TWELVE: Cuddle

There was something about sickbays and hospitals that never failed to bring out a strange sense of... not relaxation, but calm –at least for Dagmar it did. When she had been a young girl, she'd fallen ill quite often and, thus, had spent quite a bit of time at many such establishments. The new offices and sickbays were a bit different in layout and appearance, but some things were very much the same; the clean and sharp smell of sanitizing agents, the quiet semi-constant whirs and beeps of machinery... As a child, Dagmar gradually began to associate doctors and hospitals with the idea of "feeling better" –of professionalism and cool efficiency, of lemon flavoured lollipops in exchange for sitting still for a blood test, of her family doctor constantly remarking that watching her and her brother grow up made him feel old. The memory brought a smile to her face, as the twenty-first century woman sat on a bio-bed and swung her legs backwards and forwards absent-mindedly.

"I see you're in a good mood," The doctor, a Denobulan male with fairer skin than Zepht commented with a pleased smile.

He was the first medical professional she'd encountered in the twenty-third century –her very first alien- and Dagmar had concluded that he fell firmly within the category of a good doctor. Those were rare, back in the twenty-first century –mingled in with okay doctors and bad doctors and stressed/rushed doctors. Despite her initial intimidation –the strange blue eyes and the facial ridges had alarmed her, to her later chagrin, quite considerably- the male had focused as much on her injuries as he had on her anxiety.

"I like doctors." Dagmar confessed, before realizing that sounded a bit awkward. "Well, mostly. I like good doctors –which you are. I used to get sick a lot as a kid and my family doctor was a very good, very nice doctor, so I never really associated doctors with anything bad or unpleasant."

"Thank you," Phlox offered a slight wider smile as he picked up a scanner and examined her. "So I understand you're working as a translator now –quite a feat! How are you finding it?"

As the Denobulan moved about with the scanner and its stylus, Dagmar had to stop swinging her legs, lest she kick the doctor. "The translations themselves are a bit dull sometimes, but I like the people I work with –mostly Andorians, since I learned a few of their dialects as well as the main language- and I'm learning a lot."

"Good, good! Your therapy is going well also, I hope?" The scanner beeped and Phlox frowned impressively. "Hm. I'll need to give you a booster shot –your iron levels are below normal."

Great. Hyposprays. Dagmar grimaced.

As for the question about therapy... how to answer? Not so much, my therapist sucks? Not the best answer in the world. No, but my Vulcan professor makes up for Dr. Shore's shoddy training? Perhaps not. At length, Dagmar hesitantly answered, "Dr. Shore wasn't very helpful, actually. I ended up getting more help from Professor Varek –my xenobiology professor from first year."

Cold metal pressed against her neck and Dagmar tensed subconsciously –which, of course, made the sting even worse than usual. Phlox tsked and reminded her for the umpteenth time not to tense up before a shot. Sullenly, Dagmar debated demanding a lollipop for sitting still.

"Still having trouble relating to Humans?" Phlox asked sympathetically, setting the hypo down on a nearby tray. A random critter in a nearby cage shrieked and Phlox scolded it, "None of that! I just fed you!"

Toying with the sleeve of her shirt, Dagmar nodded and shrugged. "It's... hard. I get along better with the non-Humans better than I do with the Humans."

Phlox hummed as he puttered about with vials of whatever it was he was loading into another hypospray. "Interesting that you refer to your own species in such a detached way –is that how you feel about other Humans? That they're different from you?"

Defensively, tiredly, the redheaded woman sighed, "It's the other way around, mostly. Whenever people talk about me, or the society I grew up in, they're always saying things like 'her people' –like a good number of the population aren't descendants of my family. I'm tired of arguing and defending myself from people who don't want to listen anyway. It's easier to just go along with it."

Phlox didn't comment, turning to her with another hypospray. "This one's for a slight hormone imbalance –I believe a result of the stage of your reproductive cycle. You have slightly abnormal levels of testosterone; I'm going to balance it out with slightly higher levels of estrogens and progesterone," –Then, hesitantly- "You may feel the need to cry or throw things. Please refrain –you might startle the animals. Some of them are new and easily frightened."

Indeed, there were at least a dozen new cages scattered about the bay that Dagmar didn't remember from her last visit, nearly a year ago. While she was observing some of the cages, the occupants shielded by greenery and rocks and whatever else the creatures required, the crafty physician took the opportunity to press the hypospray to her neck. Dagmar swore at the unexpected sting and gave Phlox a half-hearted withering look.

As it happened, the hormones didn't affect her mood –much. "I feel... kind of sad. Not about to cry-" Phlox had stepped away from her pre-emptively, lest she decide to fling herself at him and sob onto his shoulder or something equally ridiculous. "-But more, I don't know... like moping, I guess."

"Here!" Phlox picked up a small cage from the counter behind him and thrust it into her arms without any further ado. "Cuddle that for a moment."

It was a marked moment of hesitation that Dagmar gingerly lifted the lid to the cage, half expecting something with sharp teeth to jump out and lunge for her face. What she found inside the cage was... well, it looked like a ball of fur. Lifting the thing carefully, it certainly felt like a ball of mousy-brown fur, with a small, round body beneath all of the fluff.

When the thing purred suddenly, Dagmar nearly dropped it. Alarmed, she looked up at the Denobulan with wide eyes and asked, "What is it?"

"That," Phlox answered cheerfully, folding his arms and observing. "Is a Tribble."

"A Tribble?" Dagmar had no idea was that was. Setting the cage down on the biobed beside her with one hand and cradling the furry thing in her other hand, the redhead experimentally pet the thing. It purred again and... wiggled. Like some sort of limbless hamster. Just, without the ears or the eyes or any visible head, either.

Sort of creepy actually.

"As animal therapy goes amongst Humans, Tribbles are very effective. In fact, they produce a pheromone that Humans find to be very calming –soothing, really- though Tribbles don't appear to affect Vulcans at all." Phlox continued as Dagmar ran her fingers over the rabbit-soft fur. He frowned for a moment and then added, "Well, so long as the breeding is kept under control. They're asexual creatures and –as the Human saying goes- they breed like rabbits, and in remarkably large litters, too."

"That would be a problem." Dagmar agreed. She glanced around the medbay for other, simila cages and, upon finding none, asked, "Why don't you have more, then?"

Phlox smiled, "Did you know Tribbles are edible? They're a very high source of omega oils and a set of proteins which, for Denobulans, are essential to maintaining our health."

Dagmar clutched the Tribble to her protectively, horrified, but Phlox only laughed, smiling his Grinchy smile.

Belatedly, the redhead realized he was joking, and stopped squishing the Tribble quite so much.

"Not to worry, I shan't be eating any Tribbles! I sterilized this one." The doctor assured, still grinning grotesquely. "At least, I'm fairly certain I did. It's difficult to tell with Tribbles."

By the time Dagmar left Phlox's medbay with a clean bill of health, she was surprised to find that she felt very calm –almost serene, even- and mentally praised Tribble-kind throughout the universe. They were fairly adorable, actually, once you got past the mental image of a headless, limbless, wiggly hamster.

That semi-serenity faded somewhat, however, when Dagmar caught a familiar face lurking in her peripheral vision. It was Kov –or at least, she thought it was- but when she turned to face the Vulcan, there was no one there. Frowning, feeling eyes on her despite the relatively empty street, Dagmar decided that hurrying home for once couldn't hurt.

Kov wasn't supposed to be on Earth anymore.