T'pol's Perspective:
Mr. Tucker, as well as Captain Shran, had returned from the Kumari in a less then prime state. Merely being an observer aboard the human ship, she had been unable to ascertain any direct answers regarding their health. The guards outside of sickbay insured that, her thoughts spoke with increasingly rampant emotionalism.
However this scenario may have opened opportunities, ones that she would be sure to exploit for every possible outcome.
And despite her logical conclusion, T'pol was provided sparse peace for her solution.
Her posture was rigid, muscles aching with unrelieved stress. She had been unable to achieve anything beyond the simplest stages of meditation. The result leaving her in a very un-Vulcan like position of irritation, not to mention the other whirling emotions she had yet to identify.
It had started out faintly, all it took to squelch the minor obtrusions was ten added minutes of meditation. But then the sensations started growing, becoming more powerful, and harder to resist. She found herself fascinated by the freedom her mind was allowed to experience, it was, invigorating.
She had started to crave more, but the source was unknown. How was she going to attain more of this chaotic bliss?
It was then that she realized something was terribly wrong, the main question she should have been asking herself was why. Why am I experiencing this, and how do I stop it?
She did not feel comfortable going to the ship's physician, Denobulans were commonly known not to be the most, trustworthy, among species.
And besides, she did not feel her condition had progressed to that level. It had yet to be seen whether extensive meditation would alleviate her symptoms.
Reed's Perspective:
The fact that he wasn't deep asleep in his bunk right now, the fact that after finally getting a resolution to that whole damned situation-, he couldn't help but let out a strained chuckle. This was all too much, what he wouldn't give for a few hours of sleep, pure darkness, oblivious to all the problems of the universe. Some of which had taken to the form of southern commanders.
That thought sobered him up, he was being a jerk. Well, if he had expressed his opinions outside of the aching hole he called a head, then yes, he would be a jerk.
The Commander had no doubt been through hell and back, he had seen him. The way his whole body quivered as shouts of indescribable pain lanced into each and every person there to see it.
Reed shuddered, yes, his troubles were trivial in comparison.
It was then that he realized his face was reaching down towards his chest, drooping in exhaustion, instinctively trying to find a surface upon which it could rest, before he jerked it back up.
Reed was tired, too tired to deal with the problems of this twisted reality, in which his species didn't even exist.
With nothing but a sigh he rose to his feet, slowly. And with the energy of man who was beyond caring, he made his way to the turbo-lift, exiting the bridge without a word…