Pathways - Jeri Taylor [210]
He had seen this phenomenon in humans before. Mostly in the females, although it was not uncommon for the males to indulge in this release of excessive emotion as well. He had observed a teammate, a pole vaulter, racked with sobs in the locker room after he failed for the third time to make his vault at a height of six and one half meters, a relatively easy height, thereby losing the match. Tuvok found it a disquieting experience, and worked the Disciplines for an extra hour after witnessing it.
Now as moisture overflowed from Sophie’s eyes, he was similarly uneasy. Tears signified unhappiness so urgent that it couldn’t be ignored, pain that could no longer be assuaged. These were situations which Tuvok was singularly ill equipped to handle, and at this moment, he didn’t know how to proceed.
He simply waited, hoping the moment would pass, and indeed, he could see Sophie struggle to suppress this moist display. But each time he thought she had succeeded, a small choking gasp would emit from her throat and the tears would begin anew.
He had observed certain behaviors among humans when one of their kind shed tears. In the locker room, as the pole vaulter had held his head in his hands, sobbing, other humans had come by and patted him on the back, offering solicitations. The track coach had sat close to him, arm around his shoulder, murmuring comfort in quiet tones. And finally, when the distraught young man regained some control (to Tuvok’s relief) and stood, a teammate enclosed him in what Tuvok knew to be a “hug,” a commonly used gesture of succor.
Should he try one of these behaviors on Sophie? He wouldn’t be able to whisper to her, because he had no idea what he should say. But if it would help to stroke her arm or pat her back, would that be appropriate?
His mind turned the question over, assessing its relative merits and defects. If it caused her to cease this display of emotion, his solicitude would be justified. On the other hand, it might be interpreted as sanctioning such over-wrought demeanor, and that would surely be in error.
And while this internal debate unfolded, Sophie gradually regained control and wiped at her eyes, which, he noted, were now swollen and tinged with an unpleasant red.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “It’s just . . . getting more and more difficult . . .”
He was pleased that she was verbal once more, for that meant they could discuss the situation, resolve the problem, and return to the study of Kolinahr.
“What is becoming more difficult?” he asked pleasantly, hoping his attitude would neutralize the situation. It was, therefore, with some dismay that he observed that her response to his question was not an answer, but a fresh display of tears, seemingly more intense than before.
This time he decided on a course of action. It was only logical to emulate human behavior in a situation as out of control as this one seemed to be. Though he didn’t understand why physical contact would be helpful, he had observed it to be so, and at this point he would frankly have done whatever was required in order to put an end to this inordinate exhibition of emotion.
He extended his arm and began to tap her softly on the back.
This gesture produced a remarkable result. Sophie wailed aloud and flung herself upon him, arms holding him close, head pressed against his chest, body shuddering violently in a fresh outburst of sobs. Startled, he held his arms away from her, afraid of what might happen if he touched her again.
She was clutching at his uniform, which was now damp from her tears, kneading at him in the way baby sehlats kneaded their mothers’ underbellies as they suckled. “Sophie,” he remonstrated, “strive to regain control. Remember the Disciplines, remember cthia.”
She wailed aloud and flung herself away from him, rising to move to the gazebo’s entrance, where she clung to the wooden rail and drew three deep breaths, which was the prelude to