Title: Drowning Sorrows
Contact: saavaant @ yahoo . com
Rating: [Mild Content]
Summary: T'Pol's got sorrows.
Disclaimer: The folks at Paramount/Viacom are the only ones who get paid for writing about T'Pol. That is not to say that they do a good job. Much of this piece is meant to criticize their storylines, in fact. I am also using one idea from Vonda McIntyre's novelizations.
Humans are incomprehensible.
Alone in my quarters, I stare at the pecan pie. Pure sugar, I have said. Unhealthy. A confection built for momentary pleasure without regard for long-term consequences. Its consumption to be carried out on impulse, when control is lost... and later rationalized with any excuse one can devise.
Symbol, indeed, of all that is human.
Hesitantly I lift my utensil and cut away a piece of the tip, carrying it to my mouth. Surely this must be exaggeration. Surely I judge them too harshly...
But what should one conclude, when a species acts as they have?
They think it standard procedure to carry out "intelligence" operations on enemies, and to keep such operations hidden. Yet upon seeing some of my people do the same, my captain called them "liars" and ordered me to expose their secret.
They value the expression of gratitude, thanking each other for such small things as delivering a report that has been ordered. Yet when I convinced the captain to accept Vanek's help, quite probably saving the lives of the landing party, I was thanked by no one.
They assign great importance to maturity. Yet their behavior toward me mirrors nothing so closely as the interactions between so-called "jocks" and "nerds" in one of their high schools.
They claim to celebrate diversity. Yet they continually assume that I am like one of them, and place me under pressure to behave as though I were.
They consider it rude to say anything outright, and polite to twist it backward and forward and wrap it up in meaningless words until it can no longer be understood. They have developed a complicated linguistic device called "sarcasm" to wound those whom they do not respect. And when attempting to negotiate in a diplomatic fashion with an allied leader, how did they explain the human custom of dinner conversation? Sarcastically. How did they ask why Vanek was observing them? Bluntly. How was this intended to get them what they wanted? I do not know.
I have consumed nearly half the pie by this point, and am now strongly feeling the influence of the refined glucose. Vulcans do not drink wine, but in cases of extreme desperation, we do eat sugar. I feel warmer, my senses are blurring and I no longer remember so clearly what pain I was feeling.
Recklessly I tear into the candied pecans until there are none left. My last coherent thought, as I slip into a drunken stupor, is a genuine sense of wonder. What do I see in these humans, that I have left my planet, betrayed my people to their enemies, and abandoned my bondmate to be with them?
Perhaps it is only that the Vulcans are just as bad.
Back to my fanfiction page