Disclaimer: I own neither Enterprise, nor it's characters. This is for entertainment purposes only.
Author's note: Thanks as always to my great beta readers. And everybody who keeps reading and reviewing and making this so worthwhile (it's fun on its own, but it's nice to share with others).
Narrator's note: Apologies to all vultures. I realise the comparision is not a nice one.
DAY 2
I wake to a vulture staring down at me. I blink, and it resolves into Malcolm, so I blink again, hoping to get the vulture back. Unfortunately, it doesn't work.
"I can't have slept in, Malcolm. I hardly ever sleep." I roll over to face the wall. That is not something you want to see when you wake up.
"You did, Scarlett. You're an hour late. This surprises me, because you were so prompt yesterday. Now, I know it's hard to adjust to a change in schedule. However…"
"Has anyone ever told you it's not nice to break in to a lady's bedroom? What if I slept naked?" I never do, of course. I grew up with five brothers, and you never knew who was going to invade (1) or when there would be an emergency fire drill. Or the real thing, for that matter.
He coughs for a moment. "I tried to use the doorbell and the comm, but they seem to be turned off. That is against regulations…"
"The shipwide alarm still works. And Commander Tucker knows how to get a hold of me in an emergency." I may not sleep a lot, but I like to make sure what little I get is undisturbed.
"I believe he said 'by the shoulders.'" Malcolm reaches down and grabs mine, pulling me out of bed. "Rise and shine, Scarlett."
"You're saying that just to piss me off." Did I mention that I hate mornings? And morning people are even worse. I stand for a moment, trying to regain my sensibility. But that's not quick enough for Mister Sunshine.
"Let's go." He picks me up in his arms and carries me into the bathroom, setting me down in the shower. Then he sets the spray to 'hard' and turns the water on cold. I'm wearing fleece, which soaks up the water like crazy, and I start to shiver. I turn the water off, and glare at him.
He smirks back, so I do the only intelligent thing left. I give him a great big hug.
"Scarlett, I…"
I pull him even closer, and like the lovely stuff it is, the fleece compresses, leaving the water only one place to go – especially when I wring a sleeve out down his collar.
He gasps, pulling away. "That is…"
"You mean I really do send chills down your spine?" I smile back at him and start undoing the buttons on my pyjama top. I barely get the first one out of the hole before he leaves the room. As soon as he does, I quickly strip the pyjamas off and wrap myself in a towel. Then I go into the main room and pull a uniform out of the closet.
He stares at me, and seems to have difficulty swallowing.
"Come off it, Malcolm. This isn't the first time you've seen me like this." Then he was trying to blackmail me, though. "And you should have thought of it before you dumped me into a cold shower." I go back to the bathroom and change. He's probably expecting it to take longer, because his jaw drops when I emerge in less than a minute, fully dressed.
"Oh… isn't that uncomfortable?" I run my eyes over the front of him. He looks down and blushes.
"Scarlett…"
"That's okay, darling. I'm sure the other boys and girls won't make nasty comments about your wet uniform." Not to his face, that is. But this ought to keep the mill going for days. And this one won't hurt my reputation, because people are going to be wondering just what it was I did to him. (2)
He comes up behind me and clamps both hands on my shoulders, growling into my ear. "This is not a good start to your second day with me, Scarlett."
"Well, I'm not the one who decided to throw an impromptu wet t-shirt contest." I break free and turn around to glare at him.
His entire body tenses, and his hands start shaking. "You were over an hour late. I was waking you up."
"And I should believe this, because…"
"Because cold showers are rarely considered erotic. And despite the fact that I cannot prove my sanity, I doubt I am so far gone as to consider spending my precious spare time with someone so damned bloody annoying as you."
I don't care if I'm supposed to be punished, I am not working with him. I go back into the bathroom and lock the door. I have never been so insulted in my life, and I'm not sure why.
One thing that people don't realise is that the com wiring runs right through the bathrooms. I tap into it and call someone who cares.
In less than five minutes, I hear him through the door.
"Just what the hell did you do to her?" He doesn't usually yell like that, unless he's really mad.
"Commander, this is hardly…" Despite what people think, there isn't a lot of soundproofing between the bathroom and the main quarters.
"Malcolm…" I hear a thud against the wall, probably from Malcolm backing hurriedly into it. There aren't many people who are willing to take on the Boy when he's truly angry. "Why did my oldest, and one of my dearest friends comm me, in tears, saying that she really, really needed to talk? It hasn't even been two days. Two days, Malcolm. Now, when I turn one of my most trusted people over to you, I expect to get them back in the same condition."
"She was late. Maybe I just should have written a reprimand."
"Maybe you should have." Then he says what would shock anybody but me. "I would have."
"You would not…"
"Yes, I would. As a matter of fact, I have. Ask Captain Archer. At the same time, she makes up for it with double-shifts and emergency fill-ins. But that is not what we are discussing here. What we are discussing is what the hell you did to make her cry."
"I hardly think…"
"Hess, honey, can you come out here for a moment?"
I don't want to. Malcolm's there, but then again, so is my Boy. And if things degrade into violence, he's going to need someone to protect him. I open the door and carefully step out, making sure I stay away from Malcolm.
"Okay, now what did he say to you?"
I shake my head. There are just some things I can't put into words. Especially when I don't know what the words are in the first place. All I know is that when the marginal people don't want you hanging around, then you're really on your own. That's not something you're used to when you come from a big family. Even if I had no friends, my brothers would always let me hang out with them. And I'm not used to crying either.
He lays the back of his hand against my forehead. "Okay." Suddenly he frowns. "Are you feeling okay?"
I shake my head again. If I had been feeling okay, I wouldn't have called him.
"Commander…"
The look Commander Tucker gives Malcolm tells him to stay out of it, or risk dismemberment. "I'm going to get you in to Dr. Phlox." He says to me, "You're not looking so good, and I think you're running a fever."
"You mean to tell me she's actually sick?" Malcolm sounds shocked. Like he should talk – he spends more time on sick-call than anyone else.(3)
Commander Tucker says nothing, just hustles me out into the hall and down to sickbay. On the way I tell him what Malcolm did to me. At least, the shower part.
When we get there, Dr. Phlox takes one look and comes rushing over.
"What happened?" He takes out his scanner and starts checking over Commander Tucker.
"It's not me, it's Hess." He shouldn't be so mad, though, it's an honest mistake.
"Oh." The doctor looks puzzled for a moment, then his eyes focus on me. "Oh! Lieutenant. I'm sorry, I didn't recognise you without the hair. What seems to be the problem?"
"I don't feel good." I realise that I'm pouting, at which point I know that I'm sick.
"Well, let's just have a look." Phlox takes me over to one of the diagnostic beds, and starts running tests. "It appears to be a mild viral infection, do you have any idea where you might have picked it up?"
I shake my head. "I spent all day yesterday doing inventory in the armoury."
"Oh, dear." Phlox fusses over some things again. "This wouldn't be the first time. It's possible that you came in contact with it from something you handled during your inventory. Lieutenant Reed has contracted illnesses in the same way. Tenacious things, viruses. Some of them can lie dormant for years, just waiting for the right conditions. It's one of the great risks of archaeology. You never quite know what you're going to pick up." He injects me with something. "Now, that should help with your fever. But you may still be a little sleepy, so I'm going to take you off duty for the rest of the day. I'd also like you to limit your contact with other people, so we can try to limit the spread of this."
"Okay." I don't mention the fact that I've already breathed all over Malcolm. With any luck, his delicate constitution will make him worse than I am.
Phlox concludes by giving Commander Tucker a reminder to wash his hands after handling me, to prevent the spread of the germs. Then the Boy takes me back to bed and gets me tucked in.
"I'll take care of Malcolm and Captain Archer. They can't do anything if you're sick, especially since you got sick working in the armoury." He fusses with the pillow until I'm comfortable, and fixes me a hot-chocolate. (4) "You just concentrate on getting better, okay?"
"Okay. If you want, I can do the paperwork while I'm here. It'll give me something to do, and I'm sure Rossie won't mind."
He smiles. "That's okay. I'll give him a hand."
"No! Really." I try to hide the fact that I'm now panicking. "You know how bored I get when I've got nothing to do. And since I'm not going to be allowed to see anybody…"
"All right, then." He smiles some more. When it comes down to it, he can't deny me anything. "But I don't want you working too hard on it. I want you to get better."
"Okay." He's such a sweetie. It's nice knowing that there are some people you can count on.
(Narrator's note: The following is gleaned from third party sources. No liability shall fall to the reporter for the dissemination of such information):
"Tell me. Are you just naturally a rotten bastard, or do you work on it?"
Malcolm jumps and spins around, to find himself looking into the stony face of Commander Tucker. "I…"
"She's sick. You might have taken that into consideration before you did that to her. Not to mention that it was your armoury that made her sick."
"How was I supposed to know she was sick?" Malcolm protests. "I'm not a doctor."
Commander Tucker pretends to think about it for a moment. "A person who almost never sleeps, sleeps in. Hmn. That might be a clue that something is wrong."
"You were the one who said…"
"I said that's what I would do. Malcolm, you and Hess have an entirely different relationship."
"We don't have a relationship." Then Malcolm proves that (a) he doesn't understand the relationship between myself and Commander Tucker, and (b) he's suicidal. "I'd rather have a relationship with a shark."
Several people run for cover as Commander Tucker snaps the padd in his hands in half. "What was that?" People always underestimate the Boy's strength. I mean, he looks kind of skinny and all, but they don't realise how much heavy lifting goes on in Engineering. And when he's angry, he's even stronger.
"What did you just say?" Commander Tucker's voice is very calm and even, which means that he's two seconds away from splattering Malcolm's brains all over the bulkhead.
Fortunately for Malcolm, He-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed stops by to ask a question, and quickly recognises the homicidal glint in Commander Tucker's eye.
"Commander." Captain Archer places a hand on Commander Tucker's shoulder and eases him backwards. "What's going on here?"
"This son-of-a-bitch," Commander Tucker uses a broken piece of padd to point at Lieutenant Reed, "has crossed the line. I do not appreciate it when someone thinks that he can abuse my friends and coworkers simply because that someone has an inferiority complex and has decided to go on a power trip."
"What happened?" Captain Archer speaks very slowly, so that there's no question whether or not Commander Tucker will understand.
"Lieutenant Hess is sick, from something she picked up around here, and this bastard's only response was to stick her in ice-water."
"I didn't know she was sick. I thought she was being Hess."
Commander Tucker lunges towards Malcolm, and the only thing that stops him from a murder charge is Captain Archer's arm thudding into his chest.
"Now," Captain Archer says, "Is she really sick? This has been verified by a doctor?"
"Ask Phlox." Commander Tucker still hasn't taken his eyes away from his intended target. "He's got her on sick-call for the rest of the day."
"Okay. Now let's try something new, shall we? Let's try handling this like adults, instead of schoolchildren." Captain Archer walks Commander Tucker a few steps backwards, giving Malcolm some space to breathe. "What precisely happened?"
This, of course, sticks Malcolm in a quandary. If he says that he went to get me, rather than write me up, he's going to be in trouble with Captain Archer. If he does nothing, he comes across looking like an evil, lecherous jerk. (5) Suddenly, he thinks of something.
"Wait a second… if Hess is sick, it can't be from something she picked up here. Viruses need time to incubate. Furthermore, if she was running a fever, ice-water is an acceptable response."
"You didn't know she was sick when you tossed her into it," Commander Tucker growls.
Then Malcolm proves I've spent way too much time hanging out with him. "Do you know that for certain? I believe that qualifies as 'determining the state and depth of another person's knowledge?' That's hardly evidentiary." (6)
"You…"
"Quiet," Captain Archer thumps Commander Tucker lightly again, to get the message across. "Lieutenant Reed. Next time Lieutenant Hess is sick, write a report, don't try to solve it yourself. Trip. The next time those two get up to something, don't get involved. You only make yourself look like an idiot." He looks down at the pieces of padd in Commander Tucker's hands. "And stop doing that, or I'll write you up for destruction of Starfleet property."
"We were hardly up to something," Malcolm mutters. "The last thing I'd want to do…"
Which is how Captain Archer breaks a knuckle, hitting Commander Tucker in the head.(7) (8)
I'm, of course, absolutely oblivious to all these facts. I'm nicely tucked away in my bed, with my cat and my rabbit tucked up beside me, saving the universe from Commander Tucker's paperwork, when the doorbell rings.
"Yes?" I sound kind of pitiful, but I'm sick, so it's okay.
"Can I come in?" It sounds like Malcolm, but the voice is a little muffled.
"I suppose. If you must." After all, as he once informed me, as Chief of Security he's allowed everywhere.
He staggers in with a huge pile of stuff in his arms. "I heard how sick you were, and thought maybe I could help." Evil Thing and Igor take off when they notice who it is. Animals are smart.
"By doing what? Throwing me in the shower again?"
"No… I'm sorry about that. Believe me, I'm sorry." He sets his load down on the floor. "I just thought I'd bring you some of the things I find helpful when I'm feeling sick."
I start to feel a sudden case of tachycardia coming on. I mean, I never thought that Malcolm would be the man to make my heart race, but I'm starting to panic.
"Let's see… Some extra blankets are always nice." He throws a couple of heavy blankets on top of me; they feel like they were constructed out of lead. He carefully arranges them so I'm well tucked in. In fact, I feel a little bit like Egyptian royalty being given those final touches. (9)
"A hot-water bottle…" He disappears into the bathroom with something and returns a couple of seconds later. "Oh, but I forgot." He pulls out a pair of what I can only pray are clean woollen socks. (10) He pulls these onto my feet, then tucks the hot-water bottle up against them.
"Hmm… Tissues." He hands me an extra large box, or he would, if my arms could move. Instead, he just places it beside me. "Something to throw them in…" a wastebasket goes on the floor beside my head. "Some reading material…" He places a couple of padds on top of the blankets. "My favourites: Tacticus, Sun Tzu and Sartre… oh, yes and Finnegan's Wake, I thought you might enjoy that."
"Hoshi's more the one for made-up languages…"
"Some extra pillows, just to make sure you're comfortable…" He tucks these around me, wedging me in even tighter.
"Malcolm. I'm so comfortable, I can't breathe." If he piles any more stuff on me, I'm going to disappear.
"Oh dear, that's right. You're running a fever." He disappears into the bathroom again, and comes out with a facecloth. He lays it on my forehead, meaning that my toes are now cooking and my head is freezing.
"Malcolm…"
He ignores me. "Some hot tea – made properly of course, none of your American butchery – and some ice-water in case you get thirsty." He sets up a small folding table beside my bed and places a thermos bottle and a carafe on it. "And I had Chef make you up some chicken soup…"
I'm amazed he managed to carry all this stuff. Like Commander Tucker, he must be stronger than he looks. (11) He opens a second thermos bottle and pours me a cup of the soup. I have to admit, it smells good. Chef really is amazing. But even if I were hungry, I couldn't eat it.
"Malcolm. I can't move."
"Oh darling, I am so sorry." He sits down on the side of the bed and pulls out a spoon.
"'Darling?!" When did he start calling me 'darling?' Why did he start calling me 'darling?' Whatever happened to 'menace' and 'horror' and 'irresponsible threat to the well-being of society?'
He blinks rapidly, looking innocent.(12) "Did I overstep? It's just that you called me that this morning, so I figured it was simply an expression."
"It's that Tuckeritis again," I mutter. "You're far too highly susceptible."
"Oh, dear," he reaches over and adjusts the cloth on my head. "You're babbling. That's not a good sign." He then dips the spoon into the soup, then holds it to my lips. "Have some soup, I'm sure it will make you feel better."
I wouldn't, but I am kind of feeling out of sorts, and the soup does smell good. I sip it, and he beams.
"That's good. You have to keep your strength up. I know it's hard when you're stuck in bed and you're all alone, and nobody seems to care for you…" He pats my shoulder. "But that's okay, because I'm here now. And we'll make sure you get all better."
I start to sniffle. Malcolm quickly puts down the soup and grabs a tissue, holding it in front of my nose.
"Blow."
I do, and he wipes my nose like I was a little kid, then drops the tissue in the wastebasket.
"You poor, poor thing. Well, I'm going to take good care of you."
That's what scares me. At this rate, he'll smother me to death before I get a chance to get better.
Suddenly, I can't help it. I burst into tears again. I feel so helpless, and the universe has gone crazy again. And this… this… thing beside me won't go away. He's like the demented nursemaid from hell.
"Ohhh. Don't cry. Don't cry, Scarlett. It will all be better soon." He grabs another tissue and starts drying my tears, using little patting motions all over my cheeks.
This only makes me cry harder. I'm scared that I won't get better soon, and I'll be stuck here forever with Sympathetic Malcolm, which is very, very scary, and not at all like Pathetic Malcolm whom I thought I knew. What's worse is that this is the second time in a single day that he's made me cry. Nobody's ever done that to me before. I hate this man. I hate this man with every fibre of my being. He's just so damned nice.
"Oh, Scarlett, I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?"
"Go away." Preferably, a long way away, like on another starship.
"You're just feeling cranky because you're sick. You don't really mean that."
"Yes, I do."
He looks hurt. "I'm only trying to make you feel better."
I sigh. He's obviously been picking up tricks from the Boy, because Porthos couldn't give me a better set of puppy-dog eyes. And I can kind of see that in a sick and twisted universe that he might actually think that he's helping. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay. I understand." This time he pats where my knee might be, though it's hard to tell under all these blankets. "I just can't imagine where you could have picked this up, though."
"From you, and your infected inventory." As if it weren't obvious.
"Scarlett… viruses need time to incubate…"
"Ten to twelve hours for the common rhinovirus." I know this, because our family game used to be 'who brought home what?'
"Surely it's…"
"No. Symptoms can begin to appear within ten to twelve hours of first contact. This is all your fault, Malcolm." Suddenly I realise that might have been the wrong thing to say.
"Oh, Scarlett, I'm sorry. You're right: this is all my fault." He starts adjusting all the pillows again. "Let me try to help make it better."
Okay, time for a new tactic. "My mommy used to read stories to me." They weren't as interesting as the ones my father would tell, though. He'd debate case-law with me to take my mind off of feeling bad. By the time I was twelve, I had all of the constitutional amendments down pat.
The tactic fails. "All right. What would you like me to read?" He sorts his way through the padds. "I know, how about some Melville? Moby Dick, I used to read this all the time."
Well, it works on one point. I'm asleep after two pages. But somehow, I don't think he notices.
(1) Sometimes through the window, which can lead to nasty, unexpected chills.
(2) And nobody would believe it if I told them what really happened. I'm supposed to be more technical than that.
(3) Well, except maybe for me and Commander Tucker. But those are injuries, they don't count.
(4) Hey, it's not my fault that most people didn't think to bring along their own espresso makers with milk steamer attachment. Just because we're in deep space doesn't mean that we can't enjoy the comforts of home.
(5) Which would, of course, only be an improvement to his reputation.
(6) Not precisely the language I would have used, but the sentiment is there.
(7) I mean, to be fair, Commander Tucker was preparing to throttle Lieutenant Reed, so it's just a matter of things moving up the chain of command.
(8 )With his skull, it was probably the least painful place the captain could have hit him. For Commander Tucker at least.
(9) Though, if he tries for the organ removal, it ain't mine that will be coming out.
(10) Though, honestly, this is something I would have to worry about more with Commander Tucker. Malcolm is so anal he probably washes his things the second he takes them off.
(11) Of course, given that he looks like he'd fall apart in a light breeze, this wouldn't be difficult.
(12) Which automatically makes me even more suspicious.