Last Whispers

Summary: A belated story on the December ‘08 word prompt WHISPER. First fic ever, so I’m very much obliged to Alelou for taking the trouble to look over it.

Disclaimer: I certainly don’t own Star Trek or anything related to it, it all belongs to Paramount.

Elessar: As an admin I have to include a character death and “other marriage” warning. But in my personal opinion – it’s worth it, keep reading. J

As T’Pol was reaching her second hundredth birthday, she was considered by her fellow Vulcans to be quite accomplished. She had lived long and she had prospered.

For the past twenty years, after her retirement, she had been living at her mother’s old house – and the last eight of those she had been completely alone, since her husband had passed away.

She had been married for almost eighty years to Sanar, a kind and gentle person, an artist whose musical talent their son Sopel had inherited. The bond between them had always been comforting but never very strong, because T’Pol had come to need long periods alone and she was not happy to have another presence in her mind.

After her last visit to the physician, she had been relieved to learn that her health was remarkably good for her age; in fact her body and brain remained as lively as that of a much younger person and for that reason she felt good. One of her concerns was the possibility of developing the senility that sometimes comes with very old age.

So she passed her time reading and trying to keep in touch with the changes that happened so quickly around her, working in her little garden and doing some knitting because she gained great pleasure in doing things with her hands. She dedicated long hours to meditation, as she logically knew the end was near and she needed to come to some final conclusions about her life and whether she had contributed enough to the general good.

In the infinite and completely void space where T’Pol found herself while meditating, she kept a very well-hidden secret. She had created in her mind a box made of dark polished wood, and in it she kept hidden a few years of her youth -- the few years she had spent on the human starship Enterprise. She hadn’t let anyone, not even her late husband, the person who could reach deeper than anybody else into her mind, know about it.

Vulcan knitting with six needles is quite demanding, so she was completely absorbed by it one fine afternoon, when she thought she heard someone whispering her name. She was somewhat startled, but as no one was around she turned back to her work and forgot about it. After it happened again the next day, and a couple of days later, she couldn’t just ignore it, but she decided it was just her hearing failing her.

Some days later, while meditating, she heard the same whisper and she thought she saw something moving right at the edge of her eye. It was a very real and strong feeling.

That worried her enough to visit the doctor again and get once more the reassurance of the very good condition of her health.

It was late one night and T’Pol sat once more on her meditation cushions. As she was getting older she could get less and less sleep. This time she heard the whisper so close to her ear that she almost fell out of her trance. She got up and started walking in her white space.

She went to her box, to the greatest treasure of her life. She never opened it, just visited it from time to time and sat by it and caressed its surface and remembered and gained strength from it. So, she sat next to it and remembered once more the few years she had lived among the humans of the starship Enterprise, that Enterprise, then. She remembered good times and bad times and terrible times, friends long gone. She remembered the love of her life, the person who had made her break barriers and overcome prejudices and made her feel emotions long gone but never forgotten. She remembered the voice and the scent and the laughter and the light in his eyes, the joy of their bodies joining to become one, the bond that made her feel protected and where she belonged and part of a whole. She then remembered the day all this was taken from her as he breathed his last breath in her arms, during the very last battle of the Romulan War. She remembered the terrible realization that she was alone again and that in this white space for a very long time after, she kneeled and screamed and cursed fate like the ancient women did in similar cases. Of course nobody could ever have imagined what was happening inside her; she was as always perfectly composed and effective. She was sure that meditation had never before been used to express one’s rage and desire for revenge against the whole world.

As the time slowly passed, she had finally realized her inability to change the facts, the inevitability of reality, so she brought a little box into her white space and put all the memories in it. She closed the box with love, and love was the only emotion that she felt when she approached it, because she had known what love was and she knew that what she had lived was hers and nobody could ever take it from her. She then went on with her life.

As her second hundredth birthday approached, her son came to visit and celebrate with her. It was an age that demanded respect, even for Vulcans. The previous evening they had sat together in the courtyard, listening to the running water and talking about her son’s life and his music. Then they had said goodnight and they had each gone to their separate rooms to meditate and sleep.

She was deep in meditation when she heard once more, “ T’Pol, T’Pol,” a more insistent calling. She got up and once again walked to her box. It was open. And there he was, golden hair and light in the eyes - her human, her only true mate. “C’mon darling,” he said and took her by the hand. “It’s been a long time that I’m waiting.”

So she followed him.

Her son found her the next day, a smile on her lips.