Lifelines

Father. Mother. Sister. Brother. Friend. Lover.

The room is humid. Smoky. Shadowy. She feels lightheaded.

She endures it. They have information on the Xindi. She has endured much on this mission.

Hoshi is their focus. She is the voice for the crew. They say that through her, all things will flow.

They've examined her hands. Her palms. The knife slices through her skin, following the lines and folds of flesh. Her lifeline they claim. She flinches.

She watches as the blood wells up, ruby teardrops beading along her skin.

They take Jon's hand, and make a similar cut. Her palm stings in sympathy.

They place Jon's palm on top of hers, their blood mingling and she feels a flash of…something.

Father.

He is proud of her. A constant thread of worry, of affection, of love. A desire to protect her, to hold her close and never let anything harm her. It wars with the need to let her be her own person, to be free, to live her life and follow her own path. Respect for the woman she has become, honored that he has been able to witness her blossom.

She breathes again and it is gone.

They murmur in astonished pleasure at the length of T'Pol's lifeline. Her blood is green. Her hand is hot as it is joined with Hoshi's. She feels that flash again.

Sister.

Esteem and high regard. For her skills. For her patience and resolve. For her unique identity.

She is valued. She is appreciated. She is equal.

Another breath and it's gone.

Trip winces and grunts as the knife scores across his palm. She stares at the blood in her hand, the red and green mixing, giving it a yellowish tinge. Trip clasps her hand, his other hand coming up to cradle hers between his.

Brother.

Love, but the love of a sibling. All encompassing, warm and gentle, like the man himself. He has lost his own little sister, and she feels the lingering pain. He doesn't want to lose her too. The depth of his feelings for her makes her ache.

She inhales and her sweltering surroundings reasserts itself.

They are studying Malcolm's palm, a quiet argument. They claim he doesn't have a lifeline. They don't find that unusual though—as he is the guardian of his shipmates, his life is not his own.

He doesn't move a muscle as they slice through the inside of his wrist instead. The blood leaps to the surface and they wrap Hoshi's hand around it.

Friend.

Hot and bright, the devotion and loyalty sears into Hoshi. Love, the willingness to die for her. Gratitude, that he can call her friend. Hope, that she feels the same. Closer than family, a family of your own choosing, making it even more precious.

She breathes and it is gone.

She watches as they make the cut on Travis' palm. She extends her hand and their blood merges.

Lover.

They are one, balance and harmony, his love incandescent. Her love for him shines just as radiantly and she smiles, enveloped and secure. His love for her engulfs her and she feels as if she's burst into painless flames.

It is over too soon as their hands are parted.

Their wounds are cleaned and dressed, the door opens and a blast of fresh cool air enters the room. There is light and the smoke dissipates and she feels like herself once more.

They hand Jon the information they seek and she interprets for each side flawlessly, automatically.

But she is studying her crewmates.

Father. Mother. Sister. Brother. Friend. Lover.

Despite everything, her life is perfect.