T’Pol would be well into her middle life when she heard the news. Of course, she’d heard of their marriage, and the medical advances made. They were a high profile couple after all. Despite Phlox, she still wondered if it was even properly possible. Something deep inside her, something angry and mean and grieving, hoped it wasn’t.
S’chn T’gai Spock is born in the year 2230, and all T’Pol can think of is Elizabeth, dying slowly in an incubator.
She thinks of Trip, her poor Trip, dead on the floor. Of the way their bond had faded slowly, like a flower withering, and then ripped out by the roots in one violent pull. She thinks of the face his parents had at his funeral that his family had invited his crew to, and having to leave to make herself breathe because she knew. She knew, and those two had gone through it twice.
She thinks of the way Trip had been so gentle with Elizabeth, even when they knew what was happening to her. It took days. It was agonizing. And he stayed, a rock against a current, and let her be confused and upset and angry. How they fought when she was gone, and shouted at each other when their grief washed over, and cried side by side when the tide ebbed. How nothing made her feel complete again.
She watches Spock. She meets him, of course. He is Ambassador Sarek’s son, and they are in the same business. She saw him grow up, heard of his doctors and his appointments checking on his progress. How there were things off with him, but overall, he seemed okay. At least, was, eventually. She hears of the animosity to him, the attack on his school, and feels a deep sense of disgust cocktailed with a gross longing. Despite the horror that poor boy and his family went through, she was supposed to have that.
