The Captain Has a Cold

The intercom chimes. "Yes, Una?"

"Are you in your quarters?"

"Yes." I reply

"I cancelled your duty shift for today and tomorrow."

"What's up?"

"You'll understand in about 30 seconds. Good luck."

"Wait …" I start but the viewscreen is now dark.

As the transmission ends, the door whooshes open and I hear four quick sneezes and an unusually nasally voice call out, "Number One … sneeze … sent me … sneeze … to my … sneeze … room."

I meet him in the hallway near the door. There stands the mighty Captain of the Enterprise looking miserable and pale; his hair unusually messy as if he has been running his fingers through it repeatedly; clammy and with a red, irritated nose. Loosening the collar of his uniform jacket and unzipping it, I ask, "No better than this morning?" He shakes his head wearily.

After retrieving the data pads he is holding in one hand and laying them on the desk, I take off his uniform jacket and steer him to the sofa. "Your plan to run it off didn't work out as well as you anticipated?"

His only response is that look that turns junior officers to quivering jelly.

"I see." Leaning closer, I hold the back of my hand against his cheek and then his forehead. "You feel a little warm."

"I just need to sleep it off." Sometimes his indomitable force of will slides into stubbornness. "Despite what Phil Boyce says I Do Not Have A Cold," he adds grumpily before sneezing again and then coughing.

"You stopped by Sickbay?" That is surprising.

"Why are you keeping it so cold in here? Computer raise temperature two degrees," he snaps.

I hand him a blanket. "You stopped by Sickbay?"

"Yes. A wasted trip. I wanted something to help me sleep. I admit I have been tired the past few days. All I got was Phil's diagnosis of a cold and prognosis of feeling better in three days. Three Days! And I Do Not Have A Cold."

"Okay."

"Phil did put on a show checking the news nets and then pronouncing hell had surprisingly not frozen over even though I came to Sickbay willingly and without prompting," he finishes with a harrumph. And another coughing spell.

I try not to laugh, but despite my best efforts my mouth twitches slightly. His unfailing attention of everything in his surroundings doesn't miss it and he frowns. "Guess he learned his bedside manner from reading Dr. Phlox's journals," I surmise.

"What?"

"The CMO on the Enterprise NX. He wrote about explaining to Admiral, well then Captain, Archer that he, Phlox, took an oath not to harm patients but he could inflict all the pain he wanted."

Chris stares at me.

"He was joking," I add. So much for my attempt at humor.

"That is not funny … at all. Archer probably just needed a little help getting to sleep and got a full exam and a lecture instead. And a comment about a sedative possibly depressing breathing, whatever the hell that means." His frown deepens into a scow.

I. Will. Not. Laugh. "Take a hot shower, get into some comfortable sweats, curl up in bed, read something boring. That should make you sleepy."

"Don't want to."

"Tea and honey?"

"No. If it ever warms up in here, I am going to finish the work I brought."

"Things are quiet right now, maybe the work could wait until tomorrow? Or after you sleep it off?" There was that 'turn to jelly' look again. Undaunted I plow ahead, "You sound hoarse. Is your throat scratchy?"

He nods. "But I Do Not Have A Cold."

The door chimes before I can respond. Which is good timing with my patience wearing thin. Chef hands me a tray when it opens. "Number One said the Captain wasn't feeling well. I put together a few things for him. The chicken soup is my grandmother's secret recipe. All fresh, nothing replicated."

"Thanks, he will appreciate this."

"Good luck," Chef adds as he leaves.

"I appear to need it," I mutter to myself as I walk back to the living area.

I have personally seen Captain Pike direct a multi-hour battle while battling a 104-degree fever. Stay on the bridge for over 72 hours with a concussion and fractured bones that are splinted but otherwise untreated until his ship and crew are out of danger. I have heard the urban legends about him using his body to contain the blast of an overloading phaser, nearly dying and then going back to work the next morning. Fighting with medieval weapons and not slowing down after several stab wounds. Carrying a wounded man several miles despite his own injuries. Captain Pike can be impervious to pain, injuries or illness. Yet, sick with a minor virus, Chris has regressed, as many human males do, to age six. While still insisting He Is Not Sick.

If needed, I know Captain Pike will instantly reappear and shrug it off. Even if it makes him sicker.

Distraction is my next plan. I set a glass of the orange juice, a cup of green tea and the plate of scrambled eggs on the coffee table in front of him and take a piece of the toast for myself knowing he won't eat alone.

"I can't eat, I need my mouth to breathe," he says, pouting like that six-year-old.

"Okay." I nibble on the toast and continue, "Chef's bread is as good as any bakery in Paris or on Vulcan. How did you entice him on board?"

"What?" He asks distractedly after another sneezing fit.

"How did you convince Chef to sign up for a posting to Enterprise? Or did you draft him?"

That prompts a quick chuckle. "Draft him? He's temperamental enough being here by his own choice. I promised him a state-of-the-art kitchen and a garden with real dirt, no hydroponics." After a few sips and a few cautious bites he adds, "And I think it amuses him to square off with Number One."

"Real dirt? That must of have been interesting to explain to Command."

"I don't remember mentioning it." A faint grin. "Captain's discretion."

We chat for a while and as he relaxes Chris pays more attention to the food and finally finishes most of it.

"Bed or sofa?" I ask.

"Desk," is the reply.

"No. We had that argument already."

He stares at me. I stare back. I win this round. "Sofa," is his admission of surrender.

"If you are going to stay in your uniform at least take off the boots."

"Whatever. Sit with me?"

I sit and place a pillow on my lap. With a little encouragement he lays down and I tuck the blanket around him. After ten minutes I hear the soft snoring that accompanies sleep with a very stuffy head.

All is quiet for about an hour. Then the ship shudders violently and we both tumble off the couch onto the floor. In an instant, Chris is on his feet and Captain Pike is back. He helps me up as he calls the bridge. "Report," he barks to the ops officer and then turns to me and in a softer voice asks if I am alright. I nod while he listens to the explanation, "Engineering reports an error in the new intermix formula threw us out of warp. We're on impulse now. Number One is on her way to engineering. He cuts off that transmission without another word and starts another. "Louvier, damage?"

"None. That new intermix formula Command mandated to save fuel starved the right nacelle. The warp field then collapsed rather than performing a slower, measured shut down. They missed something in testing. Commander Reno did warn us."

"As she will enjoy reminding us over the next month. Restart with the old formula and tell Command they can shove the new one up their …" A deep breath. "And tell command we will send a fix to the new one. I want an update in an hour." Pike ends the transmission before anyone can acknowledge his orders as a wave of coughing starts. He sinks down onto the sofa as another wave hits. And another.

"More juice?" I ask.

He shakes his head.

"Water?"

He nods and adds in a strangled whisper as the coughing subsides, "Ice water."

I hand him a glass. He hands it back untouched. "With crushed ice please? Instead of ice cubes."

"Sure," I answer and fetch another.

"With a straw?" He hands the straw back. "No, a bendy straw please." He returns two more straws with the same request, "bendier." The six-year-old has returned. I'm not sure who or what will rebel first, me or the replicator. I get him another straw which he declares perfect.

"Your cough is deeper. Maybe a hot shower would help with that and relieve some of the stuffiness in your head? Then it would be easier to sleep it off."

He shivers and sighs. And looks even more miserable. "It's still cold in here."

"Computer raise temperature one degree. I am sure Number One and Louiver have the situation under control, but I will get you if they call." Then, with a wicked grin I ask innocently, "I assume you can undress yourself?"

A grumpy snort is his only reply.

ooooo

I sit on the edge of the bed as he settles in and the relay messages. "As you can see and feel, we are back at warp. Number One reports additional scans confirm no damage. Sickbay reports no major injuries, just bumps and bruises plus a couple of sprained ankles. Mia Colt dropped off several communications requiring your direct attention, but nothing needs an answer before tomorrow afternoon." I smooth the blanket, resisting my inclination to keep asking what he wants or needs. With the adrenalin purged, Chris now looks exhausted.

Avoiding eye contact with me, he stares intently at the viewport. "You know," he starts hesitantly, "when I was sick as a child, my parents read to me to help me fall asleep." Then he quickly adds, "Not that I am sick, but I could use sleep."

Just when I think you can't get any more adorable, you surprise me. "I can do that. Did you have anything in mind? What is the name of that new novel which sounded interesting?"

He looks up at me. Sheepishly. "I was … thinking … maybe … one of the books they read."

"Okay. Sure. I'll check the ship's library for children's literature. What did they read to you?

"The Sword in the Stone, War Horse, The Princess Bride, The Three Musketeers, Treasure Island."

"This explains so much."

"Excuse me?"

"This explains so much about you. Caring for the innocent, fighting for ideals and justice, craving adventure. Those were the stories you liked. Didn't Admiral Archer name all his dogs after Musketeers?"

"You can quote Dr. Phlox but don't know basic facts about Admiral and President Archer? What did they teach in your grade school? Anyway, I have copies, you don't need to download anything. There's a box in the closet."

A brief search produced the right box. "Where did you find all these 20th century and ancient books? The Lord of the Rings, Black Beauty, Watership Down, A Christmas Carol. I see the pattern continues. The Chronicles of Narnia. Did your father have you debate the religious symbolism after reading that series?"

"Of course. The books were gifts from my grandfather. He read to me also."

I keep digging through the box. And pull out a model of an old WWII plane. "Did you build this?"

"Yes. Maybe we could rummage through my things another day?"

Disappointed I give in and climb into bed my arms loaded with books. "Some of these are even illustrated. I've never read any of them. What's your choice?"

"Surprise me."

A third of the way through A Sword in the Stone, the soft snoring becomes constant and steady. So, this is how you tame a mighty Captain.