Personal log, Stardate 40862.61, supplemental.

Posted on 14 Jul 2020 @ 4:53pm by Lieutenant T'Char Le'el
Edited on 21 Jun 2021 @ 4:44pm

“Personal log Stardate 40862.61, supplemental.” T’Char sits down in her chair at her desk, stone faced. Her hair, usually neatly slicked back and precise, is messy, as if she had been laying down for some time. It curls naturally, and currently radiates outward in a halo of frizzy rings. The corner of her eyes look unusually moist for a Vulcan.

“I have received word from my personal physician on Vulcan about the tests I had requested. The results were negative.”

She quickly wipes at her eyes, inhaling sharply. “An unfortunate turn of events. I had hoped that, sometime in the future, I would find myself in a position to create a family. This is no longer possible, in the way that I had hoped it to proceed.”

Wincing, T’Char puts a hand below her rib cage to her heart, feeling a twinge. The organ seems to stutter and drum irregularly, like it was being electrocuted.

“C-computer, pause log.”

Stumbling to her feet she leans on the desk with her free hand, gasping for air. Her heart rate doesn’t seem to improve as she does, in fact it seems to accelerate. T’Char pushes herself to her bed, tripping over her feet as the blood rushes to her head all of a sudden, turning her cheeks a shade of green.
She finds herself suddenly laying down on her side, still clutching her heart, as her body shudders to inhale evenly. The room is blurry, her vision is slowly obscured. The lights twinkle like suns approaching at warp 7. She tastes saltwater on each inhale, but does not understand why or how. Her face is hot, and yet the rest of her body is freezing cold. The temperature had not changed from 26.7C in the time she had moved to her bed, perhaps the environmental controls had malfunctioned.

Time passes slowly, but her vision clears and her breathing evens out. Her face is no longer hot, but her cheeks are warm, and stiff. She can still taste saltwater.
She considers how the act of laying here was a waste of time and energy, and has served no purpose. The Vulcan sits up and moves to the bathroom to splash water on her face, to remove the salt accumulated there. She also takes the opportunity to fix her hair. Smoothing it back does very little to suppress the curls but at least it is not unkempt.

“Resume personal log.”

She finds her seat at the desk again and faces the console on her screen, staring at her own eyes looking back at her. T’Char cannot see a Vulcan. Only a woman pretending to be one. Her scars are a representation of what you will find inside of her, she thinks. They are not, in fact, skin deep. Much deeper.

“Nash-veh mokuhlek ri k'kan. As an Izau Guv I expected as much but, to hear it in direct terms-"
The Vulcan clenches her teeth, trying to keep her voice even.
"H’esti does not yet know. She does not even know that I have subjected myself to testing. I had hoped that I would not need to inform her that I had, but considering the results I must.”

T’Char bites her lip. Her brow is furrowed as it usually is, but the action seems weaker than normal. Almost as if she’s forcing it.
“It is illogical to have an emotional reaction to this series of events. But I am unable to prevent it. I presume it must be because I had hoped at some future time that I might heal the wounds my mother gave me through a child of my own. As of today, I know that is impossible."

Her voice almost breaks. Almost. The Vulcan takes a moment to regain her composure before continuing in a low, even voice.

“Later this week I must contact my sister on Vulcan to inform her. She is much older than I and more adept at managing emotions, despite her leniency in expressing them. However, the distance between us will make it difficult for her to express her support. It will...also be difficult for me. My career in Starfleet, though an educationally lucrative path to take, has prevented frequent communication between us. I can only hope that our familiar intimacy is not harmed by my decision to serve aboard a starship these years. We are, in any case, the only family we will ever have.”

She reaches over the desk and taps her console to end the log. T’Char listens to the hum of the deck plating as she looks through her view port at the stars.