfactorily, which has continued since the first day of the accident, means attempts at sleep are futile.

She is beginning to dream again. Terrifying scenes of nonsense haunt the few moments of sleep she does manage to achieve which only makes her reluctant to attempt sleep even if she is able to achieve it.

Unwilling to further experience the disturbing nocturnal meanders of her mind, she gets up and begins working

Her mind wanders, which is disturbing in itself. The discipline she once exerted over mind and body seems to be slipping. She can keep her physical form from sick bay but her cerebral self returns there seemingly with a will of its own.

If she exerts what little discipline she seems to have left on her physical restraint, her focus slips. If she concentrates on mental discipline she begins to fidget, her fingers tapping on a surface, or running obsessively over a seam in her uniform, or flicking a nail against a dry cuticle.

She wants to groan and run her hands through her hair, bang her head against the surface of the desk, sweep the contents of the desk on to the floor, she wants to rage. She remembers what is was like, on the Selaya, all her discipline gone, it was not a release. The emotions did not burst like a firework then fade, but poured from her continuously, ceaselessly, like lava on the fire plains consuming every part of her they touched. She had seen Niagra Falls and realised now why it was so disquieting to her. It was like unfettered Vulcan emotions: implacable, unrelenting, inescapable.

She does not succumb to the wave. She has a lifetime of discipline to call on. She breathes and pushes the emotions down. She is Vulcan. This will not defeat her.

She can't help but think that, if Commander Tucker were here, he could help her. He knows how to administer enough neuro-pressure postures that he could, if present, if able, if conscious, assist her in releasing the physical manifestations of the emotions she is struggling to suppress.

She knows if she was amongst Vulcans she would be supported, if not understood. A Vulcan healer would be able comprehend the magnitude of what she was experiencing. She would be assisted, treated like she was suffering an illness. In the same way that she cannot fathom Lieutenant Hess' human emotional needs, her shipmates cannot understand her Vulcan ones. Even Dr. Phlox, with all his training and knowledge, does not fully appreciate the significance of a Vulcan struggling with emotions.

She gets up and goes to engineering. There is always work to do. She will hide from her troubles in work. As she walks the halls, concentrating on keeping her feet moving towards Engineering she remembers a quote Commander Tucker told her once.

Idle hands are the devil's workshop.

Tonight, she truly understands what that means.

XX