Over a month, the pictures from her father's cottage on Vulcan sat on a spotless shelf Perrin had installed by her bed and had spent their time waiting to be unsettled from the rigor draped over her loft by a thin covering of neglect. She kicked away some of the ripped up sheets of music all over the floor and remembered to water her mint plant, dusted and hunched. She put down the mug coffee she'd been pacing with on a wicker chair covered in snow. Outside, she breathed in the sharp wind before grabbing a partly frozen glass of lemonade. Waste not, want not, Perrin thought blankly. The balcony doors hadn't been fully shut. She didn't notice as she went back in.
Only a stained shirt before, now the kitchen corner was taken over by massive amounts of replicated clothing. Perrin didn't care. Both ends of her street were capped with boutiques and she'd had a replicator installed a week after returning. She had settled in; withdrew her rejection of The Palais Garner Orchestra's offer; and over the time between returning and now blankly pouring stale lemonade to refresh her already dead plant though she loss any interest in it to note that, she kept the image of a calm ocean in her mind by ignoring the currents below. She was back to trusting no one, including herself, and had forgotten why she'd trusted Sarek. Didn't want to know why she did.
Back on the balcony, she picked up her violin but did not continue playing; she'd already forgotten about the coffee and didn't see it. Below her the streets were empty. She grabbed her coat, went down, and started to wander.
She passed the boutiques; the clerk's called her in with PADDs showing new designs. She smiled faintly and went on.
She passed a small café with two Vulcans that waved a press of fresh coffee at her with restrained desperation; she reminded them that they shouldn't ignore their customers and continued.
She passed a small trio of trumpet players and asked them if they enjoyed playing for others. They answered that they felt happier with each person swaying to their sound; she passed them too and went on without aim.
"Hey; stop! Stop!" Recognizing his voice, she did. Darrin had caught her turning at the end of her street. He looked for hovercars and went over to Perrin with a wide smile, reaching for a hug. Allowing him, she took a quick step back to take in her old quartet leader.
"Perrin, I heard you're playing at The Palais Garner."
"Oh, you recognized me in the middle of everyone, how nice; did you see a show?" she asked.
"No, but Abe knows one of the flutist—Ryan Dockett."
"He's very good." Darrin responded with a shrug.
"I wouldn't know." He stated.
Holding his hand out and remembering something and quickly shoving it into his coat pocket, he started to walk by her side towards an old library that had been shut down for decades.
When they got closer Darrin spoke up, "You know, about like a week after you patched me up, you know that day those things—"
"Algeans." Perrin corrected.
"Yeah; when they attacked, that next week I finally remembered something. You know how I hate doctors." He stated, looking to her with a uncertain squint.
"Yes?"
"Well I also had this feeling the whole time you were filling in for Thomas that I had seen you somewhere. And I remembered that I had just in time for you to get spirited away." He pulled down his collar and a slight scar peeked out.
"Do you remember fixing this up for me when I was like 15?"
She felt a flicker of genuine happiness with the reminder; her only living patient. Her fingers reached out instantly with excitement and pulled his collar down a bit further. Realizing what she was doing she glanced up to Darrin who waved away her concern. Looking back to his neck, she traced the even snitching with wonder.
"I didn't think it would turn out this well; does your family still avoid modern medicine?" She asked, recalling his mother's fearful expression then.
"Like the plague, which, ironically, my uncle Dave came down with a while a ago."
Pulling up his collar, he asked, "Why didn't you think it would look good? Were you really just the janitor at the time; you always seemed to like everything in a rice neat row." He teased.
"No, I was a intern—I just," she paused, "I lost a patient earlier in the day. He was a Vulcan that had been exposed to a great deal of trellium-D and had passed. I assumed it was just pon farr since such cases are so rare." Darrin responded with surprise.
"Aww, man. I'm sorry."
"It's fine." She turned away. Darrin was not convinced.
"Sure? I don't like pressing you but I did hear about your dad, apparently you saw the whole thing; what I heard."
Perrin did not reply and smiled softly before realizing he couldn't see her charade standing behind her. She could hear him balancing his weight from one foot to the other. He wants to say something, she thought, but waved away the idea not willing to trust it.
"Where's that one other Vulcan guy? He was asking about you the day of the attack, Mia says you were at his place the whole time we couldn't get ahold of you."
"I was staying at his niece's apartment."
"Okay then. Well, he seemed really, really concerned about you that day. Was worried he might throw me into orbit."
"Vulcans do not get emotional. Especially not Sarek." She defended.
"So that's who it was. Anyways, Sarek, that guy, maybe he wasn't going to make me a satellite but he sure as hell was worried about you man. I'm kinda worried about you too, seeing you. Thomas is still stuck on planet red tape; the new guy is awful, we'd love to have you back."
"I love working with the orchestra." Perrin responded.
By then they had reached the abandoned library. Darrin glanced at her, incredulous, and shrugged his shoulders. He started up the steps of the library, slipping on some ice but regaining his balance smoothly. Perrin stayed at the bottom as he went up to the rotted out doors. Slowly stretching out his hand, it was slapped away by unseen force. A sign on one of the Grecian columns by Perrin caught her attention and she glided to it to see what it said.
"Private property; no admittance. Force field around premises." She read loudly for Darrin. He was disappointed, and went around the landing poking at the field but was always stopped from actually touching the building. He viewed through a large crack in the wall.
"No more books."
"I would doubt they would have left any." There was also no roof and Perrin saw around Darrin enough to notice some of the snow Paris had gotten managed to keep on the furniture left behind. She wondered absently if there was a place on Vulcan where it could snow. An image of Sarek flittered in her mind but she pushed away the thought. She called for Darrin to come back to the street so they could continue as long as it would take for him to convince him she was fine. He stayed.
"Come up here I wanted to ask you something." He asked loudly.
"What? I can hear you well from here." she said; Darrin looked nervous at her reply. He shifted his balance. Stopping, he leaned out to stare around the street.
"I don't think you love working there. And I don't think you'd love working with us again. Why? What changed? I know its can't all just be about your father—tell me about this Vulcan guy."
"Sarek?" Perrin deflected.
"Nope; the patient."
She didn't want speak. She wanted to stay silent and have him let it go but he stayed above her, keeping his eyes bearing onto her with an intensity she wouldn't have imagined from him before. When he plays the cello he plays like that, Perrin thought. And she continued to think until she decided just to answer.
"I had met someone I thought I could trust when I was young, a family friend. But I shouldn't have; because of him I lost my family and I stopped feeling like I could trust people. It changed me completely. I always wanted to be a doctor after my grandmother got sick when I was young; it was a way to really help people. But when my patient, Safik, died I realized I couldn't help people the way I was. The way I am still, I discovered on Vulcan. Too distrustful, to focused on one thing; those aren't good traits for a good doctor. I'm too protective. And perhaps they didn't have a chance but I knew if they did they still would have died because of me. The way I am I just can't be a doctor or a surgeon. So I play the violin because my mother was good at it, and she taught me to be just as good. I'm not helping anyone now just playing songs, sitting on a stage."
Snow came down then. On everything it rested lightly and on the juniper trees dividing the street, it brought out their deep unfading green. Perrin tried to recall how far away she was from her apartment and pulled her coat closer around her. The snow filled up the sky and weighted her pockets, wetted her hands that she had stuffed in them, and weighted the knot in Darrin's brow as he came back down to Perrin. He stuck out his tongue and caught a few flakes.
"Maybe you'll never be a doctor but you sell yourself short on the music. You see I really only care about it for two reasons; either I love the player or I love the playing. You're both man. Hell, one of the reasons I went with you in the first place after Thomas got caught stealing priceless cultural stuff was my nephew."
He got quiet and wandered out into the street that was strangely vacant though they were outside of the normal tourist areas of Paris. More clouds rolled in.
"You did a concert at Elizabeth Tucker's Children's Hospital; my cousin was there. After you played he talked about you a lot. He was supposed to die oh, like two and a half weeks after you left. He talked about your playing and begged to learn the violin for the whole five months he ended up living." He kicked at the ground, kicking up a swirl of snow.
"I really like to hear you play, and I like to watch the wheels turn in your eyes even when you're just saying hello to people. When you're good it helps people, no matter what it is you're good at. I think who you are is good man; it might not always work out, being like you are, but you should keep trying anyways. And I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me all that about you." Darrin finished.
Not quite facing him, Perrin reached out and grabbed his arm, thankful for what he said. She felt her guilt ebb slightly, not completely. Just keeping remembering this, she thought to herself of what Darrin had said. Placing his hand over hers, Darrin and she remained there for a while before leaving separately without goodbyes. When she got back to her loft, she sorted all her clothes, washed the dishes, and polished her violin thoroughly. She could see her eyes clearly in the reflection of the wood and felt a sliver of her old pride coming up through the waters.
"Do you have any mint tea?" Perrin asked the Vulcan co-owner Taal. They raised a questioning eyebrow and pointed to a pot of water heating over the fireplace they had reopened.
"The water is there; Skor will go to the market and get some mint Mademoiselle Perrin." She raised her voice at this last part and Skor came out from the kitchen, absently placing a cupcake on the counter pointing to a tall man standing near it. Alarmed, Perrin stood up and held off Skor from leaving, telling them both she'd just have coffee though she lost her taste for it after seeing Darrin. Even surrounded by Frenchmen, these two still act like this, Perrin thought with some embarrassment, sheepishly smiling at the other customers. Skor and Taal went to the back.
Her coffee was piping hot and fresh; the other table glared at her, spitting their stale coffee back into their cups. To emphasize, they knocked into her as they got up and left. Skor and Taal paid them no mind. Perrin knew that she would not be able to think within blatant view of their interest. From the counter they both intently watched Perrin drink as she shifted her seat towards the wall screen. Not really meaning to watch it at all, she looked out into the snow, the now near weekly storms allowed to persist despite the Le Pouvoir de le Temps's official recommendation that the weather patterns be adjusted to something moderate. She lifted herself out of the seat trying to make out her loft through the thick snowfall. She'd left the lights on to find it, like a lamp faintly lit for her to see; Perrin was relieved when she spotted it. She'd walked past her building a few times coming back from the Palais Garner, meandering until the juniper trees stopped and were replaced by renaissance statutes of ancient generals.
Settling back down to finish her coffee, Perrin glanced back at the counter and picked up on something familiar on the screen as she did. It was Sarek. Not expecting that, she nearly dropped her cup but remembered it and set it down on the table. The text was in French so she was able to read what it was about.
"The ambassador's chief of staff has just briefed the Bureau of Planetary Treaties on the matter, stating the incident with the Legarians was a minor oversight which has already been resolved." The screen moved onto a new piece of news from there as though the previous piece was trivial. To Perrin it was not. Sarek was something she couldn't resolve in her life.
She got out her PADD and looked over the 2 symphony pieces that were to be played tomorrow. She could see the notes but the song they made escaped her as she held onto her concern. She tried to focus on the idea that if she played well it might mean something for someone even if she wouldn't see the results as with being a doctor, which she was beginning to accept. She pictured the rhythm of the song and only saw the image of Sarek as he had floated across from her in the waves, helping to dampen them the day of the funeral.
Three and a half months since she'd returned to Earth. Perrin had spent most of this night, after the end of Starfleet's memorial dinner for Doctor Phlox, talking with Dr. McCoy. He had seemed pleasantly surprised to Perrin who noticed the drawl in his voice coming out heavier while he rolled on his feet as they spoke. Waiting for the depot terminal to find her an available hovercar, Perrin admitted to herself that she was very happy they'd talked. Much like with Valor, her feelings of guilt seemed to subside somewhat from it. She also admitted, following the line of holographic light that guided to the hovercar the depot had chosen for her, that she felt a deep grief for the reminder in seeing so many medical officers that night of the final death of her lifelong dream. She looked at them and knew she couldn't do what they did and be there that night too.
She'd set aside her mother's violin two weeks ago, not wanting to replace the worn strings, and bought a new one, keeping the old case with the broken bow beneath the lining as a reminder. The new played far better. High and low tones rung clearer to enunciate the emotion of whatever song she played. She felt, keeping an eye on her audience for every performance, that this change left them more affected. She'd been very proud of the tears in even McCoy's eyes tonight for her solo number.
It could all be enough.
Pushing in the pin number given by the terminal, she placed the violin in the trunk and backed the hovercar out, putting it in manual drive since traffic was minimal. The depot had been empty except her by the time Dr. McCoy had finally grown tired.
The memorial dinner was in San Francisco; she passed over the golden gate bridge and saw from the floodlights Starfleet's Campus. She hunched over the controls to see it better. The hovercar jerked to the left as she did. To correct it, Perrin braked slowly then pulled to the side. Perrin looked over the dashboard and saw no cautions; she looked out the hovercar where nothing was on the road. I suppose I simply caught the wheel without realizing, she thought.
Before merging back in, an alert appeared on her communicator. She transferred the call to the on-board monitor. Sakkath's face appeared.
"Ms. Perrin; live long and prosper." She accidently responded with a salute of both hands. Sakkath did not correct her. She rubbed her eyes; her vision had been getting somewhat blurry.
"Sakkath, how nice. Why have you called?" She thought for a moment, curious, "How did you reach me?"
"I was able to retrieve your channel from the Federation records. I have called to say I grieve with thee; I heard about your father 2 days ago. Despite his former position, his death was not discussed here at the Federation Embassy."
"I'm not surprised Sakkath." She answered solemnly; she did not elaborate. I suppose he'll never find redemption, Perrin thought of her father.
She was not certain what to say to Sakkath. She acknowledged a part of her wanted to end the call with him but she also recognized a pattern of behavior in doing that, were she to. Pressing on one of the controls, she rolled the window down to let in some of the damp air blooming up from the bay. Her breathing it in helped sharpen that feeling she wanted to avoid. That she had avoided: regret. Sarek came to the forefront of her mind.
She had accepted him leaving. The investigation was over, she repeated Sarek's own reasoning, there was no logical reason for him to stay. She acknowledged that she wished he had and had thought in the back of her mind he might have desired to. The darkness of the night crawled in and deepened; the lights from the campus dimmed to her. She watched till the wind calmed and the waters too.
Finally she knew what to say. "Do you know of anyone whom could teach me Vulcan meditation?"
Sakkath considered this. "I am not certain. I know of no one at the Vulcan Embassy on Earth. However, Sarek would be the most logical person to ask. He is quite known for his restraint, even among Vulcans." Sakkath replied. Perrin treaded lightly in her answer.
"I'm afraid I forgot to ask for his channel before I left; I wouldn't know how to contact him." Replied Perrin.
"I work in the same building as he, I can—" She stopped him.
"No! No, it is fine. I simply feel the best thing would be to find someone here on Earth or someone who is not as busy as the ambassador is." She knew herself well enough to predict how she would react to Sarek: the same way she had seeing her father at the fire plans after so long, with a lingering degree of pain from his abandonment when she had needed him the most. Only with Sarek, his reasons were rooted in logic and thus—Perrin saluted Sakkath and ended the call to drive in thought—irrefutable.
