029 | [Spam]

[with_discipline]

[T'Pol's still in the infirmary. She's been having a pretty hard time with it, not that she'd say so. But there are plenty of little clues. Like the way she's tossing and turning in bed. Vulcans don't usually dream. Thus, no tossing and turning. But she's just about managed to kick off the covers, before waking with a very short, very sharp gasp. Nightmares are not logical or natural and she's sitting straight up in bed, clutching her IDIC.]

(((It's the anniversary of her daughter's death and she gets shitty dreams. :< Hard times, T'Pol. Anyone in the infirmary's welcome, multiple threads are rad, etc etc. <3)))

Comments

[hyposprayed.livejournal.com]

Trust me, I have. Several times. [Not angry, bitter hobo on the shuttle at all there. And he had been ranting- damnit all. He waved a hand.] I just want what's best for her. Lord knows I don't know what that is.

[with_discipline]

[Arching an eyebrow, T'Pol turned the IDIC over in her hand, thoughtful. Maybe not a hobo, but totally bitter.] You are her father. Of course you want what's best for her.

[hyposprayed.livejournal.com]

[He rocked the hobo look. And have an almost startled look for that, followed by a humorlessly quirked lip.] Wanting and knowing are two different things unfortunately.

[with_discipline]

[T'Pol arched an eyebrow, looking up at him.] Are they? [It certainly felt instinctual to her.]

[hyposprayed.livejournal.com]

Unfortunately. [He muttered, running a had through his hair.] If they weren't psychiatrists would have no parental issues to make a living off of.

[with_discipline]

[Fff. Therapists. What. T'Pol tilted her head to the side.] Perhaps.