Chapter Text
USS Voyager, Delta Quadrant, 2374
Daggin entered his quarters on Deck Eleven, surprised to find his mate sitting on the cushion she preferred when using the floor, wearing her robes, though she still had her combadge in place, and facing a single unlit pyramidical candle on the small, shared dias they both used, and—apparently—preparing to meditate.
None of those things were typically unusual for T’Prena in and of themselves, but on this particular evening, he’d been under the impression she would already be elsewhere.
“Daggin,” she said, with the smallest nod of her head. “There is tea.”
He glanced back to the Vulcan tea set, and sure enough, he caught the scent of tea—Ocampa black, he thought, one of the blends they’d traded for on their long journey, in this case from the Ocampa they’d encountered at Suspiria’s Array—and crossed over to pour himself a cup, grateful she’d made it. It had been a long shift. He’d spent half his double-shift in the Garden, where he’d been working with Ensign Bronowski, Daggin and T’Prena’s son Setok, and Crewman Cir to deal with some damage from their time in fluidic space and fighting Species 8472. The other half of his shift had been working with the Ferengi, Kol, checking the various green walls for damage and then working on the latest installations of the vines that helped oxygenate Voyager, reducing the strain on the environmental systems.
The truth was, he’d gotten used to having Ensign Kovar to help him, especially with Eru and Cir still working so hard with Cing’ta and Ensign Moore with the latest subspace signals since their “jump.” The biologist and botanist from the USS Hera was a typically efficient Vulcan man, and Kovar’s efforts took some of the weight from Daggin’s shoulders, but he—in fact, all the Vulcans—had been granted Holodeck time for Tal-Shanar.
Which was where his wife was meant to be.
He turned to face her, sipping the tea and enjoying the flavour before kneeling on the cushion adjacent to hers. He enjoyed meditation, and found real balance and calm in the Vulcan practices that were in many ways as familiar to him as his own lessons of youth from Ocampa. The mind-meld he and T’Prena had shared with his son’s namesake, Lieutenant Setok, the late Science Officer and First Officer of the T’Vran, and had experienced three years of the man’s life. He still had perfect recall of those memories, and treasured them. He was, in many different ways, who he was because of that mind-meld.
Those memories also meant Daggin knew how important the Tal-Shannar was, and how odd it was his wife had chosen not to attend with the other Vulcans on board.
Her expression gave little away, and it struck him how rare a thing that was. Normally, she allowed him to see more of her than she showed anyone else, but in this moment, he thought she was as opaque to him as she had ever been.
It worried him, though it wouldn’t do to be overt about admitting it.
“Are you feeling well?” he said. It was possible her remaining in their quarters was due to her pregnancy—one he often had to remind himself would be months more yet, thanks to her Vulcan biology, if this birth was consistent with the birth of their son.
T’Prena picked up her own cup of tea and drank from it before answering. The delay was notable. “I am physically well,” she said.
A telling statement, as was her tone.
“Something troubles you,” Daggin said.
She lowered her cup. “Yes.”
“Is it something you wish to share?” he said.
Her dark eyes flicked to him, and the glimpse of her reaction to the question warmed him inside. He knew others didn’t always understand their connection, but he saw the gratitude in her gaze. Offering to listen, but not if she didn’t wish to speak, was a connection T’Prena treasured, in no small part because her own mother and foremother had often required more access to T’Prena’s thoughts than T’Prena herself would have chosen to provide.
“I am not sure I see the logic in sharing what has me…” She seemed to pause to find a word worthy of her situation. “…preoccupied. The situation will not change in the discussion.”
He took a sip of tea, considering. “I assume the situation involves the Tal-Shanar.”
“A logical assumption,” T’Prena said. “And a correct one.”
He waited. She would say more if and when she wished to do so, not before, as she’d noted. They had each other’s company and the tea, and she had not yet lit the meditation candle, so he knew she hadn’t made up her mind either way, at least not yet.
“IDIC,” T’Prena said finally.
He knew the term—or, rather acronym—Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations. The very basis of Vulcan philosophy, celebrating the vast array of variables in the universe. T’Prena bringing up the concept solidified his suspicion over what, exactly, had her troubled.
“The Tal-Shanar is rarely performed with outsiders,” Daggin said, doing his best to ensure none of his feelings about the manner came through in his tone, even though he had plenty of feelings about the way Lieutenant T’Karra had chosen to organize the event.
Most particularly, the guest list.
“And yet rarely does not equate with complete exclusion,” T’Prena said. “I find myself preoccupied by the loss of opportunity for both you and our son.” She lifted her cup and sipped, then lowered it, her head tilting slightly in a way that he knew denoted T’Prena about to admit something that surprised herself. “And, also, Mestral.”
His own eyes widened. Mestral’s position on Voyager among the Vulcan crew was… complicated. He quite literally came from a time before the Vulcan Reformation, predating the discovery of the Syrannite kir’shara and as such, when he’d first come aboard, Daggin had noted T’Prena, Vorik, Velar, and Kaurit all seemed oddly hesitant to spend time in his company.
For his own part, Daggin really enjoyed Mestral’s company—he found the man’s own light trace of emotionality much like his own, and his points of view on the universe at large, especially his understanding of humanity, were intriguing. Setok, too, had been drawn to Mestral, for similar reason, Daggin expected. All three of them walked a line between Vulcan influence and something other: Daggin and Setok their Ocampa heritage, and Mestral his temporal displacement and decades with humanity on Earth.
Now, listening to his wife consider her “preoccupation” with IDIC, Daggin felt a rush of pride in her that she included Mestral in her thoughts.
“T’Karra seems particularly devoted to a strict interpretation of Vulcan custom,” Daggin said, which was about as polite as he intended to be when it came to the Vulcan Engineer and eldest of the survivors of the USS Hera’s former crew.
“Yes,” T’Prena said. “And while a devotion to honouring our heritage is logical, I find your description of the quality of her devotion is perhaps understated.”
“Perhaps slavish is a better way to put it.” Daggin rarely smiled in front of his wife, but he allowed one now. He didn’t think he could have stopped one. The tiny dip of her chin made it clear she was not judging him for it. Indeed, he knew her well enough to know that sometimes, Vulcan stoicism relied on others to state what they would not, whereupon the Vulcan in question could agree—with the tacit understanding they did not, of course, agree with the emotionality with which the opinion expressed.
“I won’t argue with the interpretation,” Daggin said, after a moment.
“It would not be logical,” T’Prena said, with her perfectly dry humour he adored so very much.
“No,” he said. “But… If one were to go by the strictest interpretations, as Lieutenant T’Karra is won’t to do…” He paused, then decided to go ahead. THere was a saying Cir had taught him, a human one, he thought: Nothing ventured, nothing gained. It meant taking a chance was often the only way to move forward. This felt like one of those moments.
T’Prena tilted her head, waiting.
“I have only the memory of Lieutenant Setok taking part in a single Tal-Shanar on the T’Vran, but do I recall that the eldest among those present did not lead the meditation?” Daggin said.
T’Prena’s eyes turned thoughtful. “In practice, the eldest is almost always the leader of the meditation, however…” She paused, realizing what he was saying. “You are correct. The meditation is led by the individual who has been in the temple the longest, which traditionally has translated to the individual who has lived at the chosen place of the Tal-Shanar the longest.”
“And while that is most often the eldest in a community, and generally even an honour offered to the eldest even when that is not the case,” Daggin said. “The strictest interpretation would be, in this case, that the Vulcan individual who has been on Voyager the longest, and who therefore should logically lead the Tal-Shanar, would be… you.”
T’Prena took a breath. “I have never before led a Tal-Shanar, but you are correct.” She paused. “I wonder, though, is it disingenuous to utilize the same practice Lieutenant T’Karra used to exclude individuals to instead include them?”
Daggin turned his tea in his hand, feeling the warmth of it in his fingers. “That’s logical. At the core, it is over-devotion to the rules to serve our own choices rather than hers.” He tried not to deflate, but T’Prena was correct.
“Then again,” T’Prena said, turning to face him fully on her cushion. “Logic is the beginning of wisdom, not the end of it. Perhaps this example will provide a learning experience.”
Daggin allowed another smile, and earned another dip of the chin from his mate in response. He checked the chronometer, and saw the Tal-Shanar wouldn’t begin for another twenty minutes. “It’s not too late,” he said. “Let’s go.”
T’Prena tapped her combadge. “T’Prena to Setok and Mestral.”
Daggin went to find his robes while she spoke to them.