Author's note: Thanks so much for the reviews and input! Had hoped to get this posted sooner but T'Pol has seemed a little too snarky and I wanted to find an explanation for her attitude. Hope I've pulled it off.
Hope you all have a grand [insert holiday of choice here]...not sure if I'll get another chapter up before the new year but I'll try. Thanks again!
Chapter Four: Questions
"I have a question, Doctor," Malcolm inquired from his seat in Decon, inwardly cringing as T'Pol drew a blood sample from the unconscious child on his lap. "You said Lehrites are empathic. If that's true—if they know what others are feeling or thinking—then why didn't this little fellow know that we were trying to help him?" Handing the boy's sample to the lieutenant the subcommander drew Malcolm's blood as the doctor puzzled over the man's query, shrugging his shoulders.
"I'm not entirely certain, Lieutenant," Phlox finally answered. "From the information I have they don't know people's thoughts, just emotions. Perhaps our patient is too young to have developed that talent yet. Or it's possible that his own fear was sufficient to impede the ability to sense that your intentions were benevolent.
"To answer your earlier questions, Commander," he continued, "he will undoubtedly be frightened and disoriented when he regains consciousness. You should try to remain calm, speak in comforting tones, and avoid sudden movements. Ensign Sato has been doing some research and has suggested a phrase that may be helpful. 'Taj djahl-nach.' It is apparently common to several of the various dialects and is, from what Hoshi has been able to learn, a phrase that will convey that you want to help and can be trusted.
"If you smile at him you should try to refrain from showing your teeth—there is conflicting information on this subject, but it is possible that the displaying of teeth might be viewed as threatening or even predatory."
Trip was dumbfounded. "Predatory? Ya mean, he'd think we're gonna…eat him?"
"Precisely. Though as I said, the information we have is contradictory. Best to err on the side of caution in this case, I think."
"Agreed," T'Pol said as she took the Lehrite's blood sample from Malcolm, then moved to draw Trip's sample. "As I recall, they are also a very tactile people. Unless, or course, you have found that information to be 'outdated' as well." After drawing her own blood, she deposited all of the samples in the drawer and withdrew two containers of decon gel that Phlox had sent through, handing one to Trip.
"No, no, you're quite correct," Phlox said, smiling through the observation panel as he retrieved the samples. "In Denobulan dealings with Lehrites this seems to have been the only area of contention. Apparently, though, they quickly realized that we dislike being touched and were quite accommodating."
"You were most fortunate," she replied as she began applying gel to herself.
"Y'know, T'Pol," Trip teased, "if I didn't know better I'd swear I detected a note of sarcasm in your voice." Standing over Malcolm, with his back toward T'Pol's glacial stare, he put the container of gel on the bench then motioned to the boy. "Hand 'im over, Lieutenant. We'll do it just like before." He sat next to Reed and reached for the Lehrite, but Malcolm hesitated.
"C'mon, Malcolm," Trip urged, "I promise, I won't break him."
"It's not that," he replied softly, "it's just…" Malcolm's voice trailed off, the thought left unspoken. The corner of his mouth twitched at the suppressed thought and with a resigned sigh he gingerly slid the child onto the commander's lap.
Trip shot him a crooked grin. "Ya know, I have held a baby before," he tried to reassure his friend as Reed began smearing the gel onto himself.
"I know…actually, I was more concerned that I'd be the one to drop him," Malcolm attempted to joke.
Phlox spoke up. "You've been doing an excellent job, Lieutenant. His vital signs have been slowly but steadily improving under your ministrations." Malcolm stood to help T'Pol apply the gel to her back as the doctor continued. "As the subcommander has pointed out, Lehrites are a tactile people, very much so as it turns out. I believe humans might call them a 'touchy-feely' sort. You shouldn't be surprised or overly alarmed if he does a lot of touching, caressing…that sort of thing. And gentle, soothing touches from you are, I'm sure, doing him a world of good, as is the quiet, peaceful environment he's currently experiencing. So would some optimism on your part, hmm?" he added in a good-natured, teasing tone.
Reed gave him a tiny smile. "It's been suggested that optimism isn't my strong suit," he joked, "but I'm working on it." He paused, momentarily lost in the sensation as T'Pol started methodically gelling his back, then remembered what he was going to ask. "Is there anything else that might help him along? Aside from a quiet environment and happy thoughts?" A genuine smile crept onto Malcolm's face but faded as he saw Phlox frown. "Everything all right, Doctor?"
"Yes, it's just that there was something else I was going to mention, but it's slipped my mind." Phlox's brow furrowed as he muttered to himself, reviewing what he'd already gone through. "Empathic abilities, sudden movements, teeth, touching, tone of voice…I know there was something else." His smile returned as he remembered. "Ah, yes…music! That was it—they love music! Do any of you know any lullabies?"
T'Pol blinked, her hands abruptly stopping at the small of Reed's back. "Surely you're not serious," she deadpanned. "You expect us to sing to him?"
"Not if you don't want to, of course. I believe humming would suffice." Feeling her hands momentarily tense painfully on his back helped Malcolm refrain from laughing aloud, and Trip could see enough of her profile to know that restraint on his part would be a very good idea. It wasn't easy for him, especially since Phlox had been quite earnest in his reply. The engineer planted his chin firmly on his chest until he'd purged most of the wide grin from his face. Still, he couldn't resist saying something.
Eyes twinkling, Trip finally looked up. "I could have the doc bring me my harmonica," he offered. Before T'Pol or Reed could object Phlox responded.
"Best to stick with vocalizations for the time being, I think, hmm?" Trip shrugged good-naturedly as Malcolm returned to the bench, moving to stand behind the engineer.
"As soon as I finish your back we can switch places, then start on the little one once you're finished," the lieutenant offered, slathering the gel across Trip's shoulders.
"Doctor," T'Pol's cool voice filled the room, "how much longer must we remain in here?"
"Oh, probably not more than another hour or so, depending of course on the results of the blood tests and the efficiency of the gel. I'll contact you when I have the results." He strolled away before there could be any objections. Resigned to the extended confinement T'Pol settled on the end of the bench and closed her eyes, determined to put the afternoon's unpleasantness out of her mind with meditation.
"I've got a question for ya, Subcommander," Trip drawled from his seat, sounding mildly annoyed. As if in slow motion the Vulcan's head turned, eyes gliding open to look at the engineer.
"Yes?"
"What, exactly, is your problem?" the commander asked, obviously irritated. "Seems like you've been lookin' down yer nose at this little guy since ya first laid eyes on him. Ya wouldn't help us get 'im cleaned up, an ya act like even bein' in the same room with 'im is makin' ya unclean or somethin'."
"Vulcans and Lehrites do not associate with one another," she casually replied, as if that statement explained everything.
Trip pressed on. "Yeah, yeah…Lehrites are 'irritating and intolerable,'" he shot back. "Well, they haven't exactly cornered the market on irritating, ya know. Besides, whatever it was that got your people's skivvies in a knot happened over five decades before this fella was even a gleam in his daddy's eye. How logical is it ta hold a grudge against him?" The lieutenant stopped applying the gel to Trip's back as one irate Vulcan eyebrow arched elegantly upward.
"I assure you, Vulcans do not hold grudges."
"Far be it from me to tell you what to do, Commander," Malcolm cut in gently, "but I would like to remind you of the doctor's instructions regarding our young guest. Specifically the part about remaining calm and speaking in comforting tones. Perhaps this isn't the best time for this…debate."
Looking down at the boy in his arms Tucker took a deep breath, holding it a moment before slowly exhaling. "Point taken, Malcolm," he replied. "But how good is it for him ta have one of us treat 'im like he's somethin' they'd scraped offa the bottom of their boot? C'mon, T'Pol—what the hell's so all-fired terrible about bein' around this helpless little boy?" T'Pol wordlessly looked at the Lehrite, and Malcolm could have sworn he saw her wrinkle her nose. Yes—there it was again. Barely perceptible, but her nose had most decidedly twitched.
Remembering the stench from the child's cell on the alien ship, Malcolm played a hunch. "Subcommander…if it's not too personal a question…has your nasal numbing agent worn off?"
T'Pol's head snapped up. "Not…entirely," she answered after a long pause.
"Little wonder it's been difficult for you to be near him," Reed commiserated. "He was rather…ripe. I imagine we are, too, for that matter."
"Indeed," T'Pol stoically agreed.
Slowly shaking his head, Trip tried to apologize. "I'm sorry, Subcommander. I forgot about that sensitive olfactory system of yours. But ya coulda said somethin' about the smell botherin' ya, instead of actin' so…so…Vulcan." Seeing the look she was giving him he added, "Yeah yeah, I know—you are a Vulcan. But would it have violated some Vulcan cultural taboo ta tell us that the smell was gettin' to ya?"
"Complaining about the smell," T'Pol answered, "would not have shortened our stay in Decon. And I did not anticipate our stay here being extended." The two senior officers stared at each other a long while before Trip finally looked away, casting his gaze to the floor a moment then looking back at the subcommander.
"Guess it's a good thing for me that you don't hold grudges, huh? All the same, I wanna apologize fer gettin' so riled atcha, and fer teasin' ya before. When you and Phlox were, um…debating the accuracy of the Vulcan Database. Why don'tcha go ahead an' do some more meditatin'…maybe it'll help take yer mind offa the odor. We'll try ta keep the noise down. And the smell."
T'Pol inclined her head in acknowledgement then turned her attention toward the puzzled expression on Lt. Reed's face. "Is there a problem, Lieutenant?"
"No…no problem, Subcommander," he assured her, resuming applying the gel to Trip's back. "I was curious, though—couldn't you have asked the doctor to bring more of the nasal numbing agent when we spoke to him earlier?"
"I doubt that he has a sufficient quantity," she replied dryly. The men knew she hadn't meant to make a joke—had she?—so they successfully suppressed the urge to comment.
Finished with the commander's back, Malcolm reclaimed his seat. Once the boy was again transferred to his lap he began applying gel to the slumbering face before him, fingers tenderly working the goo through the silken ringlets of reddish-brown hair along the child's forehead and temples. His fingers moved methodically along the shorter, peachfuzz-like hair covering the rest of the Lehrite's face then the short beard along the bottom of the boy's chin. He then returned his attention to the temples and massaged gel through the long hair covering the tot's head. By the time Trip had finished applying the gel to himself Malcolm had gotten most of the boy's head done. Facing the lieutenant, the commander straddled the bench and began working on the satyr-like legs as Reed gently started on the horns.
"Sooo…Trip said softly, mindful of his promise to T'Pol, "I guess I don't need my harmonica after all. What's that song, anyhow?" Greeted by a puzzled expression from his friend, he elaborated. "The song you were just hummin' to tha little guy. I don't recognize it. What's it called?"
Damn. He hadn't realized he'd even been humming, and certainly wouldn't have meant to be heard. "Just something that used to help my sister nod off when she was a tot. She had some…problems when she was little, and singing to her helped sometimes." That was a lie of omission, one he'd soon have to recant judging from the questioning look on Trip's face. He returned his attention to the boy, gingerly applying a last dab of gel to the base of the damaged horn before moving on to the child's neck and throat. Fingers lingering on the front of the lad's throat Malcolm again noticed the difference in the texture of the hair. He'd first detected it during their initial bathing of the child but had taken it for a result of inadequate grooming of the boy during his captivity. He knew better after the first application of gel when he'd drawn Trip's attention to it. The engineer had christened it with the remarkably scientific label of "a boo-boo".
"So does this song that helped yer sister nod off have a name?" Trip ventured to ask.
Anticipating the taunts his taste in music might prompt Malcolm contemplated saying he didn't recall, but at the last instant he relented. "'Not While I'm Around'. It's from 'Sweeney Todd'." Rather than the expected teasing, his response was met with a thoughtful nod.
"Hmm…" Trip pondered aloud. "Musicals, huh? Always figured you fer a fan of classical stuff—'specially the 1812 Overture. Nice ta know yer tastes are a little more varied than that." Malcolm allowed a wry smile to light on his lips as he massaged gel onto the boy's shoulders then worked his way down one arm.
Having finished the tot's legs Trip started on the other arm before pressing forward. "So, Malcolm," he began hesitantly, "if ya don't mind my askin'…would yer sister's 'problems' have anythin' ta do with the way you been actin'?"
"I'm not sure I follow," the lieutenant replied unconvincingly.
"Oh, c'mon. Ever since we laid eyes on this kid you've been actin' peculiar. Well, more peculiar than usual."
"I am not acting peculiar," Reed objected. "And given his physical appearance, I'm not certain that calling him a kid is a good idea. Seems rather disrespectful." With the utmost care the men shifted the boy about, leaning his chest against Trip so Malcolm could reach the curly-haired back and tail.
"Malcolm, ya know I didn't mean 'kid' like that. And you have been actin' outta sorts. So spill it—what's goin' on?"
Malcolm was sorely tempted to tell him to sod off but several things stopped him, not the least of which was the knowledge that his friend was right. Instead he met the question with silence, concentrating on kneading the gel through the soft, thick curls. "Lift him up a bit," he instructed. "I can't quite get to his bum." Trip obliged, tenderly draping the child's head over his shoulder and lifting the small body with ease. Studying Malcolm's face, he'd just about decided that his question would remain unanswered when the lieutenant broke his silence.
"She was about the same age as this little tyke," he started, his voice soft and low.