12 hours later

“- which would explain their strange behavior,” T’Pol said, her face completely blank. “A tragedy, would not you agree?”

“Huh?” Trip glanced away from the isolation booth to look at her. “What?”

“I was merely pointing out the particularities of that species,” T’Pol continued. “But I see that you are ignoring me to stare at the booth. What does a human find so interesting about a booth?”

“I don’t care about the booth,” Trip told her. “I’m just looking at the seat. Kind of uncomfortable, don’t ya think?”

T’Pol looked at the plastic seat in the booth with high back and armrests. “It looks as comfortable as the other seats on the Enterprise.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Trip nodded. “When did all our chairs get so darn hard? Can’t a fellow get comfortable these days?”

T’Pol frowned in confusion. “You spend your days on your back under the machines or floating outside in a full oxygen suit to repair the ship. How could you find a plastic chair uncomfortable?”

“Never mind,” Trip stepped away from her, scared he might have let too much slip already.

“All right,” Phlox came into the room, smiling as usual, “we will get the breathing treatment started, Commander. Please have a seat inside the booth. I will seal it up, and the fumes will fill the booth. Please breathe deeply for a minute and then continue to breathe normally for the next hour. After which, you will have a salt scrub bath,” Phlox motioned to a deep metal tub, “followed by a deep tissue massage from the muscularity modifier,” he indicated the flat bed that slid into the open tube of a machine which pummeled anyone unlucky enough to get slid in, “and finally several rounds of vitamin and herbal injections,” he nodded to a cabinet that contained Phlox’s latest discovery, a full acupuncture set.

Trip hedged for more time. That all sounded awful, but nothing sounded worst than sitting down in the plastic chair. Since his punishment the day before, Trip’s rear was still sore, making sitting uncomfortable. Archer had taken a fiendish delight in bringing him breakfast an hour ago and making him sit down to eat every bite. Trip had shot him death glares as he sat and ate, but Archer pretended not to notice, chatting on about his dog and the new trick Porthos had learned.

“Um, maybe I could stand,” Trip suggested as he stared at the booth.

“No, no,” Phlox said, far too cheerfully in Trip’s opinion. “You must be sitting and relaxed for the treatment.”

Had it just been Phlox, Trip might have whispered his problem to the doctor, but with T’Pol standing there, watching everything – Trip gave a martyr’s sigh and trudged towards the booth.

He said down in the plastic chair – instrument of torture! – and tried not to wince. “I’m ready,” he grumbled.

“Good,” Phlox smiled as he pressed the button on the panel beside the booth. Immediately, clear plastic panels slid down from the ceiling, enclosing Trip into the booth and sealing off any other air supply.

“You know, Lieutenant,” Phlox commented cheerfully to T’Pol, “I believe it’s time you learn to care for a recovering patient. Have you ever helped a patient with an invigorating salt scrub or administered acupuncture needles on a bare back?”

“No, Doctor, but I would be very interested,” the Vulcan woman replied evenly.

“What? No!” Trip yelled, his voice muffled from inside the booth.

Phlox flipped the switch and heavy fumes began to fill the isolation booth. “Deep breaths, Commander,” the doctor insisted. “If you give us your full cooperation, we might have to do this whole process only four or five times.”

“What?” Trip demanded again, but by then the booth was so full of thick fog he could not see out or hear much of anything. With a reluctant sigh, he leaned back in his chair and tried to breathe deeply.

“Acceptance at last,” Phlox mused happily. “Hopefully our young commander is on his way to full recovery. As for your assistance, my dear, why don’t you go the cabinet over there and select the hardest brush you can find? The salt-scrub baths are only effective if the top layer of skin is completely worn away. The patient may feel a bit vulnerable, but recovery is not always pleasant.”

T’Pol raised her eyebrows as the doctor’s cheerfulness, but she went to the cabinet as he had directed. She found a long-handled bathbrush with prickly bristles, just right for the commander that sneered at her Vulcan ways.

Phlox turned on the monitor of the isolation booth and checked to see what the microprobes indicated about Trip’s vitals such as heart-rate, breathing, and temperature. The numbers looked very good, moving back towards normal. The young man had relaxed in the booth, breathing heavily.

Phlox smiled. He would be glad to have their commander back to full health. The breathing treatment would repair him lungs and body better than anything else. The bath, massage, and acupuncture would just be a bit of revenge. Trip would feel worlds better at the end, but Phlox did not mind making him suffer a little, just to get him back for that scales comment.