ZEDD
"Lord Zedd - time to awaken. It has been four hours, as you requested."
Groaning as I roll over, I try to force my brain into gear. Why did I set the damn alarm for only four hours? What was the point of that? I don't have any work that needs done today and if anything I should sleep in as I spent how many hours this morning in the sim deck working off - oh yeah, the human.
Remembering where I am and why, I sit up, reluctant to leave the warmth and comfort of my bed, but recalling that I have to as I'm fairly certain Thomas will be waking himself sometime in the near future. Scrubbing my hands across my eyes before I stand and stretch, I pad to the bathroom still shaking the last remnants of sleep from my brain. "What is the status of the human?"
"He is awake and has been for approximately fifty seven minutes and thirty two seconds." I frown at this as I take care of waking business, not fully caught up with the program just yet.
"He is still in the medical bay, yes?" Starting up the water in the sink and brushing my teeth quickly, I can only hope my guest has not gotten into too much trouble during my absence.
"No." If hopes were horses.
My eyes narrow as I take in this information, toothpaste spit out and sink rinsed I try to keep my annoyance in check as I make my next inquiry. "And why wasn't I informed that he was up and about?"
"Report parameters not reset." I grit my teeth and realize that I cannot destroy the computer now or we won't get home. Not now, Zedd, focus.
"Location and status of the human along with his activities for the last hour."
"Human Thomas Oliver woke approximately one Earth hour ago, requested the location of bodily waste disposal facilities, used said facilities and wandered about the medical bay for ten minutes twenty one seconds." Well at least he can apparently move about without too much pain and discomfort, that's something of good news I suppose. Even if it means I'll have to keep a rather close eye on him.
"Continue."
"He then proceeded to leave the medical bay and wander about the ship. He inquired about the language of the labels on the doors-"
"Wait - he what?" The language? Theyre all Earth equivalents. True there might be one or two words which do not match those of his language, but the majority of it he should have no trouble understanding. "Repeat his inquiry."
As the recording begins to play back I listen to Thomas' strained voice ask, "Computer, what language are the door labels in?" Followed by the computer's answer and a snort of disbelief. This might be more difficult than I originally anticipated.
"Computer, make note that Thomas mental difficulties seem to include visual language as well as spoken. Continue report."
Returning to my room I grab my clothes and start to get dressed as the computer continues, "Thomas found his way to the bridge and after one minute and fifty two seconds, he inquired about our present speed before requesting the ship accelerate to warp seven." As I stop, startled, the computer continues, "The voice command was not accepted - his voice print does not permit him access to most functions of the ship." Oh thank the higher powers for that. Though to be honest I do not recall voice locking the higher commands before leaving for Earth.
"He then requested a course change back to-"
"Earth" I finish, already figuring such a thing would happen even if he did seem to agree earlier that returning with me to my world would be best. I sigh heavily. I realize that he wants to go home, but he doesn't realize the danger he would be in - even outside the rehabilitation center. "Continue."
"His last request was for the view screen to be activated, which it was as no voice locks were placed upon it. He is still on the bridge watching it." At least he can't do any harm with that. Warp seven in this sector, the human must be out of his damn mind.
Shoving my feet into my boots, I hurry out of my room and head for the bridge, issuing one final command as I go. "Computer, start the coffee in the kitchen."
Moving briskly I make my way to the bridge, curious to see what my Ranger is up to. Granted he's only watching the view screen, but why? What purpose would it serve him considering he's not actually piloting and does not currently know what my new home planet looks like?
Still trying to figure it out I reach my destination in record time frowning in thought as the bridge door slides open silently before me and closes just as silently behind. It takes a minute before I spot him sitting on the floor, leaned back against the console and watching the stars go by. I doubt there's any way to get his attention without startling him and after debating with myself for a long minute I finally cross the room sliding into the command seat without so much as a sound.
From this angle, I can see the look on the human's face - something which seems to answer my previous question as well as take me by slight surprise as it is a mix of amazement and longing. I feel a pang in my heart - something I have not felt in, well, forever it seems. I wonder about it for a moment, before dismissing it as perhaps indigestion or some such thing. Besides my focus needs to be Thomas right now, not myself or possible heartburn.
Biting my lip, still unsure of what to say or how to let the boy know that I am here, I suddenly realize that this is no longer a problem as he already knows - he has tensed up and he is breathing much faster than he was only a moment ago.
Before I can think to give some sort of reassurance, he speaks. "Sorry."
Puzzled, I turn my attention on him fully. "For what?"
I can almost see him shrink visibly before me and it makes my blood boil. While his behavior towards me, his fear of me is something I at one point and time would have reveled in it is now however doing nothing but giving me cause for concern and sorrow. Feelings, that much like my earlier pang, are not something that I am familiar or comfortable with. "For leaving the room or coming in here or messing with things."
"Thomas, I am not angry with you. Why would you think-" My voice trails off as I realize that the week in that horrific place did more damage to his emotional and mental state than I had anticipated. I change tactics quickly. "Thomas, I am not going to get angry with you over every little thing. I realize that you were probably just curious about the ship and you watching the viewing screen causes no harm. In fact there is really very little you could do to make me upset." Uncertain if thats really true or not, I however hope that it has the desired effect on his nerves and fragile emotional state. "Do you understand?"
"If you say so". Good enough for now I suppose.
Deciding a more neutral topic is in order, I change the subject. "Are you hungry?"
His eyes narrow for a moment as he shakes his head, a clear lie as I know he hasn't eaten in at least a day, however I decide to not call him on it just yet recalling his earlier nightmare and fear where eating is now concerned. Sighing, I shift in my seat. "Why don't you come to the kitchen with me and keep me company while I have coffee then? You don't have to eat if you dont want to." Yet.
Studying me and clearly trying to decide if I mean what I say, he really is going to take some work to fix isn't he.
Seeing his uncertainty I make my play. "You can ask me questions if you like."
Turning those brown eyes on me, I watch as he continues studying me for a minute before finally nodding and carefully rising from the floor.
"Good." I lead the way out of the bridge and to the kitchen, not making any moves toward him as he follows a bit of distance behind me, looking somewhat endearing in my black slightly too big for him clothing, hair mussed badly, and feet bare; almost dare I say innocent. However even if he doesn't recall, I do, that he is anything but the definition of that word having seen and done too much in his young life that has tainted and bloodied his hands and mind.
This thought however makes me realize that I truly have no idea what to say to him and I don't know what hell ask. What if it's something concerning his past? Or worse yet, mine. What will I tell him?
As we reach the kitchen my mind still just a bit distracted I point at a stool by the counter before going behind it. Hopefully, that will help him feel safer. Now, let me get my coffee and then we can talk. "Do you want any?"
I glance over my shoulder just in time to catch his nod. "How do you take it?"
"Black." As I slide a cup across the counter to him, I can see the startled look on his face.
"What?" Without missing a beat, he stops the cup mid-slide and grins. I suddenly realize that he caught the cup without a problem - meaning that his reflexes, and possibly his fighting instincts are still intact.
"I remembered."
I can't help but smile back at him, finding myself pleased by his own delight at such a simple matter. "Most of your memories are intact, Thomas. The problem is that your access to them has been damaged. In time and with help though, it should all come back. Or at least the majority of it."
Taking my own cup I watch as his grin changes to a frown. "Why do you do that?"
"Do what?" I'm a little lost here. A feeling I believe I will be experiencing a lot where he is concerned.
"Call me Thomas. I hate that - I want to be called Tommy." Voice still nervous and small, but more firm than I've yet to hear it since I saved him, I find myself pleased but yet sorry at the same time.
"I have always called you Thomas and, to me, Thomas you shall remain. Tommy is a name for a child, which you are not." True, compared to me he is a child, but he has always fought like a man beyond his years and I'll not insult him by calling him anything less than what I believe him to be.
Frown still in place apparently not expecting me to refuse this request/demand of his, he finally ventures another question. One I should have expected. "Who are you?" If only I had a century or two to explain that one.
Deciding to focus mostly on the present I answer carefully, mindful of his still present unease with me. "I'm a friend. I saved you from that wretched place and I am going to help you get better. Nothing like they would - better for real."
Taking this in he seems to be struggling to ask a follow-up question, but not succeeding very well at it.
"Thomas, don't try so hard. The words will come if you just relax."
His head snaps up and I can plainly see the fear in his eyes for a moment before it fades. I'm about to comment on it when he diverts my attention with a question. "What do I call you?"
I bite the inside of my cheek, unsure how to answer him. I don't want to risk my name bringing back bad memories, but what else can he call me? "Tell me, does the name Zedd seem familiar to you?"
He frowns as he thinks. Finally, he says, "It seems familiar, but I don't know why."
I take a breath. "My name is Zeddic, but you can call me Zedd for short if you like."
He considers this and nods before taking a swallow of his coffee. "I can ask you anything?"
I hesitate as I consider all angles of the question and try to figure out an acceptable answer which will neither get me into a corner I cannot get out of or seem highly unfair to him. Finally I answer as carefully as I can. "You can ask any questions you want without fear of punishment. I cannot promise to answer them all, but you can always ask me what ever you want." He studies me for a long minute as I return the appraisal. His eyes are much clearer now than when I first got him. Perhaps soon all the remnants of the drugs will be out of his system and I'll see a glimmer of the old Thomas.
"Why did the computer say that the labels on the door were in English when they weren't?" Okay, that was the last question I expected.
"Because they are." Not surprised as he makes a disbelieving noise at this, I continue calmly. "The injury you suffered is causing you to perceive things differently now, so while you recognize the letters as something which relates to language, you cannot place what each symbolizes anymore. Understand?" At his blank stare it would seem that he does not. Heaving a sigh and realizing that rephrasing myself will become a daily task I try again in much simpler terms. "You're not seeing things the same as you were before you got hurt and will need to learn how to read things correctly again."
Reluctant understanding seeps into the boy's expression and it is clear he is unhappy with this. Still having other matters on his mind though he forgoes further inquires on the topic at hand in favor of something new. "Conner said that I was a good fighter, one of the best. Why can't I fight now?" Conner? Conner, Conner - oh the red boy, yes, all right.
"You are a good fighter and indeed one of the best. Your injury combined with hospital time and whatever drugs they had you on interfered with your skills. You have trained for many years and that just doesn't go away. When you are better, we'll work on it if you want to."
I blink as he changes the subject again - fortunately, I'm alert enough to follow him. "You said that Hayley knew that you were going to take me and help me but that I can't see her. Can I send her a message to let her know that I'm okay?" Is this rapid change of focus due to his injury or is this just a human trait? Either way it and the subject of his latest question are beginning to give me a small headache.
I frown. I did want a glimmer of the old Thomas to come through and I got it, but this wasn't what I had in mind. What do I tell him? "I can help you send one since you are having problems with the language right now. If you tell me what you'd like to say to her I will write it for you." Inspiration strikes. "I'm sure she will be happy to hear from you, but you know, it would make her feel better, too, if she knew that you were eating well."
"Not hungry." A sudden low rumble fills the room, belying his statement and once more I recall his earlier nightmare and fear.
Well I said I would not force him, but we will have to figure something out and quickly before I'm forced to bargain him into it. "I will not force feed you Thomas, but you do need to eat something. You'll get sick and your stomach will hurt if you don't. How about we start with something simple that will be easy on your stomach?"
Reluctantly, he nods and I instruct the computer to make a simple soup. In a minute, there is a bowl steaming in the dispenser. I set it before him, along with a spoon and napkin waiting to see what he'll do and if he will like it or not.
He hesitates for a moment and then picks up the spoon in a way that has me once more startled as I see him holding it as a young child might, hand on top. Understanding now why he was told he wasn't doing it right, I debate on how to handle this not wanting to make him self conscious or nervous by simply taking the spoon from him and placing it in his grasp correctly, but also knowing hell struggle with his eating if the hold is not corrected. Inspiration strikes again, thankfully, and I order a bowl of soup for myself.
Looking surprised by my choice he holds his spoon a bit tighter, but keeps his focus on me. "You're eating soup too?"
"Seemed like a good thing to eat. Feel free to take your time, Thomas. We're in no hurry."
Sitting across the counter from him, I pick up my own spoon slowly and correctly and begin eating. I can feel his eyes on me as he watches me, studying what I am doing. And while it takes him several minutes and failed attempts, I hide my grin as he finally succeeds in changing his grip to the correct one on the utensil before continuing to eat himself. A small success, to be sure, but a success nonetheless.
