Ok, I promised a gift in exchange for some great recs. So, here it is. I'm not sure how much of a gift it is though. It is my first ever fan anything, and it's kind of a downer. I have been feeling introspective lately, and this was born of that. Love it, hate it, just don't flame me please. Remember, it's the thought that counts.
Disclaimer: Of course, I have no money so don't sue me please. The use of the poem at the end is done with utmost respect for what I believe to be a beautiful piece of writing. I gave all credit to the original author. I will remove it if necessary, but I can think of no better way to say what needs to be said.
So, on with the fic.
Summary: TOS; Spock thinks he is dying.
Vulcans do not lie. If the universe could physically slap itself for abhorrent lies, I believe it would do so for this commonly held belief. Vulcans do lie, and our most frequent victims of this most illogical act are, ourselves. I know. I am Spock of Vulcan, son of Sarek, of the matriarch T’Pau, of the clan of Surak. But I do not need to tell you this. You know who I am. Perhaps you are the only being in the universe who could lay claim to this fact.
What is this falsehood that we Vulcans insist to be true? I believe this to be insanely obvious; it is that we have no emotions; that we control them; that we are purely logical beings. One of the definitions of insanity is the tendency to repeat an act or belief in the same manner and expect different results. Time and again, I kept myself from experiencing the emotions you made me feel. Each time I was left hollow, incomplete, broken. At other times, I would allow myself the briefest moment of joy when I unexpectedly glimpsed your smile or felt your casual touch upon my arm or fell into your eyes as they gazed upon my soul. But each time I would expect this second or millisecond of joy to be enough to sustain me for the remainder of my days. Two hours later would find me in my chambers deep in meditation to remove this joy, to flagellate myself for ever thinking there could be enough of you. Even in my meditations I demonstrated an insane pattern of thought.
Vulcans are a highly emotional race. As you know the history of my world, you know that our emotions nearly destroyed us. Five thousand years of Surak’s teachings cannot erase millions of years of evolution. Emotions continue to pervade every Vulcan and every fiber of our being. Only those that travel the path of Kolinahr can truly claim to be free of hurt, anger, love, joy, envy, jealousy…Even then, is not the appreciation of beauty a show of emotion albeit disguised in an aesthetic philosophy? I can think of no Vulcan who does not devote some time to the appointments and appearances of domicile, robes, and self.
A lucky Vulcan, what a truly illogical adjective for Vulcans do not believe in luck, may chance to meet an elder who can transcend the falsehood and admit to the truth. Our emotions are just as present today as they were before Surak and as they are in other sentient beings. When in the company of our peers, it is considered bad form to show or admit to any emotion. When in the company of outworlders, it is considered a weakness. When in the company of a hybrid, it is considered a brazen fact of superiority that full Vulcans do not attempt to hide their emotions. There is no need. They are born free of the bane of emotions. Or so they will say in the perpetuated lie.
Perhaps that is why you, my captain, were able to break through my barriers. You were not my peer; you are my commander. You were not an outworlder, but, instead, a native of this world we call Enterprise. I do not believe I need to tell you that you are not a full Vulcan.
Jim, that may have been a joke; I am not sure.
Twelve point two four hours ago, I came in contact with a new fungus while part of the botanical away team on the planet below. Fortunately, the other members of the team were already aboard the ship, and I am the only member who was exposed to this fungus. Five point five hours ago, while examining this new fungus in the lab, I discovered that exposure to it had reactivated a long dormant virus in my blood. Unfortunately, the reactivation of this virus will be fatal. Should Dr. McCoy decide it is necessary to conduct a post mortem, I have left a tape solid of all the details of the virus and its effects on the body. I have also left him the details of my final wishes. That pain is not for you. I estimate that I have just over one hour left of consciousness, and approximately two hours left of life. What is the point, now of estimations to the third decimal point of accuracy?
Jim, my captain, I began this letter as a means to finally speak aloud my feelings for you. Instead, I presented you with a history and pathos of Vulcan logic and lies. This conditioning is truly difficult to best. I shall leave you with a poem. Perhaps, that will say what I have never been able to breathe.
My father gave no word of love to me.
My mother practiced laudable restraint.
My Vulcan childhood lessons logically
Prepared me to despise the human taint.
I could not blame T’Pring; I saw that she
Let flawless logic over pledge prevail.
For she would stop at nothing to be free
Wisely to mate with a pure Vulcan male.
Human tormentors do not understand
Acknowledgement of feeling causes pain,
Cruelly subvert defenses I had planned,
Plot to anesthetize my watchful brain.
What will they find when I am ripped apart?
“I love you, Captain,” written on my heart.
Entire poem “Soliloquy” credited to
Marguerite B. Thompson
Published in Star Trek: The New Voyages 2
Editors Sondra Marshak and Myrna Culbreath
Copyright 1977