SR6: Love's Labor Lost - 2
T'Pol's eyes opened slowly, forcing herself from her healing trance so as not to require the doctor to slap her into consciousness. She glanced over at her husband. His cheek rested against her hand, which was draped onto the bed. A tiny snore rumbled in his nose and passed through his lips. She'd heard nearly everything in her sleep, including his sobs of agony, but was unable to shake herself from her coma-like rest. Perhaps he felt better now that he was able to release his emotion. In many ways, T'Pol's emotional outbursts weighed on her, rather than liberated her. It wasn't time.
Void. Only recently could she feel a child in her womb. His feet, she was certain it was a boy, never pressed up against her stomach or kicked at it – the child wasn't that developed, but she could sense it. It was in the parents' bond like a breeze … faint, but there, and even her husband picked up on the change in their union and the tingle of something different between them.
That breeze was gone.
When she awakened, a sharp pain shot through her back and grabbed at her belly, forcing the breath out of her and doubling her over. And the nausea … worse than previous mornings … caused her to nearly sink to the ground.
Dismissing it, she lumbered to the bathroom, careful not to wake her husband as she did most mornings, and wretched. It was odd that the pain was still there, worse than the occasional back spasms and light cramping of her pregnant stomach … much worse. Glancing over toward the darkened room, she spied tiny droplets of green blood along the tiles of the bathroom floor … sending panic into her mind. Reaching into her bond, she searched for that soft wind – her son. With realization, she fell helplessly to the floor and buried her face into her hands to weep.
'That breeze is gone,' she thought.
Jonathan stirred from his slumber.
T'Pol had lost much. In her mind's eye she'd already imagined the boy – light brown hair and pensive green eyes; her son would have an infectious smile … there was no doubt about that. She'd imagined him to be curious and eager, interested in space and reading and sporting his father's cowlicks; she'd also pictured he'd have great physical strength, agility, grace and mental discipline. In other words: the boy would be the perfect combination of their union.
Would've been.
Hearing Jonathan's broken voice and watching tears stream down his face only wounded her further, as if she were unable to fulfill a role most women easily do. More devastating, T'Pol, like most Vulcans, saw motherhood as a privilege and an honor … it gave her sex a slight advantage over males. It enabled women to rise to power during the more matriarchal points of their history.
In addition, even with all the minor trials of pregnancy she'd enjoyed the feeling of something growing inside of her; it deepened the bond with her husband and infinitely expanded their love. When she walked into a room, even with a slightly swollen stomach, she could tell he adored her – all of her. Everything -- conversations, thoughts and actions -- slipped from his mind … replaced by love, desire and admiration. His arms ached to wrap themselves around her and his mind yearned to plumb the depths of hers. Filled with awe, she felt the same way. Her lips longed to kiss his and she greedily teased him at lunch to join her thoughts in bed.
It was more than just the prestige and emotions shared between her and her husband. Children, no matter the species, were a blessing. Because Pon Farr occurred only every seven years and marriages were arranged, new life was rare. Vulcans saw the entire life cycle as a logical process, setting up rules whereby the madness of Pon Farr would be less embarrassing – part of why spouses were pre-selected. Once life arrived -- reaching the hot, arid planet -- it was treasured and respected. Vulcans kissed their babies and stroked the heads of their toddlers with the same amount of love that humans did.
T'Pol wanted a family with Jonathan. She wished to feel a child suckle at her breast, gurgling against her, and stare into the twinkling eyes of her husband. In fact, even though she chided Jonathan for his flights of fancy, she'd already imagined her husband caring for their son as he grew older – bathing him, tucking him into his bed, reading a story and then sauntering over to her where they'd attempt to make another child as remarkable as the first. A child created without the aid of Pon Farr, a husband who stirred emotions in her and the miraculous birth human/Vulcan hybrid – it would've been perfect.
Would've been.
It was sad, but she could rationalize that nature had a reason for not allowing children to live. Perhaps he'd developed a fatal defect that would've shortened his life anyway. All of the scans indicated her son would be the epitome of health. No, she was certain that her copper-based womb couldn't sustain an iron-based fetus – despite his pensive green eyes and infectious smile.
The fault was hers. Her body expelled the child from it.
At these thoughts, Archer stirred. Their eyes locked as each studied the other for a moment, wondering what to say, think or do. Then, he leaned his forehead into hers and the two absorbed each other's thoughts and feelings. Before she could sense it, he buried the information Phlox had shared with him earlier – whether she would ever be able to give birth or conceive. When the doctor confirmed it, then they could discuss it. But, he knew she couldn't deal with the news right now, and frankly, neither could he.
'How do you feel?' he asked.
Her eyes filled with tears as she responded. 'Better. Jonathan, I'm sorry.'
'Sorry? Why? It's not your fault; there's nothing you could've done.' He dragged her into a hug, trying to envelop her with love. 'I'm glad you're okay. I don't know what I would've done if something happened to you.'
'I know you were looking forward to fatherhood.'
'You were looking forward to this just as much as I was,' he said stroking her cheek. 'You still look pale. Are you sure you're all right?'
'Yes,' she confirmed.
He released her from his hold and petted her hair.
Attempting to control her emotions, she turned away. She took a deep breath and held it, slowly passing it through her nostrils. Losing children was not unheard of on Vulcan – it happened, though rarely. Once it did, the parents were encouraged to think about the cycle of life logically. T'Pol was more emotional than other Vulcans, making this task more difficult. Her mind tried to fix on the cycle of life – birth and death. Besides, there would be the ceremony; they would have an appropriate time to express emotions.
'Death is inevitable,' she chanted within her brain … out of her husband's grasp.
For the time being, there was nothing to do, except move on. Reaching deep within her Vulcan psyche and training, she worked to suppress her emotions. It'd be best for both of them if she accepted it and they moved on together.
'I grieve with thee. But, this event is behind us,' she whispered in his mind with finality. She strengthened her reserves and barriers, shielding him from her thoughts and emotions.
"Huh?" he asked, feeling the closeness they'd enjoyed over the past five months begin to slip away.
'Did you have someone clean up the blood in our quarters?'
Stumbling over the words, his mind tried to determine a response to, "It was time to move on." Numbness had already spread through his body as he wondered how he'd get through it. No one else on the ship knew, except Phlox. And, although the physician was a friend of his, he only wanted to talk about this with her – his wife and best friend.
In a selfish way, he was hoping he and his wife could lean on each other for support. He'd be the protective husband, shooing away errant tears, kissing her temple and giving her support. He envisioned she'd be the loving wife, whispering through the night silence of their darkened bedroom that everything would be okay, which would force a few tears to sting his cheeks. In a selfish way, he was hoping this would bring them closer together now that they had to face this.
Supportive – he reminded himself – he needed to be supportive.
"No, not yet," he mumbled.
"Don't you think you should do so immediately?" she asked.
"I don't know," he whispered.
'There is a Vulcan ceremony … we can commit his memory to our bond, if you would like. Although he did not have a katra, it would … respect his memory.'
'I'd like that,' he thought with a sad smile.
'And the human custom?' she asked, touching his face.
'I don't know. I've never had to deal with something like this before,' he explained, nuzzling his cheek into her hand.
"Perhaps we should look into it."
"Okay."
"Do you know when I may leave?" she asked, letting her hand fall to her side.
"I don't know. I didn't ask Phlox that yet. I just wanted to be with you."
"When he returns perhaps you can ask him. Would you mind?"
"No," he said, stroking her cheek.
"You don't need to stay here with me, Jonathan. I know the astrometric reports are ready. Undoubtedly Crewman Frasley would like to discuss them with you."
"Huh?"
"There is nothing you can do by being here. It seems a waste of your time."
Anger bubbled up in his stomach, which he squashed immediately. Supportive. "The most important thing to me right now is you, T'Pol."
"Why would you want to stay with me?" she asked.
"You're my wife. I love you."
"I cherish thee as well. But, currently, there's nothing you can do."
"We've just lost our child," he thought, as if he needed to remind her.
"Yes, we did."
"I need some time to process things. It's very human to be devastated by an event like this. And that's what I feel. I feel devastated … I feel scared, hurt, angry, upset …."
"Perhaps you would prefer to feel these emotions elsewhere. When our room has been cleaned, it might be beneficial …."
"Do you want me to leave?" he asked.
"I would like to meditate on my thoughts before I share them with you."
Archer was distraught. In the past year, he never would've called his wife cold or unfeeling, but now she seemed almost infuriatingly so. He told himself she'd just lost a baby, their child, and that undoubtedly she needed to go through whatever Vulcans go through. He wished she felt like talking about it, although he wasn't sure what he'd say. What could he or would he say?
Feel … all he could do was feel … and the emotion that hung over him was something akin to being destroyed. He wanted so badly just to hold his wife and crawl around inside her head; he wanted to share her pain and emotions. For as thoroughly demoralized as he felt, he knew she was more so, even if she didn't show it.
Supportive. If she needed to be alone, so be it. They'd have plenty of chances to talk about it. And in all honesty, he wanted to clean his quarters rather than let the sanitation crew do so, even if the idea sickened and saddened him.
"All right," he whispered. Before he turned away, he boyishly asked, "Would you mind if I had lunch with you? I could bring you some soup?"
"Of course," she responded.
A weak smile formed on his lips. "Okay."
Archer unwittingly left her side and looked around for the physician. Phlox was in the laboratory trying to let the two have some time alone. When the captain stepped around the corner, the doctor let a large frown gather on his face.
Phlox said, "This is the hardest part of being a doctor. I can't empathize. I've never lost a child…."
Archer's forehead riddled with furrows and he looked away.
The captain mumbled, "When can T'Pol leave?"
"Tomorrow at the earliest," he responded.
"Thanks, Doc." He sheepishly glanced at the man, afraid more emotions would be unearthed and walked back to his wife.
Jon tucked a lock of hair behind her pointed ear. "Sounds like you might be able to leave tomorrow. I'll see you at lunch. Let me know if you need anything. Okay?"
"I'll be fine," she whispered, encouraging him to leave.
Archer walked out of Sickbay and wandered the halls back to his room. He'd forgotten his shirt and arms were stained with dried green blood, until he noticed a few crewmembers' concern. Rather than explain it or address them, he ignored them. As he neared his room, Trip passed by and stopped immediately. He noticed his friend was disheveled, exhausted, and covered in what he rightly assumed was T'Pol's blood.
"You alright?" asked Trip. "Is T'Pol alright?"
Archer weakly nodded his head and turned to his door.
"What's going on?" he asked.
Archer stared darkly at the commander. "It's personal."
It didn't take a rocket scientist … well … it didn't take much to understand what was going on. Even if he didn't know the rumors about her tossing cookies, he had plenty of other evidence. There was also something about Jon that reminded him lately of his own dad – protective. There was one instance when they'd been near a nebula and received some turbulence. Trip was on the Bridge for the event, taking readings and monitoring some data, when the ship buckled and T'Pol was knocked out of her chair to the ground. Under normal circumstances, the captain would've glanced at her, asked if she was okay and then requested status report on hull plating and engines. Instead, he sprinted to her side, helped her up and contacted Sickbay before asking Reed for about the ship's status. Now, that was unusual. There was also that time when she'd come to check on the engines and had a fainting spell. When Trip carried her into the infirmary, he was surprised Archer was jogging behind him with more than the normal amount of worry. The guy seemed distraught until Dr. Phlox cryptically noted, "Everything seems to be okay." His wife hadn't awakened, so Trip had wondered what was 'okay.'
Seeing his friend now only solidified that she was pregnant, although maybe not anymore. The corners of Tucker's mouth turned down.
"You know, Jon, when you feel like talking about it, I got some 20-year old bourbon back in my cabin waiting to be drunk."
Trip was always kind, just one of the many reasons the man was his friend. But, Archer couldn't speak through the lump in his throat; so instead, he gave a slight nod and entered his cabin, trying to mentally prepare himself for what he'd find. The door opened and slid behind him as he surveyed the damage. Green liquid sprinkled the floor. Padding his feet over to the bed, he noticed green blood covered their sheets and was smeared against the light switch he jabbed that morning. Heading to the bathroom, he noticed droplets of blood leading to the commode where it pooled – it was the place where she'd cowered away from him … the location where she'd cried so hard it broke blood vessels in her eyes.
'Maybe if all traces of the ordeal are gone, we can forget the event,' he thought. 'Not our child, the event.' It was an important distinction.
Cleaning was easy. He tossed the sheets in the waste chute for incineration, scrubbed the tiles in the bathroom, wiped away the stain on the light switch and mopped up the small puddles on the carpet. Afterward, he stripped himself, threw his clothes into the waste chute and started a shower. As he was about to step in, he glanced at the mirror and was shocked at his own reflection – green splatters streaked across his chest, stomach, face and arms. His own eyes were bloodshot and surrounded by dark purple bags. Unshaven, stubble was breaking through the skin on his face and his hair was standing nearly on end.
Ignoring the visage, he forced himself under the nozzle of the spray and rinsed off. It took a moment before the sensation of burning reached his skin – the water was too warm and had already caused his forearm to turn a light shade of pink. Feebly, he fumbled with the controls and noticed his coloring return to normal. Leaning his head against the wall, he let the water tumble over him, and watched her dark green blood wash over him as it swirled down the drain.
His eyes closed and he stood there for much longer than he actually needed to. The pelting of the water felt good … feeling felt good, at least experiencing something other than turmoil and decay. Wanting to sleep, his mind focused on Phlox's words.
T'Pol would never be able to give birth.
His hand reached around the valves to shut them off. Snapping a towel from the rack he dried himself, shaved – for the first time without nicking himself, brushed his teeth and changed into his civvies for lunch.
When he walked in, T'Pol was reading a PADD that contained data on human ceremonies for unborn infants. He removed the duffle bag from his shoulder and set it in a chair next to the bio-bed. He'd packed a few things he thought she would need or could use – including a change of clothes and a few personal items.
"I asked one of the crewmen to deliver lunch for us. I hope that's okay," he said.
"Of course."
He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "What'd ya do this morning?" he asked.
"Reviewed human customs for a situation like ours. It appears we have many options, although in Western Civilization…."
"I don't really want to talk about that right now," he said, interrupting her.
"But…," she began.
Archer cut her off again, changing the subject. "Did you meditate this morning?"
"Yes," she said.
"Good. Listen, I did what you asked," he said, trying to be as delicate as possible.
"Clean up the room?" she asked, as his head nodded. "Thank you. I imagine it would be difficult to thoroughly remove all the blood from our sheets," she added, clinically.
He stared at her, puzzled at her comments. "I threw them out."
She raised her eyebrow, "Excellent idea, if not inefficient. I'm sorry for the damage I caused."
"You don't have anything to be sorry about," he said. His fingers brushed the side of her face as she averted her eyes.
"I've kept you from your duty as well as other endeavors."
He furrowed his brow. "T'Pol, let's get one thing straight."
Switching to their bond to give them more privacy, he continued. 'I can't … I can't not be with you. I care about you … and about us. And, I know you thought about being a mother. I know you were looking forward to it – I saw it in your mind.'
"What good does it do to reminisce about this?"
Wearily, he stroked her hair. Unsure what to say or do, he monitored her every facial twitch and reflex with calculated detail. After a few moments, she raised her eyebrow.
"You're staring at me."
He sighed deeply, 'I'm trying to figure out how you feel.'
'When we commit the child to our bond, you'll know.'
The food was delivered as the two ate mostly in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Dinner was the same if not more awkward. They exchanged pleasantries and made small talk, but they were going through the motions.
After spending the majority of the day with her, Archer trudged home – off to sleep alone. Alone. That seemed to sum up how he felt. He went through his daily rituals – brushed his teeth, washed his face and changed into his pajama bottoms.
As he ducked under the covers, it hit him: how alone he really felt. But the loneliness wasn't from his missing child; that was barely noticeable to him as if occasionally someone would barely tickle his skin. The emptiness wasn't his half-full bed – it was his wife. He typically had unrestrained access to her thoughts and emotions; now, a curtain drew closed between them until he could barely sense her feelings at all – any of them. All day he'd felt a void and poked at his bond with his wife, hoping to elicit a response. Instead, little by little, she went from disregarding his thoughts to withdrawing from him. Why had it taken so long … all day … for him to figure this out? Maybe he hadn't had a chance to really examine the problem until now. Maybe he was more concerned about his own feelings. Maybe he was too exhausted to notice anything was really happening at all.
With that thought ringing through his brain, he shut his eyes and fell asleep.
'I'll talk with T'Pol tomorrow,' he promised himself.
During the day, T'Pol had contained her feelings – it was obvious her husband was having trouble dealing with his own emotions; he didn't need something or someone else derailing them. Besides, it was customary to let grief topple over a couple during the Mai Toi Fa'Kan – the ritual where they would commit the child to their memory. And during that sacred rite, the Kumi -- the awakening -- would take control of her.
Emotional fervors rarely hit Vulcans – the race experienced them only when prophetic joy or catastrophic loss pummeled their reserves and there was a word for the cathartic, chaotic and terrifying release of emotions: kumi. Sometimes the Vulcan experiencing this awakening shook during their outburst, crushed solid metal objects with their bare hands or screamed, shattering glass and watching shards explode. It was more powerful than the Pon Farr, maddening the mind, but was for a brief moment in time. After participants let loose their emotional fury, they often times crumpled to the ground – their minds cleansed.
Undoubtedly the Mai Toi Fa'Kan, would force out that awareness – she'd probably scream and wail. It was important to prepare herself for that possibility and determine how to reign in some of those emotions. Because Jonathan was human, he might not be able to understand or withstand such a psychic blast. He would feel overwhelmed and frightened and could cave under the force of what she launched against him, especially while attempting to handle his own pain.
Indeed the ceremony was nearly her only thought, pushing her to get through the day and causing her to become distracted from nearly everything else. The awakening would solve all their problems and enable her to eventually suppress her emotions tidily again.
It was curious that Jonathan tested the bond to ensure it was still there. Rather than bombard him with information about the Vulcan ritual, she decided to let him feel baffled as to why she didn't acknowledge his mental presence. They would have time to discuss everything tomorrow, where she'd walk him through the importance and the nuances of this most sacred and ancient of Vulcan rites. She'd assign him a few mental gymnastics to accept the emotional intensity more easily.
It was difficult to distance her emotions from him, she'd wanted to reach out, but knew it wouldn't do either of them any good. It was best to focus on the future. It was really best for him, even if he didn't understand it.