84: The Warren Within

by Warren Dalca
(& Special Guest Tinuviel)
80113.0230

One Week Ago

--=Visiting Counselor's Quarters, The Daystrom Institute=--


Warren studied the Vulcan woman for a long moment. She had stunning features, and a certain easy wisdom, a softer edge than most Vulcans he'd known prior. He brushed aside loose strands of his own somewhat wild hair, and moved his shoulder around, expecting to feel some phantom pain from last week's encounter, but it was all healed now.

He leaned back in the sofa, and found it a bit too comfortable. He leaned forward and crossed his fingers together, arms resting on his knees. "I don't know what you're looking for."

"And I do not think you ever will," the lovely Vulcan responded,tucking a stray strand of her long black hair behind a gracefully pointed ear. "Especially considering you do not know me at all. I would suggest you spend your energies trying to determine what you are looking for instead."

"It's not something I really need to do," he explained quietly. "I'm a Starfleet officer who loves his career. I've got a future ahead of me." His voice caught just slightly at the word 'ahead'. There was only one thing that had kept him close to Earth, and that was his mother.

He was sure she would bring that up, since Tara had referred him to the counselor. Then again, he'd never sat across the room from a Vulcan shrink before. It was almost insulting. What did Vulcans know of psychology when they denied themselves even the most basic of joys?

Tinuviel blinked. "And you never do anything you do not need to do?"

"I've got hobbies," Warren answered defensively. "And I like them just fine, thank you."

"Indeed?"

He sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm just waiting for you to bring my mother into this, and I don't feel like talking around it. We both know why I'm here and what you're going to tell me. It's not the first time, and I guess I'm just tired of hearing the same thing from everyone. I have a responsibility for her care. I'm all she has. And... people think I'm sacrificing my career, but I can't expect them to understand."

"You said you loved your career."

He nodded. "I also love my mother. Am I supposed to choose between them?"

"My understanding was that you had already made the choice."

He frowned at her. If Starfleet thought hearing this from another pretty face was going to make it work any better, they were wrong.

Wiping his hand over his face, Warren looked out the viewport behind her.

"There is no choice. It's my responsibility. My father drove her insane, and I am his son, as much as I'd like not to be." It was the duty of blood. There was no stronger bond... but if there was, it would be Starfleet.

Warren didn't like feeling split down the middle, but no one seemed to be seeing it his way. No doubt, just around the corner, Tinuviel would spout some Vulcan proverb about the needs of the younger generation. Perhaps he could give her some perspective.

"Would you abandon your mother if you were in my position?"

"I cannot answer that question, Mr. Dalca. My mother was killed when I was a child."

"Oh..." he looked down. "Sorry." Clearing his throat, the Ensign waited for a few beats, and then continued. "It's a hypothetical question, Counselor."

"Yes," Tinuviel responded dryly, "I understand the concept."

Rising to her feet, the Vulcan folded her slender arms behind the small of her back, "I was raised by the pirate who killed her," she continued in that soft voice of hers, which sounded strangely musical despite its lack of inflection.

As she began pacing she said, "Over the years, I have come to... appreciate the nature of his... I have come to believe he is a good man. One might say I have, in some sense, abandoned my mother. Betrayed her, even."

Warren studied her in silence, his curiosity piqued. "I see nothing wrong with the path you took. Your mother was dead."

Was she trying to draw a parallel between her 'father' and his? Or was he doing that himself? His father wasn't a part of his life, wasn't a factor in it. Only the lesson of his folly remained.

"What made you accept him?"

"That was never the issue. He always cared for me and I was convinced that... filial bonds between us would be logical. What was ... unsettling was the idea that by accepting him as my father, I would be turning my back on my birth parents. So I had to forgive myself - before I could accept him, so to speak."

He watched her intently. "It must have been difficult."

"I imagine learning to walk was challenging. Learning to speak must have been daunting. Certainly, swimming was frightening. Controlling emotions...was exceptionally challenging. Starfleet Academy was hard."

She shook her head slightly, "It appears to me that anything worth doing that I have ever done was difficult."

Warren scowled deeply. He looked at her for a long time, and when he spoke, it was a river of words, cascading and angry and heated.

"'Take the job, Ensign.' 'If you keep passing up the opportunities, eventually you won't be given them any more.' 'It's for the best.' 'Your mother will be well taken care of, Warren.' 'Think about yourself.'"

He stood and walked over to her desk, putting his fists down on it. "I am tired of being talked down to like a child. Don't you think I don't know what I'm doing? Don't you think I haven't thought this over a hundred times before? I'm not stupid. I know what's at stake. But there's difficult, and then there's evil. I will not abandon my mother like my father did. I will not become him."

He lowered his gaze again, too close to her for comfort, and having heard his own words. "I can't believe I just said that."

"Then you are the only one," Tinuviel remarked gently. "Ensign, you cannot abandon your mother. You father may have... and I am certain that was damaging to her. However, you cannot - even if you wanted to,even if you left. You cannot abandon her because she is already gone."

Tinuviel stepped back and leaned against the bulkhead, crossing her arms over the flat of her abdomen, "Once you accept that, then I will be quite convinced you know what you are doing."

"I want the position," he choked. He couldn't help but feel shame at it. "I want it so badly it hurts." At this point, if she gave him her permission, he would make the leap and deal with things as they came.

Her voice, however even, had a music to it. It sounded so... reasonable. So assured.

He needed space. Needed to clear his head. "Will that be all?"

"Not quite. I actually recently took a supplemental course about the psyche of an... odd and complicated race. They believe that the problems in our lives - even the emotional ones - can be solved by commerce. I think you could benefit from their... wisdom."

"Commer..." his voice caught. Clearing his throat again, he stood at ease, arms behind his back. It was more comfortable than sitting on that sofa, and it allowed him to put some space between them again.

"I'm... all ears, I suppose."

"As I find I too often am," the Vulcan replied. "This is the deal. You will accept the post."

Dalca blinked. He wasn't expecting her to actually say that. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't commerce involve a..?"

"A quid pro quo. Yes. I was not sure if you would remember that part." She paused, "You will accept the post. And I will take charge of your mother's care. I have many patients, Mr. Dalca, and I assure you I take better care of them than you ever could. I am very good. Also, I would like to take this opportunity to point out that I am significantly prettier than you are."

"I wouldn't suggest putting that question to the test," he jested.

"You may not like the answer."

"I am also more intelligent than you are. I will live longer. I am better educated, better...."

He put his hands up in surrender. "For what it's worth, Counselor, you have my vote."

"Excellent," Tinuviel replied, gliding up to her desk again. She picked up a padd and handed him to him, "These are the documents you must sign in order to transfer the patient's care to me. By all means, read them at your leisure. Elsewhere."

He looked it over quickly, then tucked it under his arm. "I think... the papers are just a formality at this point. I... thank you."

"One does not thank logic. And, by the way," she added with the slightest hint of amusement in her tone, "I am also more convincing than you are, Ensign. And - most importantly - I know it. Just something to keep for when we meet again. Dismissed."

---------------------------------
Ens. Warren Dalca
Security Officer
USS Serendipity NCC-2012

NRPG: Star Trek: Alchemy wishes to thank Mr. Dalca's friend, for joining him on this post to write Tinuviel. What a fantastic read. ~ZL