Author's Note: Just wanted to thank everyone for the reviews and encouragement! I hope that, if I should make any glaring errors in characterization (or anything else) you'll let me know. There was a tiny part of Chapter 2 that was nagging at me, where Trip grabs the boy, so I tweaked it slightly and reposted.
In this chapter I'm taking a slight liberty with Malcolm's childhood and his sister—I'm not sure if the show ever mentioned whether she was older or younger, but for the purposes of this story I've made Malcolm the older of the two. If that's incorrect I apologize. (I won't change it, though...😊)
Chapter Three: Decon
Phlox had seemed certain that the boy's condition was, for the moment at least, stable. Sitting in Decon, cradling the still-unconscious tot, Malcolm was dubious of the doctor's assessment. The Lehrite's breathing had become rapid and shallow, heart racing at an impossibly fast rate, and his body temperature had steadily risen to what could not possibly be a healthy level no matter what your species. The child's shivering had become so severe that he'd almost shaken himself right off the bench, so Malcolm had bundled a blanket around the lad and held him, unwilling to have the boy lay on the floor. God only knew how long the babe had been forced to sleep on the floor of the putrid-smelling cell they'd found him in; the lieutenant had silently vowed that the tot would never sleep on deck plating again.
Worse than the fever or racing pulse, though, had been the seizures. The first had assailed the boy just before they reached the shuttlepod, the frail, faun-like body stiffening so unexpectedly that Malcolm had almost dropped him. By the time T'Pol had docked with the ship their passenger had endured another half-dozen of them. Trip—God bless him—had tried to help but obviously had little or no experience with such things. His own firsthand knowledge of the subject had come at a rather young age, and he would give almost anything to erase it from his mind. The seizures had blessedly stopped, Malcolm hoped for good. Seeing that helpless little body thrashing about brought back memories he'd just as soon leave buried.
At least, Reed mused to himself, they'd been able to get the boy tidied up to a reasonable degree, despite the shivering. While on the shuttlepod Trip had told the doctor about the filthy state of their passenger and, when they'd bustled the child to Decon, they found that the good Doctor had somehow managed to procure the necessary supplies. Bless him, Phlox had a water-filled container large enough to bathe the boy as well as a second, smaller one for rinsing waiting for them in Decon, along with an inspiring collection of towels, combs, brushes, a pair of barber's shears, and a hair dryer. Malcolm felt a whole new level of respect for the doctor—the man did have a knack for preparedness. He'd have made a fine Eagle Scout.
Where the Denobulan had managed to find baby shampoo, especially on such short notice, was a mystery. And the conditioning rinse, which lived up to the label's claims of being formulated to aid in detangling snarls, was an absolute godsend given the state of the boy's hair. Or fur. No, Malcolm decided, 'fur' seemed too animal-like. Covering almost his whole body, most of it was just long enough to have become an almost hopeless collection of smelly mattes and knots, the stench of the boy's prison clinging to him as firmly as the tangles.
He and Trip had worked on the tot for an untold amount of time, T'Pol disinclined to assist with much more than handing supplies to them when needed. And, of course, critiquing their methods during most of the procedure. Trip had fast wearied of her 'advice', and made to hand a brush to her. The Vulcan had silently retreated to the far side of Decon after that, and kept her opinions about their technique to herself.
They used the scissors sparingly, hoping to avoid totally butchering the boy's hair. Indeed, most of the snarls combed out without too much tugging, thanks to the conditioner. Once that job was done all that was left was the decon gel. Though it didn't take nearly as long to apply the gel as it had to remove the grunge it was still a time-consuming task to work the stuff through to the skin. Thankfully, the poor little mite had remained obliviously unconscious throughout the entire operation.
"Want me ta hold him fer awhile?" Trip asked from his seat next to him, breaking the Armory Officer's somber reverie.
Malcolm shook his head. "He's not heavy," he answered quietly, absently rubbing the Lehrite's arm through the blanket. "I just wish Phlox would let us out of here—I don't think the lad's doing well at all. His breathing seems more labored." His fingers continued tracing a slow path along the boy's elbow.
"Should only be another half-hour or so," Trip offered. "Doc said the little guy's stable, an' his breathin' sounds okay from here." Picking up the pouch and earring from the bench beside him, Trip feigned interest in the craftsmanship, then took a closer look. They really were impressive. He successfully resisted the urge to look in the pouch, satisfying himself with studying the outside of the bag. Many of the markings woven throughout the fabric were also engraved into the silver metal hoop of the ornate, dangling earring. If Hoshi could get a look at them, he thought, she'd probably be able to translate the glyphs in no time. Holding the earring up, he gave it an experimental, gentle shake. It sounded like a tiny wind chime, and the sound didn't seem as random as some wind chimes he'd heard. Was it possible to tune an earring?
The stones inlaid in both the hoop and the metallic bangles hanging from it looked similar to hematite with flecks of turquoise throughout. On closer inspection Trip suspected that the flecks were actually tiny inlaid reproductions of the glyphs, precisely placed within the grey-black stones. He'd need a magnifying glass to confirm it. A lot of time and care had gone into that one piece of jewelry. Remembering the jagged tear in the boy's left ear, Trip swallowed hard. The earring hadn't simply been removed, but rather torn from the flesh. He couldn't even envision Klingons doing that. Well, not to a little boy, anyhow.
The comm chirped. Trip looked at T'Pol sitting on the end of the bench closest to the comm, certain that she was only pretending to be meditating, then at Malcolm, sitting there with a lap full of toddler, and sighed. The comm chirped again as Tucker rose to answer it, returning the boy's possessions to the bench before walking to the panel.
"How is everyone?" Phlox asked in his always-chipper voice.
Trip smiled with the knowledge that the doctor's "happy voice" seldom failed to annoy the hell out of Malcolm. "We're good, Doc. T'Pol's takin' a nap—" at this one graceful Vulcan eyebrow rose high though T'Pol's eyes remained closed (he knew she'd been faking)—"an' our resident mother hen is frettin' as usual. When d'ya suppose we can get outta here?"
"I am not being a 'mother hen'," Malcolm muttered crossly. "I am simply concerned that while we're sitting here doing nothing, this boy's condition is deteriorating."
Trip couldn't resist. "Well Phlox, now that you've heard Dr. Reed's professional medical opinion, what's your take on things?" Though Malcolm refused to reply Trip satisfied himself with the glowering stare the lieutenant fixed on him. Getting a rise out of the Brit had fast become one of his favorite hobbies. Besides, he thought to himself, Reed deserved a little payback for making that crack about Risa, and especially for making it in front of the subcomander. He cast a quick look at the Vulcan.
T'Pol's eyes were open now, her face serene as she spoke. "Though the child's breathing is somewhat…labored…it does not seem any worse than when we entered Decon." She closed her eyes again.
"Lt. Reed," Phlox cooed, "I assure you the boy's vital signs are being closely monitored. And," he added almost too jovially, "not all of us have been 'sitting around doing nothing'. I have been researching Lehrite physiology so I may properly treat our patient. The information in the Vulcan Database is sparse and, in all honesty, somewhat inaccurate, but Denobulans have had more recent and more frequent contact with Lehrites."
The subcommander's eyes slid open at the mention of the database's inaccuracy. "The Vulcan Database is quite accurate, Doctor," she stated coolly.
"My apologies, Subcommander. Perhaps 'outdated' would have been a better word, hmm?" the doctor commented. "It is my understanding that the Vulcan contact with Lehrites occurred almost six decades ago and was rather brief in its duration. Perhaps your people might consider contacting them again—a week hardly seems long enough to—"
"A week was more than sufficient to learn what we needed to know about them," T'Pol countered, sounding almost irate. Trip and Malcolm stared at her a moment before Trip chimed in.
"A week? You only maintained contact with them fer a week?" He grinned at the lieutenant. Teasing the Vulcan science officer was even better than riling Malcolm and, in all honesty, probably far less dangerous. "Wonder what the Lehrites did ta scare 'em away."
"They did not 'scare us away'," she protested. "We merely found them to be…irritating."
"Irritating?" Trip was incredulous. "You stay in contact with Klingons long enough to gather nine hundred pages of information about 'em, and maintain contact with humans fer a century, but these Lehrites made ya tuck tail an' run after just one week?" He cast another grin at Reed, who was stifling a chuckle of his own. "Damn. We gotta get some pointers from these folks, Malcolm." As a smile erupted on the lieutenant's face Phlox's voice came back over the comm again.
"Less than a week, actually. According to my information, contact was abruptly severed after, mmm…five days."
"Five and a half," the subcommander corrected him curtly. "Their conduct was…intolerable." The two men struggled unsuccessfully to maintain some small bit of composure, Malcolm's shoulders fairly bouncing as he forced back his laughter and Trip finally laughing openly as he wiped away tears.
"Ya mean ta tell me," the engineer finally said, "that there's a species out there that's even more irritatin' an' intolerable than humans?" T'Pol merely stared back at him with an expression perilously close to a glare.
Shaking his head and still grinning, Trip addressed the doctor again. "So Doc, whadja find out about this intolerable little guy's physiology? You gonna be able ta treat him?"
"I'm fairly sure that treatment won't be a problem. However, I did discover something important. It turns out that Lehrites are empathic—that is to say, they can sense the emotions of the people around them. Indeed, it would seem that the emotions of others can have a direct physical impact upon them.
"Now, Lieutenant," he continued, "I know that you find my admonitions about keeping a positive attitude to be tiresome to say the least. But I believe that such an attitude from us is vital to that child's health."
"You honestly expect me to believe," Malcolm retorted, incredulous, "that the best medical treatment for this boy is for all of us to think happy thoughts?"
"No, Lieutenant, not by itself, but I do feel that it will be an integral part of his recovery." Phlox paused briefly before continuing. "I have a few questions about his seizures. When did the first one occur?"
Malcolm was obviously miffed. "While we were heading for the shuttlepod—you already know that."
"Bear with me, Lieutenant. Tell me what was happening just before the first seizure."
Malcolm sighed, exasperated, but decided to humor the Denobulan. "We had just about reached the airlock and the ship felt like it was coming apart at the seams. Anything else?"
"How did you feel?"
"Worried." This was, Malcolm thought, bloody ridiculous.
Trip spoke, his voice eerily quiet. "I didn't think we were gonna make it. Been awhile since I've been that scared."
Malcolm didn't want to acknowledge that he, too, had been afraid, but found himself nodding ever so slightly. He'd been afraid and also, truth be known, angry as hell: not only had someone horribly brutalized the toddler they'd found but then, with the shuttlepod tantalizingly close, the would-be rescue had seemed about to fail. He remembered having his back braced against the bulkhead, struggling to keep his feet beneath him as the ship shuddered. He had looked at the innocent, unconscious child in his arms and had felt an almost-overwhelming sense of failure, as if he personally had failed the boy. There had also been a surge of absolute, murderous fury directed at those responsible for the outrages committed against the lad.
And that was when the first seizure had hit. Oh. My. God.
"And during the subsequent seizures on the shuttlepod," Phlox forged ahead, "would it be safe to assume that you were still scared and worried? Excluding, of course, Subcommander T'Pol," he hastened to add.
"Yes," Malcolm whispered. He felt nauseous at the memory of what he'd been feeling. Images of his sister's tiny frail body, wracked by seizures and a raging fever, had filled his mind. He'd felt inadequate to the task of caring for Maddie, convinced he was watching her die. And on the shuttlepod all these years later he'd felt certain that all he'd be able to do was watch as this alien child's life slipped away. It was Maddie all over again.
"But once you were back on board Enterprise you felt differently, hmmm? A sense of relief, perhaps? Happiness?"
"Right," Trip answered hesitantly. The doctor continued.
"And there have been no more seizures since your arrival back on Enterprise, correct?"
Malcolm's voice failed him so Trip answered. "Yeah. Sooo…yer tellin' us that our emotions caused the seizures?"
"You weren't the cause, no," the doctor assured them. "However, there is a possibility that your emotions could have been a contributing factor. Now, while I believe that 'think happy thoughts' may be an oversimplification, I am fairly certain that if those around him maintain a level of optimism it will aid greatly in his recovery." As if sensing the lieutenant's doubts Phlox elaborated. "For example, while monitoring our guest's biosigns I noticed a measurable improvement during our discussion of Vulcan contact with Lehrites. Mr. Tucker was being, I recall, quite jocular."
"Hey," Trip offered, "if teasin' the subcommander will make the little guy feel better I'm all for it."
"Might want to clear that with her first, sir," Malcolm suggested good-naturedly.
"Indeed," T'Pol agreed, her tone cooler that usual. Malcolm almost chuckled along with Trip but the laugh caught in his throat as the Lehrite's body stiffened, a sigh filling the room as all the air went out of the boy's lungs. The tiny form went slack.
"Phlox?" Trip whispered nervously, eyes on Malcolm and the boy.
"I see it," the doctor answered almost casually. "His heart rate has slowed considerably and—"
"I think he's stopped breathing," Reed interrupted in a frightened whisper.
"His readings don't indicate respiratory failure," Phlox reassured him. As if to support the doctor's statement the boy drew in a deep yawning breath, his body slowly stretching again.
Malcolm's face lit up with a relieved smile. "The little bugger's waking up!"
"Mmm," Phlox hummed thoughtfully, "Not quite 'waking up', Lieutenant. Not yet, at least. Very interesting readings here. For lack of a better term, he is 'less unconscious'. If his vital signs continue to improve at their present rate he should regain full consciousness in another hour or two."
"By which time," T'Pol stated, "we will be out of Decon, correct?"
"Perhaps. There is still an alien microbe showing up on my scans that we need to deal with. I will be there shortly with a more potent decon gel for you to use, plus I'm going to want blood samples from all of you."
"No problem, Doc," Trip assured him. "But tell me somethin'. Aside from bein' optimistic, what else can we do ta help the little guy while we're in here? An' have ya got any pointers for us fer when he wakes up? Y'know, what ta do, what not ta do—chances are pretty good that he'll be at least a little bit scared of us. So far about the only thing we know is ta not grab his horns and ta not get near his feet when he's kickin'."
"And to not let him get his teeth into us," Reed added with a tiny smirk and a meaningful nod at Trip's hand.
Phlox chuckled. "Excellent questions and observations, gentlemen. I'll look into it and fill you in when I get there."