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"Ok, guys. I checked the database and there are quite a few interesting things to learn on the subject of 'hiccups'," Hoshi said to Travis and Trip as the three of them were having lunch in the mess hall.
Phlox's injection didn't seem to have had any effect, and with Archer's permission Malcolm had buried himself alive again – this time inside the port cannon housing. Trip had decided to enlist Hoshi's and Travis's assistance to try and find a way to help the Armoury Officer.
"Really? Like what?" Travis asked, suddenly distracted from the huge sandwich he held hovering in front of his mouth.
"Let me skip the medical mumbo jumbo. What's interesting for us are all the so-called 'home remedies'; there are quite a few," Hoshi explained.
"Such as?" Trip enquired, raising his eyes from his meatloaf, and lifting his eyebrows.
"There are different types of things one can try." Hoshi produced a padd. and turned it on. She began to read. "Psychosomatic: distraction from one's hiccup (e.g. being startled or asked a perplexing question); concentration on one's hiccup. Swallowing: swallowing three times while holding one's breath; eating particular foods, such as peanut butter, chocolate, sugar or honey; inserting one's thumbs in one's ears, closing one's nose with one's index fingers, and drinking a glass of water…"
A loud snort interrupted her, and raising her eyes Hoshi saw that Trip was trying hard not to explode into laughter with coffee in his mouth.
"Commander…," she scolded him while trying to keep her own face straight.
"Sorry," Trip replied after gulping down the liquid, rubbing his face hard to try and smooth it out into a composed expression. An impossible feat, apparently: a second later he roared, echoed by Travis, and Hoshi soon found herself dragged into hysterical giggling.
It was a while before they had managed to calm down.
"I have to admit, the image of Malcolm with thumbs in his ears is hilarious," she conceded, after she had regained her breath.
"Awmygawd, my facial muscles hurt so much from laughing," Travis butted in, still struggling to regain his composure. "Please tell me that the rest of these 'home remedies' are not as funny."
"Well, I can't promise you that," Hoshi replied. "Let's see, there is drinking a glass of water through a napkin placed over the glass…"
Travis shook his head and broke into another wide smile.
"…Drinking a glass of water in several small sips," Hoshi went on, ignoring him.
"That's more like it," Trip commented.
"…Drinking a glass of water 'from the wrong side of the glass'; drinking a glass of water with another's palms against one's ears; drinking a carbonated beverage; gulping down a glass of water while holding one's breath; drinking a glass of water several times successively; eating an ice cube…"
"Aw, we'll never get Malcolm to cooperate with any of those," Travis said, still shaking his head and smiling.
"Then we'll trick him into cooperatin' without knowin'," Trip said resolutely.
"And then there are the respiratory remedies," Hoshi continued unflinchingly. "Breathing slowly and deeply in while thinking 'breathing out' and breathing slowly and fully out while thinking 'breathing in'…"
"But that's crazy!" Trip exclaimed. "Who'd be so nuts as to even think of somethin' like that?"
"…Breathing slowly and deeply in and out through the mouth; holding one's breath while optionally squeezing one's stomach; exhaling all the air from one's lungs and holding one's breath while swallowing water or saliva; blowing up a balloon; inducing sneezing…"
"Hold on, hold on," Trip interrupted her. "My head is like a beehive. Let's start from the beginnin'. That startlin' business," he said vaguely, waving a hand in the air.
Hoshi scrolled up to the beginning of her file. "Being startled or asked a perplexing question," she read.
Travis pulled a face. "Yeah, and how do you suggest we startle Malcolm?" he asked grimly. "This is Lieutenant Reed we're talking about, the man who looks perfectly cool even when we are under attack and everything on the bridge is blowing up. I've watched him, you know. I think he actually enjoys it when things are exploding around him."
"Hmm, there is that," Trip commented thoughtfully. A moment later he lit up. "But you could ask him a perplexing question," he suggested enthusiastically.
"Me? Why me?" Travis replied jerking his head back.
"Look, why not you?" Trip countered. "We all have to do somethin' here. Unless you prefer to stick your thumbs in Malcolm's ears…" he let his voice trail.
"Ok, ok. I'll have a go with the perplexing question," Travis hastened to say. "Now I only have to think of one," he added thoughtfully.
Trip rolled his eyes upwards and sideways in a concentrated expression. "Your problem; can't think of any," he said after a moment.
"I believe we can assume that Malcolm tried a few of the more well-known remedies already," Hoshi said, scrolling down her file. "Let's see, I'd say we can disregard the 'swallowing three times while holding one's breath' and 'drinking from the wrong side of the glass' ones. What else… oh yes, perhaps also the 'drinking a carbonated beverage'."
"So what does that leaves us?" Trip asked.
Hoshi studied her file again. "'Eating particular foods', 'concentration on one's hiccup' and a few of the less known breathing exercises," she replied confidently.
Travis's gaze lit up. "Commander, how about enlisting T'Pol's help for the 'concentration' exercises?" he asked. "With her meditation techniques she seems like the best person for that."
"Good thinkin', Trav," Trip replied optimistically. His enthusiasm waned a little when he thought of the state the lieutenant was in. "Well, I'll have to get Malcolm to take a shower; or T'Pol to take another dose of her nasal stuff," he mumbled to himself.
"Anyway," he added, turning to Hoshi. "You go talk to T'Pol – you know better than I do – and I'll get Chef to prepare some special dessert for Malcolm, something with peanut butter, chocolate, sugar, honey, you know all that stuff. Let's see which of us gets Mal back to normal."
"Provided that's even possible," Travis commented with a grin.
Hoshi smiled. "Aye, aye, Sir," she replied gleefully.
The three conspirators nodded to each other and left, each in pursuit of their own task.
Malcolm pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He was damn tired of hiccupping. His patience was running thin, not to mention that whatever muscles hiccupping made contract were beginning to hurt. He heaved a deep – and thankfully uninterrupted – sigh and opened his eyes again. He was about to resume servicing the port cannon when he heard someone call him.
"Lieutenant?"
Turning, he saw Travis Mayweather climbing down the rungs to join him.
"Travis," he greeted him without sparkle. "Have you -- finished bridge duty?"
"I'm on lunch break, Sir," Travis replied. "I'm due back on the bridge shortly, and I thought I'd take a few minutes to drop by and see how you are."
"K-- kind of you," Malcolm said. "As you can see, still hiccupping."
"Man, must be terrible," Mayweather commented wincing.
"Not much fun, I must -- admit," Malcolm replied with a sigh. He eyed Mayweather. Travis was a friend and all, but that he should come all the way down into the bowels of the ship just to see if his hiccup was gone… it seemed a bit excessive.
Travis spoke again, interrupting his thoughts. "You surprised us this morning," he said with a nervous grin. "It's not like you to be late for duty, Lieutenant, if I may."
Malcolm decided to ignore the vibes he was getting and turned to his phase cannon again. "Didn't hear the ala-- alarm clock, happens in the best of families," he mumbled.
"Yeah, sure does," Travis agreed, baring his enviably white teeth in a full smile.
"Uhm, Travis, since you're here, would you -- mind holding this while I screw it back on?" Malcolm asked tiredly.
"No problem."
A moment later Malcolm found Mayweather's dark eyes looking intently at him from a disturbingly short distance. "Is anything the mat--ter, Ensign?" Reed asked, puzzled.
"That business with the alarm clock got me thinking," Travis said, commanding attention with the intense tone of his voice. Malcolm stopped working and looked up at him. Travis paused, presumably for dramatic effect; then asked, "Why does an alarm clock 'go off' when it actually 'goes on'?"
Malcolm froze and studied the young man's perfectly serious face. Obviously he hadn't meant this as a joke; in fact he seemed to expect an answer to the crazy question. Good grief, he seemed far too expectant.
"That's the stupidest question I've ever heard, Ensign," he blurted out. "Whatever came into your mind?"
Seconds ticked by in perfect, uninterrupted stillness and silence. Travis's eyes began to twinkle and, to Malcolm's relief, his mouth turned up in a happy grin. Maybe, then, it was meant as a joke after all. Malcolm smiled back to him and Travis's grin turned into a full smile, one that lit up his whole face.
"Stupid in a fu-- funny way," Malcolm corrected, with a chuckle.
The curve of Travis's mouth immediately flipped downwards, causing Malcolm's chuckle to die in his throat. Maybe, then, it really wasn't meant as a joke.
"I mean, it's a non--sensical question," he amended, not knowing what he was expected to say and turning back to his job to avoid looking at Mayweather's disquieting face.
"Yeah. You're right. It is," Travis agreed in what sounded, for some unfathomable reason, like a defeated tone.
There was another long moment of silence, this time interrupted by several hics.
"Well, thank you for your help," Malcolm finally said, putting his tools away. "I g-- guess I'll see you later, Ensign," he added, hoping Travis would take the hint and leave.
But the helmsman seemed lost in his own world. Malcolm was about to wave a hand in front of him, when Travis spoke again.
"Lieutenant," he said, looking straight into Malcolm's eyes. "You are Chief of Security, maybe you can answer this." Travis's voice had that creepy tone he used when telling his famous ghost stories. "I wonder…" He made another dramatic pause. "If someone with multiple personalities threatens to kill himself, is it considered a hostage situation?"
This time Malcolm just couldn't stop his mouth from twitching slightly; but Mayweather's expression was unsmiling, actually concerned, so he called on his renowned self-control and clamped down hard on the mirth that was ready to explode in his throat. He leaned against the cannon, jolting and studying the young man.
"Travis, are you -- sure you are all right?" he enquired, a touch of concern in his own voice. The man kept asking the craziest things. Not only that, he seemed worried about them. Definitely troublesome.
"Oh, yeah," Travis slurred. "I'm just great."
Malcolm inclined his head, frowning. "Any other perp-- perplexing questions you feel the need to ask me?"
Mayweather's eyes widened, causing Malcolm to review in his mind the words he had just spoken, to double-check if he had said anything strange.
"Ah, no, not really. Well then, we'll see you later, Lieutenant," Travis said, grinning and slowly backing away towards the ladder. "Got to go or I'll be late. Wouldn't want that, not two officers in the same day…"
And with that he climbed out of the cannon housing, disappearing from view. Malcolm stood stunned for another moment; then he shook his head and turned back to his work.
TBC