Tuvok’s difficulty with meditation troubled T’Pel, for it impeded his process of coping with grief. T’Pel’s grief at the loss of their youngest son, Elieth—who had died at Deneva with his wife Ione, staying behind to help others evacuate before the Borg laid waste to the once-bustling Federation colony—was as deep as Tuvok’s own, if not deeper, given the greater time she had spent with her son over the course of his life. There was no shame in that; Vulcan philosophy acknowledged grief as a valid response to loss. “I grieve with thee” was an ancient formula which Surak himself had refused to renounce. While Surak had cautioned against succumbing to the debilitating emotional effects of grief, and most especially against the tendency to transform grief into a desire for vengeance and violence, he had nonetheless taught that even the most logical, dispassionate civilization must cherish life and the ties of family and community, and must acknowledge and reflect upon the great cost incurred when a life, particularly that of a kinsman, was lost. Otherwise, he had written, that dispassion would become callous self-absorption, nullifying the bonds that enabled individuals to function as part of a greater whole.

But T’Pel was able to manage and process her grief through meditation. It was true that, deep within, she experienced a great sense of emptiness and a profound pain. It was still difficult to process the reality that she would never see her son again, never hear him speak or share the preparation of a meal with him or argue with him over his career choices. But she was learning to accept these things as new facets of her being, integrating them into her psyche in a way that minimized impairment of her function and stability.

Tuvok, however, was having a much harder time. As he heard her footfall and turned, she noted the inflammation around his eyes. Although the desert air had swept away the proof, she knew he had been weeping. Wordlessly, she extended her paired fingers to him, and he returned the touch. Distantly, she felt the turmoil that raged within him. She braced herself, allowed it to buffet her, remaining strong and serene as an anchor for him. She accepted the gratitude and love he projected as stoically as the rest.

“My husband,” she said. “Starfleet has sent a revised estimate of Titan’s launch date. We are to report by stardate 58260.0…or issue a transfer request by 58245.0.”

Tuvok nodded. A number of Titan’s personnel had already requested transfers, wishing to participate in reconstruction efforts, like Chwolkk, Okafor, and Roakn, or to return home to their families, like Bohn, Ichi, and Worvan. Although T’Pel suspected that a few had perhaps left because they had found Titan’s exceptionally diverse crew too difficult to adjust to. Both Fo Hachesa and Kenneth Norellis had exhibited difficulty in broadening their minds to accept other cultural viewpoints, whereas the herbivorous Lonam-Arja had never been comfortable serving alongside obligate carnivores. In T’Pel’s judgment, their departure from Titan’s crew would not be a grave loss.

“It is now 58239.3,” she reminded him. “That leaves us little time to decide.”

“Us?” Tuvok countered, his voice rough. “I know you wish to remain aboard Titan.”

“Indeed. I have a responsibility as caregiver for Noah Powell and Totyarguil Bolaji. And once Commander Troi gives birth to her child, I am certain I could be of assistance in her upbringing as well.” Tending to Titan’s small complement of children had enabled T’Pel to make renewed use of the skills she had not needed since their youngest child had left home. It brought her satisfaction to be useful once again. “But in my absence, another caregiver could be found. And the Borg invasion left many orphans; my skills as a caregiver could be employed here as well.” Inwardly, she contemplated the question of whether adopting a war orphan, or perhaps more than one, might give Tuvok new purpose to help him through his grief.

“The key issue for both of us, therefore, is whether you believe you are ready to return to duty as Titan’s tactical officer.”

“Then that is a problem. For I do not believe I am.”

T’Pel nodded in acknowledgment, if not acceptance. “Please explain the logical basis for that conclusion.”

“I am not convinced I have sufficient emotional stability to perform in that capacity.”

“That logic eludes me. Was not your predecessor in the post Commander Keru? He is an emotional individual, from what I have seen. And he experienced the loss of a life partner some years prior to taking the post.”

“Conceded.”

“Commander Vale was previously the tactical officer aboard Enterprise. She is human, and therefore highly emotional.”

“I concede this as well.”

“Moreover, was not her predecessor in that post a Klingon…?”

Tuvok cocked a brow at her. “Not her immediate predecessor. I do take your point, my wife. However, you know that as a Vulcan, I must be held to a higher standard. Our emotions are too volatile to be unleashed.”

“More volatile than those of a Klingon?”

“Other species are accustomed to utilizing their emotions. My lifetime of training is in their discipline and restraint. That is the way I know how to function.”

“From our encounter with the star-jellies onward, you have been endeavoring to learn how to integrate your… less restrained emotions into your normal functioning—to at least manage them with logic if you could not cast them off in its favor. You proved able to function effectively for most of a standard year.”

“Until I was forced to cope with an emotion as profound as this,” he said. “My grief at the death of my son. My…regret at not being with him at the end, having so many things to say that will never be said. What if it were you, T’Pel? If we returned to Titan, and I lost you…I do not believe I would be able to function. As an officer…or as a man.”

Again she touched her fingers to his, acknowledging his admission. “Husband…this is a concern that all married crewpersons must face. It is one Captain Riker and Commander Troi no doubt consider every day. If they can function in the face of that risk…if individuals such as Commander Keru and Nurse Ogawa can carry on even after losing their life mates…then how can we, as Vulcans, expect any less of ourselves?”