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'''OOC Content warning:''' Contains discussion of subjects some may find distressing
'''OOC Content warning:''' Contains discussion of subjects some may find distressing
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''Ens. T'Reshik and PNPC Taurek: The Inheritance of Pain''
((FLASHBACK - ???))
Dawn will come soon and you are still alive. Keep walking.
The stardate is 235008.28. Your name is Taurek. You are seventeen years old and soon to enter your second year at Starfleet Academy. The introductory Third Analects of Surak are as follows. One: Disciplines that can be abandoned in times of hardship when disciplines are most needed are no disciplines at all. Two: Life calls to Life. Three: The body is flesh to which the mind gives meaning and into which the katra breathes life.
These things you must remember, though your emotions cry out for oblivion, for you to forget your name and what you have endured. These things you must remember because you are nothing without them. Keep walking.
It is three more hours to the nearest clinic and you have been walking for two. You avoided public transport because you could not bear the scrutiny of those around you, the irrational insistence of your mind that they would somehow be able to see your pain - your failure - in your eyes.
You allowed your emotions to influence your decision. That was a mistake. You will not repeat this mistake again. You are Vulcan. Your name is Taurek. The stardate is 235008.28. You must remember these things; you must remember who you are. You must keep walking.
The ancient names of the constellations above you are as follows. Hu'a, the demon. T'Kehr, the teacher. Tsa-spakh, the raptor's claw. The chemical formula for serotonin is C10H12N2O. The latitude to which you are headed is 0.7031 west. Do not think about what you are walking from. Do not think about him. Remember who you are. Keep walking.
Clear your mind. Focus on your breaths. Find your centre, the peace and control you have refined since you were too young to remember. The desert stretches level and wide about you in the darkness. Think about the horizon. In two hours the gentle spires of your home city will rise above it and its shadows will reach toward you like a beckoning hand. Keep walking.
You must keep walking. You are Vulcan. Your people have endured centuries of violence, of infighting, of a harsh and inhospitable planet that has driven your physiology into a bladed edge of survival. Your genes were forged in magma, tempered by nuclear fire. Your ancestors endured worse than this and lived. You must keep walking.
You must keep walking, because if you do not, you will scream into the desert until your throat begins to bleed and there is no silence in this galaxy deep enough to contain the sound.
((FLASHBACK - USS Chrysippus, 2388))
It was no trouble to administer the compound. As far as Starfleet was concerned, it was an experimental treatment for early-onset bendii syndrome. T'Reshik's colleagues all knew, and sometimes they looked at her with a sympathy she did not deserve.
Had she been affected by such thoughts, T'Reshik might have felt guilty.
As it was, she felt no emotion, alone in her dimly-lit CMO's office as the hypospray touched her neck and hissed, as it had done every forty-eight hours since she and Sutek had first perfected their project - or, at least, thought it had been perfected. Sutek's death was testament to her initial failure. He'd collapsed into fire and pain some years ago, suffered until her need to gather information had been overwhelmed by her duty to give him a painless death.
But the problems had been ironed out since then. She dismissed the subject from her mind, put the hypospray aside, and went to stand.
For a moment, it felt as if the ship had moved, or, more specifically, as if the inertial dampeners had juddered for a second and sent everyone into a kind of transitory free-fall. A dropping in her stomach that rose through to her chest, a strange tingling in her limbs.The smell of ozone, which she knew came from no external source.
Her thoughts faded out and in again, and suddenly she was on the ground, tired and aching, one hand twitching beside her.
Harrok: Doctor?
He must have heard the fall and come running. Even as the automatic process of diagnosis rattled on in her head - the type of seizure, the areas in the brain that were affected, the knowledge of an urgent need for medical attention - denial cried out from elsewhere in her mind. It was nothing. She was fine. This had nothing to do with the compound. She had not failed. She could not have failed, not now, not after all this time...
T'Reshik: 'm fine. Merely fell. Leave me alone.
The Grazerite doctor was already kneeling at her side, his tricorder out.
Harrok: You're not fine. You've had a seizure. Stay still. NURSE!
T'Reshik: I am... fine...
But there was a strange glow around his head, around everything, and no amount of denial could keep her from realizing that a second seizure was on its way. Even as her mind insisted that the compound had nothing to do with this, the project for which she had lied and stolen and effectively killed two people - no, it couldn't be that, it couldn't - the terrible weight of realization was settling inside her even as the world went black.


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It was clear she had a lot of work to do.
It was clear she had a lot of work to do.
----
''PNPC Taurek: The Absence Of Her Voice (part 1)''
((Vulcan, 2350))
Shivok: Shon-ha'lock. "The Engulfment". You are not alone in this experience, Taurek.
His tutor poured out two cups of tea as he spoke; Taurek, shamefully tearful, almost bent double on the seating cushion, curled his hand into a fist and pressed it against his mouth. Shivok's robe around his shoulders smelt faintly of incense and the vanilla-like scent of ageing books. It was a comforting weight, but it did little.
He had been so convinced he was ready to jump that he had not thought to protect himself against the cold of the desert night - a minor inconvenience on the ground that became almost whip-like in its intensity up on those bare and rocky cliffs, where there was nothing to help retain the heat of the day.
Shivok's was the closest familiar home to the site of his thwarted drop, but, more importantly, it felt easier to face Shivok with this shame than his parents. Easier being a relative term in this case; it seemed almost as if Taurek had brought the cold back with him. He was shivering, and he hated himself for his weakness.
Shivok: I do not believe you are a danger to yourself, but if you think you require psychiatric intervention I am willing to accompany you-
Taurek: No. ::He paused, took a deep breath:: I am... sorry. I was... not thinking clearly. I do not believe I would have proceeded with my plan. I merely... failed to properly address the pain.
None of it felt true. He took another shuddering breath as Shivok sat there silently, steam rising from the cups.
Taurek: I... find it difficult to believe that everyone experiences emotions of this... intensity. How does this not constitute love? How - ::His voice broke a little, but he steeled himself.:: How does anyone bear this?
Shivok's voice was calm, steady.
Shivok: With difficulty. But we survive. I have been where you are, Taurek.
Taurek: This... is different. You are... normal.
Shivok: Your condition may exacerbate the usual difficulties of adolescence, but I disagree that the girl's rejection hinged on your physicality. And "normal" is an imprecise and largely useless term, especially in your chosen field.
He slid one of the cups across the table.
Shivok: ::Abruptly:: I was twenty-two years old. My twin sister was... unwell. None of us knew the extent until it was too late to intervene. She could not stop her own heart, so she resorted to... surgical methods. I wanted to join her. I almost did.
Taurek felt suddenly small and ashamed. How could he have thought that his own infatuation for a classmate was so unbearable, when a man he respected and admired had weathered something far worse? He picked up the cup carefully, focusing on its warmth, allowing the sensation to override the aching tangle of feelings inside him. Shivok kept speaking, as if reciting a litany, and the words began to lull him into a blissful calm.
Shivok: It is true that our emotions may seem impossible to bear at times. But we are Vulcan. We have endured centuries of violence, of infighting, of a harsh and inhospitable planet that has driven our physiology into a bladed edge of survival. Our genes were forged in magma, tempered by nuclear fire. Our ancestors endured worse than this and lived. You, too, will live, Taurek. Do not believe this experience makes you any less strong than you are.
When Taurek envisioned what he wanted to be, after the study and the transition and the years of experience that might mitigate this early suffering, he often found that he did not envision his own face, but Shivok's; pale, dignified, calm and wise. The thought of leaving his tutelage to pursue a career in Starfleet caused an odd kind of pain in his heart that, but in amongst everything else, it went unnoticed.




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''PNPC Taurek: The Absence Of Her Voice (part 2)''
((Vulcan, 2348))
It wasn't unusual for teachers to stay late at the college; neither was it strange that Taurek should have stayed to discuss his research project, especially given his status as one of Shivok's most distinguished students. The man pulled down a couple of tomes from his shelves as Taurek brought out his notes and a stylus at the other side of the desk.
The room had a pleasant silence. Those bare stone walls that might have seemed intimidating to a non-Vulcan were almost comforting here. An ancient mask hung from one; the rest were bare save for the bookshelves and a timepiece. Taurek stared at them, reading spines, memorizing the text.
Taurek was fifteen, and his future still uncertain, but perhaps this was where he would be, given a few decades. Perhaps Shivok would still be here, a few offices down the hall, although Taurek found it difficult to imagine himself as his tutor's equal, like envisioning his parents and himself at the same age. He found himself looking at the back of the man's slender neck, the subtle peppering of grey in his hair.
The older man broke the quiet abruptly as he turned and set the codices down.
Shivok: I see from your schedule that you will be absent for the next two days. Is that correct?
Taurek: It is. :: Pause:: I plan to speak with the family of my betrothed. Given my impending transition, he may wish to dissolve the marriage.
Shivok: Perhaps that is wise. :: He stopped, looked at his student, green eyes blank and direct.:: I refer to generalities, rather than to your specific situation. Arranged marriages can sometimes be... limiting.
Taurek felt himself stifling surprise. It seemed somehow as if Shivok was referring to his own situation, in an oblique way; he remembered the glimpses he had seen of the man's wife, the way the distance between them seemed to grate at his rudimentary therapist's instincts, yearning for verbal expression. He said nothing, wanting to ask, but knowing at the same time it would be inappropriate to inquire. Shivok broke that threshold for him.
Shivok: One sometimes wonders whether life might have been different, given the opportunity to choose.
Taurek was young enough that his emotions were not yet fully reined in, and he could not help but feel as if this quiet allusion to his tutor's personal life was-something precious, an honour or a gift. The emotion seemed dangerous in a way that the younger man could not yet articulate. He knew he should not have asked. And yet he did.
Taurek: What do you mean?
----


''PNPC Ensign Taurek: The Things We Never Say (part 3)''
''PNPC Ensign Taurek: The Things We Never Say (part 3)''
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He watched them go, and felt that instinctive love for his child reach out over the growing distance between them, sadness fast on its heels like a shadow. He knew then that it would never leave him for as long as he lived.
He watched them go, and felt that instinctive love for his child reach out over the growing distance between them, sadness fast on its heels like a shadow. He knew then that it would never leave him for as long as he lived.


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(Tbc)
 
''PNPC Varek: The Things We Never Say (part 4)''
 
 
(( Vulcan, 2351 ))
 
 
His wife arrived far later than expected, striding down the hospital corridor, posture stiff, eyes wild. Varek made no comment on her emotional state, nor on her arrival time, but T'Presh offered an explanation anyway.
 
 
T'Presh: There was a security alert in my department. The entire complex was unavoidably locked down. Where is he?
 
 
Varek: In surgery. The consultant elected to perform a caesarean section. There was... some emotional distress.
 
 
T'Presh looked away, as if she could somehow see her son through the walls of the operating theater, reach him, be there to comfort him. She spoke suddenly, with a tremor in her voice.
 
 
T'Presh: We could have prevented this.
 
 
Varek: ''Ashayam''-
 
 
T'Presh: We knew what was happening to Shivok. His period of leave, his daughter's age-
 
 
Varek: We could not have anticipated his actions. ::Pause:: We did what we could to mitigate the situation.
 
 
T'Presh: I am... unsure if it was worth the cost.
 
 
Varek: As am I - but it is no longer relevant. We are here. That is sufficient.
 
 
Varek glanced down the long stretch of corridor to either side, then reached quietly for her hand. T'Presh gripped it, her anxiety seeping into him through their mental link and dissipating into calm.
 
 
''Please take care of him'', he heard his mind plead silently of the doctors and nurses on the other side of the wall, and he could not tell from whose thoughts it had come.
 
 
----
 
 
''Ensign T'Reshik and PNPC Ensign Taurek - Facing Resistance''
 
 
((Vulcan, 2351))
 
 
The Starfleet recruitment officer gave Taurek a long look as he entered her office. It wasn't too difficult for the younger Vulcan to guess why. Without the benefit of hormones and binding and weight-bearing exercise, and with the pregnancy now insultingly obvious on his slim frame, he was almost exclusively parsed as female.
 
 
He had been restricting his exposure to other people for the most part - first by staying home, and then by sequestering himself at a local monastery - and though most strangers were understanding of the situation, occasionally even Vulcans had... slightly regressive views.
 
 
T'Hana: Cadet Taurek. I see there is no need for me to ask why you deferred your first year.
 
 
She was avoiding "Mr". That wasn't very promising. Taurek bowed his head and took the seat she had gestured to. T'Hana glanced over his file.
 
 
T'Hana: Obviously you will be required to retake the fitness test. When is the child due?
 
 
Taurek: Stardate .05. Approximately.
 
 
T'Hana: ::Eyebrows furrowing slightly at her screen.:: Are you certain you will be ready for the third quarter intake?
 
 
Taurek: I believe it is highly likely.
 
 
T'Hana: And you do not wish to defer your entry further in order to concentrate on parenting?
 
 
Taurek: I will not be the child's legal guardian.
 
 
T'Hana gave him one more of those long, cold looks.
 
 
T'Hana: Mr Taurek. A Starfleet Officer must be willing to assume the responsibilities assigned to them, regardless of whether they are personally comfortable with the situation. I suggest you consider your career path carefully before your return.
 
 
Taurek's hands, clasped one within the other beneath her desk, went white.
 
 
Taurek: If I understand correctly, a Starfleet Officer must also be aware of their own abilities and limitations. It would be highly illogical to volunteer myself for a task to which I am ill-suited.
 
 
A chilly silence passed between them. Then T'Hana's posture seemed to relax slightly, although her expression did not change.
 
 
T'Hana: Do not be so quick to dismiss your own parenting abilities. I have two sons of my own. Motherhood can... affect one's priorities in unforseen ways.
 
 
The word "motherhood" - a gendered term, even in Vulcan - made Taurek bristle and he answered without thinking.
 
 
Taurek: I am ill-suited to fatherhood because I do not want to delay my career to look after a child who would be better served in the care of two fully mature adults. Are you here to criticise my life choices or are you here to facilitate my orientation into Starfleet academy?
 
 
He stared her down. The recruiting officer had the grace to look slightly ashamed. She tapped a few buttons on her console.
 
 
T'Hana: I will book you in for a fitness assessment on .0828.
 
 
Taurek: Thank you, ma'am. Is there anything else?
 
 
T'Hana: No. You are dismissed.
 
 
Taurek bowed his head and rose, body held tense. He didn't offer her the ''ta'al'' as he left, but if the woman noticed the subtle insult, she didn't comment.
 
 
((Medical wing, Bayeaux Criminal Rehabilitation Centre, 2388))
 
 
Dr Avenell kept a somewhat fixed smile on her face as she watched T'Reshik scrawl a series of example sentences on the digital ledger before her.
 
 
By and large, the patients here were far more polite and cooperative than she had expected. This wasn't saying much. Sabeen's experience of criminals was extremely limited, and even in this relatively progressive society, certain preconceptions lingered regarding those who chose to operate outside Federation law. With only a few exceptions, however, none of Sabeen's clients here had come across like the sneering, unrepentant wrongdoers her mind had caricatured them as in the beginning. Most were actually pleasant company.
 
 
Most. Not all.
 
 
The Vulcan opposite her looked up abruptly and carefully swivelled the display round on the desk so the occupational therapist could read it. Or attempt to. Sabeen narrowed her eyes.
 
 
T'Reshik: ::Slowly:: As I said before. A pointless exercise.
 
 
Avenell: I'll be honest, T'Reshik, I really think we need to work on your fine motor skills some more. This handwriting is barely understandable.
 
 
T'Reshik: ::Careful and deliberate, still struggling not to slur:: Manual transcription is a largely obsolete skill. Besides, it is almost identical to my handwriting before the brain injury.
 
 
Sabeen looked sceptically between T'Reshik and the screen. T'Reshik let out a huff of breath from her nose and called up a file on the display - a scanned prescription, written in the same cramped scrawl, for... was that "Loo my algae?" Wait, no, that was a numeral. 100 milligrams... digsyg... diasp... okay, well, clearly doctors had terrible handwriting on every planet.
 
 
T'Reshik: From two years ago.
 
 
Avenell: ... Why do you even have that file? Never mind. Alright, I guess since you insist you don't have any problems with the programming course, we can concentrate on gross motor control for a few sessions.
 
 
She clapped her hands together with feigned enthusiasm and pushed a jug of water and a half-filled cup to T'Reshik's side of the desk.
 
 
Avenell: I know you're still using specialised drinking containers, so let's see if we can't improve that. The neurologist tells me your scans are looking very promising on that front. So. How about you try to pick that up for me?
 
 
T'Reshik stared at the doctor, then at the cup. The Vulcan managed to get her hand round it relatively easily, but as soon as she tried to lift it, it became obvious that not all the neurons were firing in the right direction, so to speak.
 
 
Her wrist juddered. Water splashed out. T'Reshik stared at her own soaked arm with the eyes of a cat who had just had its paw purposefully shoved into a puddle, and was trying to maintain an air of dignity even as it planned its vengeance. Sabeen disguised a smile as she stood up.
 
 
Avenell: Not to worry! You're doing really well!
 
 
One quick clean-up later, the human set the now-empty cup down in front of her patient again, and gave her an encouraging look, keeping her voice bright and cheerful.
 
 
Avenell: Now, this should be even easier for you!
 
 
It might have been the admittedly patronising tone of voice, or the inevitable mood changes that came with most traumatic brain injuries, or perhaps T'Reshik just hadn't appreciated the comment about her handwriting. Either way, the Vulcan's eyes were defiantly fixed on Sabeen's as she very carefully set one finger to the side of the cup and, with calm and deliberate movements, pushed it off the edge of the table where it clattered to the floor.
 
 
Dr Avenell closed her eyes. This was going to be a long, long day.
 
 
----
TReshik
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