Lt JG Taj'el - Run boy run.
Taj'el
((Recovery Room 02, Sickbay, Deck 10, USS Thor))
Admittedly, it had likely been a forced conclusion. Their recent fascination with emotion and the minds of others had almost certainly influenced their desire to touch Commander S’tark’s thoughts directly. As another Vulcan, his perspective, however divergent from their own, was something Taj’el wished to understand with unsettling intensity. Though there had been an undeniably selfish element to the decision, they had believed their control sufficient to stabilize him, at least enough for coherent answers. In his current state, S’tark provided only fragmented responses, and Commander Saa required clarity. Logic dictated they calm him.
The recovery room dissolved around them, sterile walls fading into the shifting landscape of shared consciousness. For a fleeting instant, Taj’el found themselves agreeing with Doctor Ay’s earlier observation that the room could have benefited from color. The thought was illogical, irrelevant, and therefore immediately concerning.
The meld deepened.
Their minds twisted together, thoughts and memories yielding beneath the pressure of contact. Taj’el had not anticipated such turbulence within S’tark’s psyche. Beneath his discipline existed relentless suffering, the loss of his crew repeating in endless succession like a wound incapable of sealing. Grief pressed against them with crushing force, wrapped tightly within Vulcan restraint, making it all the more severe.
The equilibrium of the meld was intended to bring S’tark toward stability while drawing Taj’el slightly closer to emotional imbalance. The objective had been simple: meet in the middle, maintain sufficient control for functionality, and withdraw before permanent compromise occurred.
That had been the intention.
Instead, Taj’el felt their mental barriers eroding with alarming speed. S’tark’s despair bled into them alongside pride, guilt, and the lingering shadow of addiction. The sensations became increasingly difficult to distinguish from their own. They felt themselves. They felt him. They felt fragments of countless moments layered atop one another until individuality itself became uncertain.
Nera: How are you both feeling?
Perkins: Do you see anything?
S’tark: Well my eyes are closed, so that would be illogical to come to that conclusion. But if you would give me a moment. I need to use my focus to sort through it all.
There was the faintest hint of a smile at his choice of words. His observation had been entirely valid. He could not see, and at present neither could they. Logically, Taj’el understood he had been referring to what their minds perceived within the meld, yet the response had still carried an unexpected degree of humor. The realization alone was mildly troubling.
Taj’el: Feeling a great many things. However… with sufficient focus, we should remain functional.
Nera: Can you continue? If you need to break the meld, do it. I’d rather not risk the both of you unnecessarily.
Perkins: That’s right, it’s not worth either of you melting!
S’tark: That’s… not how that works, but how about you pull up a rapid cooling pack in case that happens.
Giving a small nod at Doctor Ay’s question. Once again, they suppressed the faint smile threatening to surface as S’tark responded with characteristic flippancy. In that moment, Taj’el found themselves unable to determine why his responses seemed amusingly unconventional. The reaction itself was increasingly difficult to justify through logic alone.
Taj’el: I remain functional. I am capable of continuing. Should any “melting” occur, I will inform you immediately.
In truth, Taj’el did not know precisely what “melting” would entail, though they intended to provide adequate warning should it occur.
Refocusing their attention solely upon S’tark, they descended once more into the depths of his despair. The presence of his crew lingered there constantly—friends, comrades, lives lost and relived without cessation. His mind repeated the events in endless succession, each cycle accompanied by renewed vows to honor their memory. Yet every act of remembrance only reopened the wound, triggering further waves of grief and emotion that echoed through the meld with relentless intensity.
Nera: Alright. Can you describe what you’re seeing? What happened on the Janaran?
How was one meant to describe what they were witnessing? Loss. Suffering. Isolation so profound it bordered on emptiness. The emotions moved through S’tark’s mind with such force that Taj’el felt their own body respond instinctively, the pain of his grief manifesting as a tangible ache within them.
Perkins: And maybe see what got him so afraid of technology?
They felt the constant pressure bearing down upon him, relentless and unyielding. Instinctively, Taj’el attempted to offer comfort in the limited ways they understood—steadying thoughts, calming presence, quiet reassurance carried through the meld. Though Vulcan discipline restrained outward displays, the effort itself carried an unfamiliar gentleness.
S’tark: ::through gritted teeth:: In a moment. We’re almost… done… Taj… buddy, how are you doing?
A small warmth spread through them before they could suppress it. Being called “buddy” was… nice. Endearing, even. The word carried an easy sincerity that settled somewhere deep inside them before logic could intercept it.
That alone should have concerned them more than it did.
Lately, Taj’el had found themselves enjoying friendship in ways they had never properly prepared for. Connection. Closeness. The simple comfort of being wanted around. None of it was particularly logical, yet the feelings persisted despite repeated attempts to examine and compartmentalize them.
And with S’tark, everything felt closer. Far too close.
They had only just met him, yet the meld stripped away the normal distance between people until it hardly mattered. They had seen his grief, his anger, the terrible loneliness buried underneath all that Vulcan control. And he had seen them in return, pieces Taj’el normally kept locked behind careful walls.
Taj’el: Patience, please… ::The words came out sharper than intended, edged with an instinctive protectiveness toward S’tark rather than true irritation. They immediately registered the imbalance in tone, but did not fully correct it. :: I can continue. We are approaching a baseline.
Nera Response
Taj’el remained unnaturally still, their attention anchored almost entirely to S’tark. External voices, the presence of the medical team, even the physical space of the recovery room, all of it receded to something distant and secondary.
A flicker of discomfort surfaced. Wait. That memory… it was theirs. Or it might have been.
The boundary was beginning to blur in ways that were no longer subtle. What had once been a clear division between S’tark’s grief and Taj’el’s perception of it was now becoming unstable. The sensation of running toward Starfleet, the weight of failure pressing down, the sharp, familiar sting of disappointment, those emotions surfaced with unsettling clarity.
But whose were they? Taj’el could not immediately tell.
They had always known failure in abstract terms, understood it logically, categorized it, processed it. But this felt different. Immediate. Personal. Like something remembered rather than observed.
And yet S’tark’s presence threaded through it all, overlapping, reinforcing, distorting. Their mental grasp tightened instinctively, searching for structure, for separation, for something definitive to hold onto. It was getting harder to distinguish where S’tark ended and they began.
Perkins: What does that mean?
S’tark: It means they’re probably annoyed, and too polite to express it right now.
He wasn’t wrong about that.
Taj’el: Forgive me… I will attempt to isolate specific events.
The apology came quieter than before, less structured, as though even formality required effort to maintain. Their focus tightened again, pushing through the haze of overlapping impressions.
Nera: Response
Perkins: Can he show you what his foci looks like?
Perkins: I know it’s not like having one here, but maybe if he’s able to bring it up clearly in his mind, that could help?
That actually wasn’t a bad idea… Maybe Perkins was a genius… maybe…Taj’el thought it as well, or he did.
S’tark: You know what… that is the best thing you’ve said all day.
Sitting there, Taj’el looked up at the taller Vulcan, composed, striking in a quiet way that would have gone unacknowledged if not for the meld’s heightened perception. The air between them shifted as he manipulated a mental construct, shaping it into something like a puzzle, each movement precise and deliberate.
It was not real. They understood that much. A focus construct, an anchor for cognition, discipline made visible.
Taj’el rose, drawn closer without conscious decision, watching as the pieces shifted and locked into place. With each adjustment, something in S’tark’s mind seemed to settle as well, fragmented thought aligning, disorder momentarily held at bay through structure.
For a brief instant, there was clarity.
Taj’el: That is his way of affirming. He is reconstructing it…
Nera: Response
They felt S’tark’s balance begin to stabilize through the structure of his focus, the mental construct holding him together in careful, deliberate alignment. For a moment, it seemed as though the objective had been reached. The baseline had returned. It should have been the point to withdraw cleanly, to disengage as intended.
Taj’el began to pull back. At first, the separation was controlled. Intentional. The practiced discipline of a Vulcan mind easing itself out of contact. But the moment that distance formed, it collapsed without warning.
A sudden, hollow drop opened within them, as though something essential had been torn away rather than released. The structure that had held perception, emotion, and identity in balance gave way all at once.
Taj’el’s hands slipped from S’tark’s face.
Their body reacted instinctively, a sharp physical jolt as breath caught and the weight of unresolved sensation rushed back in, unfiltered and uncontained. Emotions surged without structure, grief, fatigue, disorientation, but they no longer arrived with clear ownership. They could not immediately distinguish whether they were S’tark’s or their own.
What remained of their mental barriers felt fractured, uneven, like something once whole now reduced to broken segments that no longer fit together cleanly. Thoughts came through blurred, emotions overlapping until recognition itself became uncertain.
S’tark: Alright, now would be a logical time for me to sit down and tell all of you everything. This is what you’ve been….::pause:: Oh my goodness. What the heck is that?
Caught more fully within their own collapsing internal state, Taj’el did not even have the clarity to observe S’tark’s withdrawal as it occurred. The separation happened, but it passed through them like something half-perceived, recognized only after the fact, like a sound heard too late to be understood.
Taj’el: The ships… they already have it…
Nera / Perkins: Response
They could not bring themselves to distract the other doctors as they forced their body upright. Movement came slower than expected, as though coordination itself required deliberate reconstruction.
A sharp pain lanced through their head the moment they rose, forcing a brief pause as they steadied themselves. The aftermath of the meld remained chaotic—an unstructured sea of impressions and fragmented emotions that refused immediate order.
Taj’el attempted to sort through it, to impose classification where instinct alone no longer sufficed, but the storm had left too many overlapping traces. Thoughts surfaced and dissolved before they could be properly identified. They remained standing anyway.
S’tark: =/\= Perkins to Nera =/\=
S’tark: ::higher pitched:: =/\= Perkins to Nera =/\=
Resting a hand briefly against Doctor Ay for support, Taj’el immediately felt it—his sharp surge of panic, sudden and unguarded. The reaction struck through the remnants of their already destabilized mental barriers with uncomfortable clarity.
They withdrew their hand at once. The contact had been too direct. Too open.
Taj’el: Computer… locate… Doctor Perkins…
They cut themselves off, the command dissolving before it could fully stabilize. Something within them recoiled at the idea of being located, of being observed in this state. A quiet resistance surfaced, immediate and instinctive, as though a part of them did not want to be found at all.
No, he did not want to be found.
Nera / Perkins: Response
S’tark: =/\= Look, really sorry to do this to all of you, you all seem really nice. But here is the thing. If you’re here, near the Janaran, then it’s already too late. They’re already listening in. They’re already in your systems. If you can hear them, they can hear you, they’re scouting you, and they’re going to pull you into hell next. Don’t try to stop me. Court Martial me afterwards, but trust me, I'm trying to save this ship. =/\=
As they settled further, Taj’el closed their eyes in a deliberate attempt to ground themselves, to impose structure where there was still too much lingering instability. Breath in. Breath out. Focus on separation. Focus on self. But the thoughts did not organize cleanly.
How selfish it was, to withdraw so abruptly, leaving the medical team without the opportunity to stabilize what had just been repaired. The frustration surfaced sharply, unfiltered at first, before being immediately complicated by uncertainty. Was this their judgment? Or a residue of S’tark’s own emotional turbulence echoing back through the still-open pathways of the meld?
The irritation persisted regardless. He had simply… left. Without completing the process. Without allowing proper resolution.
Taj’el: Damn it… ((Vulcan equivalent))
Without control, their hand came down hard against the bed beside them—an abrupt, instinctive motion rather than a deliberate one. The force of it transferred cleanly through the structure, leaving a visible dent in the surface beneath. Pain followed immediately.
Taj’el winced as the impact reverberated up their arm, sharp and immediate, cutting through the fog of lingering mental disarray. The sensation was grounding in the most unwelcome way, physical, undeniable, impossible to misattribute.
They withdrew their hand slightly, fingers flexing as they registered the strain and damage. A faint rawness marked the contact point, the aftermath of too much force applied without the usual precision of control. For a moment, they simply stood there, breathing unevenly, the physical pain anchoring them in a reality that still felt partially unstable.
Nera / Perkins: Response
Taj’el: We need to follow.
Their words came out more like a command than intended, clipped and final, as they took several steps toward the door. The movement was deliberate, but not entirely steady, controlled more through will than ease.
They glanced back at the other doctors.
A surge of irritation followed almost immediately, sharp and unfiltered. Their perceived slowness, their hesitation, their lack of immediate action, it all felt intolerable in a way Taj’el struggled to justify through logic alone. The emotional reaction was too strong, too sudden, as though it had bypassed rational assessment entirely.
Nera/Perkins/S’tark: Response
They could still catch him, they knew that much with frustrating certainty. Their body could move, their mind could direct it. The capability was there.
But the moment they tried to focus outward, pain flared sharply through their head again, like something pressing back against any attempt at control. The effort to contain what remained of their mental defenses was becoming increasingly unstable, and with each strain more of what lay beneath slipped through the fractures.
Not just S’tark’s emotions anymore. Their own.
The awareness came in uneven, intrusive fragments, feelings they had not permitted themselves to acknowledge, now surfacing without warning or restraint. Smallness. Inadequacy. The quiet, persistent belief that they were insufficient in ways they had never fully articulated, even to themselves.
Taj’el: I am fine!
The words snapped out sharper than intended, edged with strain rather than authority. The declaration did not land as certainty so much as an attempt to impose it.
Taj’el: We need to move the ship… or stop him. Both. There are broadcasts… active transmissions.
Nera/Perkins/S’tark: Response
The thought hit like a fracture through everything else. What if what S’tark had seen happened to the Thor as well? There was no space left for hesitation after that. Taj’el moved.
Quickly, almost abruptly, driven now by something sharper than analysis or protocol. Fear, unfiltered and immediate, surged through the remaining instability in their mind and forced it into motion. The Thor was no abstract concern. It was people. Familiar routines. Voices that anchored them more than they had fully admitted to themselves until this moment.
Friends.
Crew.
A fragile, irreplaceable normalcy that they had not realized they were relying on so heavily until the possibility of its loss became real. Their uncertainty about Starfleet, about belonging, about direction, flickered at the edges of awareness, but it could not hold against the immediacy of the fear. Not now. Not here.
The Thor had to be okay.
Taj’el: The crew is going to be taken, don’t just stand there!
Nera/Perkins/S’tark: Response
