PERSONAL NOTE: I know there has been a substantial delay between installments because (as we all know) real life often gets in the way of our fanfics. Unfortunately, real life has kind of dealt an additional boot to the head: several months ago my mother was diagnosed with lymphoma and with her treatment schedule, doctor's appointments, side effects, etc. writing has had to take a back seat while we kick the tumors in the collective butt…if you're the praying sort please remember her in your prayers (her name is Adaline), and if you're not please send some positive thoughts and energy her way...thanks! She just had her last scheduled chemo/rituxan treatment and has a scan coming up to see what sort of progress we've made vanquishing the tumors; the first three treatments shrunk them by about half so hopefully the last three treatments took care of the rest…

Story notes: As far as I know Chef appeared in only one episode (Catwalk), and even then all we saw of him were his legs. (Riker posing as Chef in "that" episode doesn't count. In my opinion the only good things that came from TATV are the fanfic finale fixes (try saying that five times fast!) and a great video on YouTube. There is a marvelous finale fix called "The Disclaimer" over at the House of Tucker site that's well worth the read. The video is called "The Engineer Strikes Out," and, it's fabulous…

Though Chef was mentioned in other episodes we never (to the best of my recollection) learned much about him except that he was a tad possessive of his domain. Somehow I've picked up the impression that he was Norwegian—I don't know if it was mentioned in passing on the show, or maybe in a book, fanfic, or article. Or it's entirely possible that I simply listen to too much "Prairie Home Companion". I know in a couple other fics he's been Italian, but in mine he's of Norwegian descent. If that's not canon, so be it. None of the rest of this story is, either, so why start now?

Standard disclaimers apply: Trek belongs to Paramount, Fierce Blue Ascot belongs to Sprint, and the Royal Albert Hall belongs to the UK. (The inspiration for using the Royal Albert Hall came from Serit.) The only things that belong to me are the original characters and the typos...

CLARIFICATION: If anyone wonders about D'von switching back and forth between 'happy' and 'happies', it's not a typo or a moment of forgetfulness on my part. For D'von there is the state of being happy (happy), and there is either the creation of or a large amount of happiness (happies). Also, the occasional repetition and running together of words is normal for him, too.

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The engineer grinned as he read the padd in his hand. When he'd mentioned his idea to Hess at the beginning of their shift he hadn't really expected the project to snowball so spectacularly, but word about the operation had spread rapidly through Engineering and within the hour had leaked out to over half the crew. A number of individuals had signed up almost immediately; as his shift progressed Trip had heard from other members of the crew letting him know that their respective departments had decided to go in together on their contributions to this mission.

Tucking the padd into his pocket he set about his duties. Throughout his shift the device often chirped for his attention, and he'd hasten to check the messages as they came in. With each update his smile broadened—by lunchtime he'd gotten good news from the Quartermaster about his special request and reports had come back from Hydroponics, Crewman Zabel, Travis, and Hoshi, who was also relaying updates from a vast number of other crewmembers and departments. By the end of lunch Captain Archer had heard about the venture and had eagerly signed on, volunteering his private dining room as a staging area. Now, an hour before his shift ended, Trip heard back from Chef, Ensign Cutler, and the Astrometrics Department. From the looks of the growing list, almost everyone on board knew about the plan. Almost everyone.

This was going to be fabulous. He could hardly wait to see the look on Malcolm's and D'von's faces.

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Running his fingers through still-damp hair Malcolm sat on the bed with the padd Phlox had given him. He'd rather be settling in with his Armoury reports instead of reviewing instructions about Phlox's monitoring devices, but there was no way he'd have gone to his office wearing his pajamas. He acknowledged that it was his own fault for letting himself get so preoccupied, but it would have been nice if Phlox had at least offered a subtle reminder. Admittedly he could have ducked back into Sickbay to change when he realized what he'd done, but it had been hard enough leaving the first time. It had occurred to him that he could contact the Armoury and order someone to bring the padds to him—rank had its advantages—but he finally decided that since the paperwork had gone this long unattended, another few hours wouldn't make that much of a difference. Besides, when it came right down to it he was far more interested in reading about D'von's people, and the sooner he finished with the doctor's devices the sooner he could get to the doctor's report.

The monitors went on easily enough—first one small round circular one on each side of his forehead then the square, slender box on his chest, all of them to be left in place until he returned to Sickbay. They were apparently set to activate once he'd put them all on because they chirped in unison as soon as the one for his chest was in place. That chore tended to, Malcolm pulled on a loose-fitting sweatshirt that matched the grey sweatpants he'd already put on, stretched out on the bed, and opened the next file on the padd:

FOR DISTRIBUTION TO THE CREW:
REQUIRED READING BY ORDER OF CAPTAIN ARCHER

Lehrites: A Brief Overview
By Dr. Phlox, Chief Medical Officer

By now you are all aware that we currently have on board a young Lehrite child named D'von as our guest. In order to prevent any problems or misunderstandings, it has been deemed prudent to supply information about our guest's people to the entire crew. It should be noted that this is by no means a comprehensive report on the Lehrite species, but is meant to provide basic information about aspects of their culture, behavior, abilities, and needs. Additional relevant information that comes to light will be made available in order to avoid any misunderstandings.

PHYSIOLOGY, CHARACTERISTICS, AND ABILITIES

Natives of the planet Lehrus, Lehrites are bipedal ungulates closely resembling the fauns and/or satyrs mentioned in some Ancient Earth mythologies: that is, they have a "goatish" appearance. Though there are variations in eye and hair color, stature, and horn shape throughout the species, all possess cloven hooves, horizontal pupils, and an abundance of body hair. To the best of my knowledge all Lehrites have horns regardless of gender: my information indicates that touching their horns is considered an intimate contact reserved for mates or close family members.

Known to be an intelligent and inquisitive people, Lehrites are gregarious, uninhibited, outgoing folk who can be quite physically demonstrative. While it is a common Human custom to shake hands as a form of greeting, Lehrites have been known to not only shake hands but also to impart firm and fond hugs, strokes, and even kisses. If they sense that such contact is unwelcome, however, they will quickly cease and desist. They can also be extremely "chatty" which can sometimes lead to temporarily awkward situations, as they are prone to freely discussing topics that might be of a more private nature. But once they realize they have struck upon an uncomfortable subject they will more often than not change the subject to avoid offending others.

Lehrites are an empathic species, able to sense the emotions of those around them. This is not the same as being telepathic: they cannot "read minds" or pry into the personal thoughts of those with whom they come into casual contact. Lehrites consider delving deeply into someone's emotions without permission to be a severe breach of protocol and manners, comparable to reading a person's personal log or diary or eavesdropping on a private conversation. However, it should be noted that their ability cannot be "turned off" and any strong emotions will be picked up on. They are capable of true telepathic contact only in instances where they have been Joined with someone. (Joining is covered in the section entitled Lehrite Social Structure, Children, and Joining.) They very much enjoy the positive emotions of others and appear to actually require them to remain healthy. When confronted with negative emotions from others they will try to change the mood as quickly as possible, and when they are unhappy they will seek a prompt remedy to the situation.

There have been erroneous claims that Lehrites possess the ability to hypnotize a person with a mere glance; I assure you that this is not the case. There are reportedly a few Lehrites who do possess hypnotic abilities, which they use for medical purposes to alleviate pain or to calm agitated patients. The notion that they could (or would) use such an ability without permission, or for any malicious purpose, is patently absurd and should be given no credence.

The majority of Lehrite vessels are purportedly devoted to providing entertainment, with the crews catering to the needs of the various species they meet up with. There are confirmed reports of services being rendered to such diverse species as Tellarites, Xyrillians, Denobulans, Rigelians, Kreetassans, and Andorians as well as rumors that some Humans and even a few Klingons have made use of Lehrite hospitality. (I do have strong doubts about the latter, though.)

They have a relaxed approach to life that some have mistaken for laziness, but nothing could be further from the truth. Indeed, they are energetic, conscientious workers showing a diligence and eye for detail that many would be hard-pressed to equal. They are an innately creative people, producing splendid works of art and music. Lehrite artisans are thought by some to be the finest craftsmen anywhere, with their areas of expertise seeming to vary depending upon what region of their homeworld they are from. Whether pottery, metalcraft, woodcarving, textiles, or jewelry-making—or any other crafts—they take great pleasure and pride in their work and will refuse to allow their pieces to leave their possession if they feel the workmanship is the least bit substandard.

They are also firm adherents to what they refer to as "The Law of Reciprocity", or what Humans would call Quid pro quo: what one receives must be repaid in kind. Although this can refer to their being paid for services or material goods they have provided, first and foremost it applies to a Lehrites' reimbursement of others for such things. Perhaps through misunderstandings or problems with language translations, or perhaps even blatant racism, some species hold to the misconception that Lehrites practice thievery and/or deceitful behavior. Consequently Lehrites have become enormously concerned with paying their debts and failure to repay someone is viewed as a grave breach of protocol. They are, however, open to and even enjoy bartering with their clients to reach a mutually agreeable arrangement.

DIETARY CONCERNS—IMPORTANT!

Lehrites are ruminants, possessing four microbe- and enzyme-filled stomach compartments as part of their digestive systems. A good portion of digestion is achieved through microbiological action, with a natural byproduct of this microbial activity being the production of large quantities of gas. Consequently our guest will in all likelihood be a prolific belcher. This is an entirely normal and natural thing for Lehrites and is no cause for concern, nor is it an indication of any lack of social grace. Another aspect of the digestive process is the regurgitation and re-chewing of their food, but this is usually done while they are resting.

Meal times are less structured and scheduled—rather than the three meals a day that most Humans partake in, Lehrites are more accustomed to snacking throughout the day in addition to eating full meals, so it should come as no surprise if D'von eats more frequently than we do. Additionally, Lehrites often rest briefly after dining as an aid to digestion.

These people are herbivores by necessity since they are unable to digest meat products of ANY kind (including broths, gravies or sauces containing meat products), or eggs. If there are any doubts as to the contents of a particular dish it would be best to err on the side of caution, as the introduction of even small amounts of meat or meat products to a Lehrite's digestive system can cause severe discomfort or illness. Although Lehrites have a remarkably keen sense of smell and can usually discern which foods could prove harmful it would be best to not take any chances in this area.

LEHRITE SOCIAL STRUCTURE, CHILDREN, AND "JOINING"

Although not much is known about their social hierarchy we do know that Lehrites are a communal species, living in large groups referred to as "herds". It is thought that theirs is a matriarchy with each herd led by an elder female. According to several sources including the Vulcan Database, Lehrites are a peaceful, non-violent species who will act aggressively only to protect members of their community or family. Little is known about Lehrite children because they are kept isolated from non-Lehrites until deemed to be of an "appropriate" age. This may be based on cultural beliefs or to protect the children from injury or disease. Lehrite children are reportedly susceptible to respiratory ailments and ear infections, so it would make sense for the parents to restrict exposure to alien pathogens and microbes.

Though information about child-rearing practices is sparse, it is known that Lehrites have a practice called "Joining", in which the members of the community establish a mental link with one another. Joining is initiated by the mutual stroking, with the fingers and/or palms, of the faces of the participants—usually along the cheeks or lower facial region—followed by the participants touching their foreheads together. Once it has been formed the bond produced is permanent. Subsequent contacts serve not only as a method of strengthening the bond, an intimate means of communication, or as displays of affection but are also used by healthy Lehrites to render aid when a member of their community falls ill or is injured (as documented in the Denobulan Medical Journal series 'Alien Medical Practices and Their Practical Applications').

From first-hand observation we know that our visitor is friendly and outgoing, though he may sometimes still be disoriented or intimidated by encounters with new people or situations. It is safe to assume that he has never encountered Humans before—Denobulans or Vulcans either, for that matter—but he appears to have heard at least a little about our respective species and seems enthusiastic to learn more. So as not to overwhelm him it would be best to, in the words of Commander Tucker, "give him a little breathin' room" for the time being. So far he has shown remarkable adaptability and his ability to acclimate is improving rapidly: I predict that it will not be long before he is able to comfortably interact with all of us. This brings about the subject of our only apparent dilemma...

It is now common knowledge that a member of the crew has been inadvertently Joined with our young Lehrite friend; though there seem to have been no ill effects for either of them, the long-term ramifications for both parties are as yet unknown. In order to avoid similar occurrences, crewmembers are urged to use sound judgment when dealing with D'von: though he is certainly not a threat to our well-being he is very young and inexperienced in the ways of non-Lehrites. He is also a long way from home and doesn't have his family to provide guidance and comfort; we should bear this in mind during our dealings with him.

We should remember to show him kindness and courtesy, but we must also remember that he may seek to reach out to others in the same manner that he did with our aforementioned crewmate. Bear in mind that the facial stroking which precedes Joining is a signal granting permission to proceed. If faced with a situation in which you believe D'von may be seeking to establish a mental bond you must simply refuse to participate: refrain from touching his face and explain to him gently but firmly that you do not want him to proceed. That should be sufficient to prevent any further attempts at Joining but if you deem it necessary move beyond his reach, as direct physical contact is required for Joining to take place. As stated earlier, Lehrites are highly intelligent. It should not take much time for D'von to learn that Joining is not a common Human practice.

Oh bloody hell. Common knowledge? Everyone on board knew what had happened? Damned bloody fantastic. "I am never going to live this down," Malcolm muttered to himself, then heaved a sigh. His displeasure quickly dispersed, though: it was a small ship, after all, so it wasn't really surprising that word would rapidly spread throughout the crew. What was done was done, and dwelling on it wouldn't do anyone any good.

Reading over the beginning of the report again, Reed couldn't help chuckling. It probably wasn't very polite of him but he kept envisioning the Vulcans' reaction to their first contact with this "gregarious, uninhibited, outgoing, physically demonstrative" species. And for some god-awful reason he now had an unshakable mental image of Ambassador Soval receiving "firm and fond hugs, strokes, and even kisses" from a group of them; he decided that such an experience would likely trigger a massive stroke or maybe cardiac arrest in a Vulcan. Probably both. Little wonder they'd never pursued further contact with the Lehrites. Their loss as far as he was concerned—a few fond hugs would probably do them a world of good—and maybe the Lehrites' gain.

Putting the padd aside he closed his eyes and leaned back on the pillow, allowing himself to further visualize the Vulcan ambassador amidst a small herd of Lehrites. After a few entertaining moments the image of his father replaced that of Soval. That brought him up short and he sat up with a jolt. How was he going to explain the boy to his family? He was sure Maddie would be positively giddy at the prospect of being an aunt, but his parents...? And what would they say when they found out about Malcolm winding up Joined to the lad? Malcolm scrubbed at his face as he contemplated their reaction. Mother would eventually take it in stride, he supposed—that was her nature with most things—but Father...dear god, what would his father say about all of this? He'd probably hit the roof, and he'd certainly never let his son hear the end of it.

"That's not going to happen,'" he scolded himself aloud as he began pacing around the room. "We are going to find his people and reunite him with his family."

'And if you don't? If it turns out they are dead? Or if you can't find them? What do you do then, hmmmm? Hand him off to the first Lehrites you happen upon? Or maybe take him back to Earth and pawn him off on your sister, or your parents?'

Good lord, Trip was right—he was a pessimist. "Maddie will adore him. I know she will," he argued back at himself. "My parents will just have to learn to accept him." The image of Soval being cuddled by Lehrites returned. "A few fond hugs would do Father a world of good, too, I'm sure. Besides, who says I'd have to leave him with them?"

'Oh, so you'd do what—resign your commission?' his inner voice scoffed. 'Stay on Earth with him?'

"Who says I'd have to resign? I could just request reassignment, you know. There are plenty of things I could—"

'Oh, there's a grand idea,' The Pessimist sneered rudely. 'You'd be miserable planetbound and you know it. And if you're miserable the boy will be, too.'

Malcolm smiled serenely. "I could never be miserable as long as I'm with him. So...Bugger. Off."

Hearing no further remarks from within he smiled more broadly, smug in his victory. "That's more like it." With that battle won he considered what to do next. Checking the time, he frowned. The Mess Hall would soon be filling with the lunch crowd, and he wasn't hungry enough to go displaying himself with the monitors in place. Well, maybe it didn't look too bad. He went into the bathroom and cast a look in the mirror. No, he most definitely would not be going to a crowded Mess Hall with those things on his head. "I look like a bloody pinball machine," he grumbled, staring unhappily at the flashing buttons on his forehead and self-consciously touching his chest to feel the monitor through his shirt. Although, it occurred to him, if he had his uniform on, maybe that one wouldn't show. No...on second thought, a uniform would only hide the lights; the shape of the box fastened to him would certainly be visible. The loose sweatshirt he had on now hid the thing far better than a form-fitting uniform would. And nothing he did with his hair would camouflage the discs on his forehead. He tried. Several times.

Conceding defeat with a sigh he returned to his bed and perched on the edge. He could probably go to the Armoury and pick up those padds after all—anyone he encountered there would know better than to make sport of him. On the other hand, he didn't really feel like doing paperwork. Or much of anything else, for that matter...he wasn't sure what he wanted to do. Restless boredom wasn't entirely unfamiliar to him but it had been ages since he'd had to fend off the sensation. Usually running a diagnostic on the weapons' systems did the trick—along with a few practice shots at a stray asteroid for good measure—but even that didn't sound appealing to him at the moment. Malcolm stretched out on the bed with a sigh.

'You should probably at least let your family know what's happened," The Pessimist contritely offered an olive branch. 'You know...just in case. Best they should be prepared if you do wind up bringing him home with you.'

"Oh, there's a grand idea," he shot The Pessimist's own words back at him as he stared at the ceiling. "Dear Mother and Father, I'm sure you've been wondering whether I have as yet found any interesting souvenirs to bring home...well, as a matter of fact..." Sitting up he sighed again, hating the fact that The Pessimist was right. He should write home to let them know about D'von. Of course...he didn't have to do it right now. And they didn't have to know about the Joining anytime soon.

He made a mental list of things to do during his time away from Sickbay: stretch out on the bed for a little light reading, then to the gym for some time on the treadmill. By the time he finished there the Mess Hall would be clear and he could dine in peace. Then he could swing by the Armoury for those padds before returning to his quarters—the time at the gym would necessitate another shower and change of clothes. He could catch up on his paperwork for a bit, and then head back to Sickbay. Writing a letter home was conspicuously absent from his mental 'to do' list.

Heading to his desk, he toyed with the idea of calling the doctor to make sure everything was all right. Hand hesitating over the comm button, he grudgingly vetoed the idea. Phlox had promised to call if there were any problems and the Denobulan wasn't the sort to say what he didn't mean. So instead Malcolm again laid on the bed and tried to relax. The idea of the letter, however, would not go away, and he sprang back up in frustration. After pacing across the floor for a few minutes he decided to work on a letter home once he returned from the Mess Hall and get the padds from the Armoury on his way back to Sickbay. Fetching a book and settling back on the bed he finally allowed himself to fully relax, satisfied with his amended plans.

He was somewhat less satisfied when he awoke over an hour later, but chose to not dwell on it. Though he preferred to hold to a precise schedule, an occasional opportunity to sloth off a bit provided a pleasant change of pace that was not entirely unwelcome. Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone: he had a reputation to keep, after all. Falling asleep had dramatically cut into his plans for the gym, though, and he chose to forgo the trip to C Deck altogether. Jogging or biking would necessitate another shower and clothing change, which would cut further into his remaining free time. Remembering Phlox's flashing gizmos on his forehead clinched it—no trip to the gym today. Some form of exercise, however, was in order, and he knew just the thing.

Many people were blissfully ignorant of the connection to the martial arts and thought tai chi was simply a series of stretching exercises geared toward helping older people stay limber. Until he'd taken the time in his early teen years to look into it further, Malcolm had been one of them. He'd first thought the exercises would be not only useless but mind-numbingly dull and repetitive, but had been happily surprised to learn quite the opposite—it had proven to be the best way for him to clear his mind when he was feeling overly stressed or muddled. One more thing to thank Angela and Jeremy Bascom for: if they hadn't taught him about tai chi and even taken him to classes with them he might still think of it as "geezer exercise". He was so deeply focused on the exercises that he didn't hear the comm chirp the first time, almost thirty minutes into the session.

The second chirp caught his attention and he quickly thumbed the button, settling into the chair at his desk. "Reed here." His heart skipped a beat at the sound of the doctor's voice.

"Ah, Mr. Reed," Phlox chirped cheerily. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Malcolm struggled to keep the worry from his voice. "Is everything all right? Is there a problem? I can be there in a minute or so if—"

"Oh goodness, no," Phlox's voice took on an apologetic tone. "I'm so sorry—I didn't mean to worry you. It's just that when you were getting ready to leave Sickbay, we were concentrating so much on what to do if there were any problems with D'von that I'm not sure if I told you to contact me if you had any problems. So I thought it would be prudent to check in with you."

The tension drained from Malcolm. "You did mention it," he assured the doctor with a relieved smile. "No problems here, and I promise to call if there are. How are you two getting along? Lessons going well?"

"Oh yes, very well," Phlox happily confirmed. "We're taking a little break right now...Chef stopped in to go over menu ideas with me and brought a few snacks for D'von, so they're having a little visit right now. You know, I never realized how much use Chef makes of the Hydroponics Department—he apparently has an entire section devoted to not only his herbs but also several varieties of wild plants and flowers. A good portion of his quarters is devoted to growing foodstuffs as well. He says most of the ones he grows are commonly referred to as weeds by those who are, to use his phrasing, 'too uninformed to know any better'. D'von is quite interested in the subject and I suspect he's going to want a tour of Chef's private garden when he's released." Phlox paused, sounding almost embarrassed as he asked, "Have you...heard anything—from D'von, I mean—since you left here?"

It hadn't even occurred to him. "No...I haven't," he admitted with trepidation, feeling suddenly negligent. "Does that mean there's a problem?"

"I don't believe so, no. It's just that...well...may I ask what you were doing just before I commed you?"

"Exercising. I decided to forego the gym and do some tai chi in my quarters."

"Ahh, I think that explains it," Phlox said with happy satisfaction. "You see," he anticipated Reed's next question, "a short time ago D'von began inquiring about you. I suspect that the meditative quality of the exercises you were doing caused a slight alteration in your brain waves, and though he couldn't quite 'hear' you because you were so far away, he obviously sensed that something was…different, and it made him momentarily concerned."

"He asked about me? He's able to talk now?" Malcolm tried to hide his disappointment—he'd hoped to be there when D'von began talking—but at the same time, he knew it was a good thing for the lad to be able to talk again.

"Not talking, no," the doctor comforted him. "We did go through a few vocal exercises to see how he's progressing, but he's still experiencing some discomfort so speaking will have to wait a little bit longer. I may have him try again this evening or perhaps in the morning. But he was still able to let me know that he wanted to know about you...he picked up on using the computer rather quickly, it seems, and was able to call up the schematics for E Deck again, then began gesturing. I suspect there was a short period of time when he couldn't quite home in on you, so to speak, and he wanted to know if you were still in your quarters and what you were doing. He even mimicked some of the movements," he added with a chuckle. "Once I assured him that you were still there and that it looked like you were probably doing some sort of exercises, he settled back into his visit with Chef."

"Are you sure I shouldn't come back now?" Reed asked, certain that he should. It was a struggle to keep from heading out the door.

"Quite sure, Lieutenant. Everything's fine, and you still have a few hours to yourself before I want you back here. Relax, enjoy yourself, and we'll see you in a couple hours, hmm?"

"Well," Malcolm hesitated, "if you're certain you don't need me to come…" At a brisk walk he could surely be there in well under a minute. If he ran—

"I understand how you feel, Lieutenant—I have children too, remember? I realize that the first time away from a young one is difficult but I assure you that D'von is fine and that there is no reason for you to rush back here. We're going to share a little snack courtesy of Chef—something called burdock chips, and some candied violets—then D'von is going to help me with a few light chores around here. He'll probably be ready for a nap after that, and then we'll do some light physical therapy for his foot. What I'd like you to do," the doctor gently instructed, "is to try to relax and enjoy yourself for a while. Read a book, do some more of those tai chi exercises—I think D'von rather enjoyed them once he realized what they were—have a relaxing lunch, do something other than worry about whether you should come rushing back here. Fretting will just throw off the readings I'm trying to gather from the monitors. If it will help, I'll even lift my ban on you returning to the Armoury, provided you don't overexert yourself."

His qualms finally squelched, Malcolm relaxed. "No, that's all right. I've decided to stop at the Armoury and pick up those padds on my way back there instead. Right now I think I'll head to the Mess Hall for lunch, then come back here to catch up on some correspondence." Burdock chips? Candied violets didn't sound too horrid, but...burdock chips? He wondered what other weeds Chef might be sneaking into the crew's meals.

"Marvelous," Phlox approved happily. "And as before, if there are any problems I'll contact you."

"The same here. And Doctor…thank you for everything. Give the little mite a hug for me, would you? Tell him I'll see him soon."

The Denobulan chuckled. "You're welcome. And yes, I'd be happy to relay the message, and the hug." With another chuckle Phlox cut the connection.

Slumping back in the chair, Malcolm pondered the conversation. Had he really just passed up the opportunity to get back to work? Oh, not only passed it up but eagerly dismissed it, and for what? To lounge about and 'catch up on some correspondence'? No, he had to admit, that wasn't the real reason: deep down he knew that if he went to the Armoury he'd no doubt become engrossed in some task or another, and that would delay his return to Sickbay. Well...that wasn't entirely accurate. It would delay his return to D'von, and that would be totally unacceptable. He smiled warmly at the thought of the lad, the smile broadening at the idea of D'von mimicking tai chi moves. How hard would it be to teach a Lehrite tai chi? He'd have to ask the boy if he wanted to learn it, of course, but felt certain that D'von would be more than willing to give it a go. The tot was dashedly inquisitive, after all, and seemed eager to learn about everything. And maybe D'von could teach him about...what? Burdock chips? Bleck.

His mind started dancing happily at the thought of all the things he'd be able to teach the boy but a growling stomach brought him back to reality. Priorities: first lunch—hold the burdock chips, thank you—then lesson plans. Or maybe he could work on both at the same time. Grabbing Phlox's padd from the bed and seizing a fresh padd from his desk drawer, Malcolm headed for the Mess Hall.

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His newfound knowledge of Chef's penchant for weeds made Malcolm bypass the salad altogether. A particularly scrumptious-looking hot pastrami sandwich, decadently thick with meat and oozing with provolone caught his eye and he greedily seized the plate. Once he'd gotten a large glass of milk to go with it he settled at the nearest table in the otherwise uninhabited room. It had been his intention to eat quickly so he could get to planning straightaway, but the marvelous aroma invited him to linger. The first bite sealed the deal and he slowed his eating to a crawl, occasionally stopping to take a few sips of milk. Only after he'd finished half of his sandwich did he again contemplate the padds.

It had seemed an easy enough endeavor when he'd been in his quarters, but now that he was actually giving it a go he saw how far in over his head he was. "My god, what was I thinking?" he murmured softly to himself as he realized that he hadn't the faintest idea where to even begin. D'von had mentioned going to school, and reading...but at what level? The boy certainly wouldn't have been reading English, and aside from the plaques he had 'seen' in the Lehrite catacombs, he knew nothing about their written language. And what sort of math skills did the boy have? Was he at all familiar with any of the sciences? Did Lehrite children even study science, or history, or philosophy? And what about religion? Phlox had made no mention of the subject in his writings. "How do I figure out where to start?" he wondered aloud as he scrubbed a finger along the front of his chin. With a deep breath and a sigh Malcolm started reading over Phlox's report again in search of anything that might help. Three readings later he still hadn't spotted anything—with the exception of art and music, which had never been his strongest subjects—to help steer him in the right direction.

"The first thing, I suppose," he finally decided aloud, "is to make a list of potential subjects." He spoke quietly to himself as he began the list: "Art and music, of course…mathematics, English…algebra? Mmm, suppose I'd best see how mathematics goes first. Biology…hmm, I wonder if that would technically be xenobiology? History…geography—"

"Don't forget warp theory."

Malcolm almost dismissed it as the return of The Pessimist but realized half a heartbeat later that the deadpan voice was far too deep to be his own. Head snapping up, he found himself looking at Chef's dispassionate countenance. Placing a small covered serving platter on the table, the tall blonde settled his broad frame into the chair across from the lieutenant.

"I…I didn't…"Malcolm stammered, still surprised by the man's unexpected presence, "I didn't hear you come in."

"You were preoccupied," Chef dismissed it casually. "Same thing happens to me when I'm working on a new recipe." Giving his short-cropped beard a brief stroke he studied the young man, his baritone voice slow and deliberate as he continued. "Funny thing, though…sometimes if I get too wrapped up in a new concoction, or get worrying about who it's for or fretting about whether it'll turn out, I find myself getting all flustered…if I'm not careful I wind up forgetting something or measuring wrong, or misreading a label and putting in the wrong ingredients. One time—now remember, I was a young upstart at the time, just starting to get a reputation for myself and fool enough to let it go to my head—I was making a pie for a family get-together. I'd had all manner of ideas about fancy stuff I could make for the affair, give me a chance to show off for the family, and they told me to just bring a pie. A pie. A simple, basic, pumpkin pie. Probably goes without saying that I was more than a little put out, and I stewed and sputtered about it the whole time I was making the thing. Well, they served it up, and it was horrible. Turns out instead of cinnamon I'd grabbed a container of a special blend of rather potent chili powder, and I'd been far too generous with it. I let my wounded ego distract me so much that I didn't even realize my mistake…until everyone started trying to eat that mistake, that is." His bright blue eyes twinkled at the memory and he gave his beard another stroke. "They still won't let me bring pie to any of the family gatherings unless I promise to eat the first piece."

Reed stared across at the usually taciturn man, unsure what the purpose of the story was. "That's, uh…very interesting." And it was, in a strange way…even if he didn't have a clue what the cook was getting at.

Chef's Nordic features remained neutral. "He's a sweet little boy, and it's going to be a big responsibility taking care of him. But getting too wrapped up in what to do, thinking too much and all at once about everything that it entails…it's just going to clutter your thinking." He motioned to the padd in Malcolm's hands. "For instance, sitting here trying to lay out a life's worth of schooling in a single sitting. I'm not saying planning's a bad thing—I wouldn't be able to put together decent meals for the crew if I didn't know a thing or two about planning. But getting so flustered that you can't think straight will be counterproductive for both of you.

"Now, I realize I'm not very good at giving advice unless it deals with food, but it seems to me that before you try pumping a bunch of information into the little fellow, you might want to learn a little more from him."

Reed opened his mouth to protest but no sound came. Then a small chuckle escaped as he shook his head. "I beg to differ, Chef. You're quite good at dispensing sage advice. No pun intended." He shoved the padds aside. "I'm getting ahead of myself with this, and it is rather clouding my thinking."

"I thought it might be. Either that or the pastrami is sub-standard."

"Hm? Beg pardon?"

"You didn't finish your lunch," Chef gave a tiny nod toward the half-finished sandwich. "So, either you're preoccupied or the sandwich is no good."

"No, it's excellent—best I've had in ages," he assured the cook, then eyed the covered platter still sitting in the center of the table. Malcolm screwed up his courage. "May I ask what's in there?" Maybe he was in luck and it wasn't the same platter.

Chef's poker face fell away, and he fairly beamed as he lifted the lid. "Your little man really loved these things so I made up another batch. You know, I don't often get a chance to make these sorts of things—I think I'm the only one on board who'd eat them. Well, maybe Phlox, too—he's always keen to try new things."

"Burdock chips and candied violets," Malcolm tried to sound upbeat. "Phlox told me about them. D'von enjoyed them, did he?"

"Oh, yes," Chef glowed. "Suppose you'd call them crisps, though, right?" He lifted the plate and held it out to Malcolm, who tried to look enthusiastic as he took a few of them in his fingers.

"Right...crisps." He slid the smallest of them into his mouth and gave an experimental munch before chewing in earnest, surprised to find them to be very tasty. "That's really quite good," he told the cook as he eagerly seized some more of the treats. "Is that chili powder?"

"A much milder blend than what went into the pie, I assure you—didn't want to overdo it for the little fellow—and a dash of salt," Chef confirmed, setting the platter closer to the lieutenant. "Speaking of our guest," he added as he slowly pushed himself from the chair, "time for me to get back to the galley and get to work. The doctor gave me an expanded list of Lehrite-friendly foods and spices to work with, so I want to go through my files and find some special treats for our young friend." He offered another of his rare smiles. "If you need anything for him—anything at all, day or night—you just say the word." He motioned to the platter. "If you don't finish those, just take them back to Sickbay with you—between the doctor and your little boy, they won't last long."

"Thank you—I'll do that." After Chef left Malcolm picked up one of the violets and smiled, admiring the way the light twinkled on the sugar crystals as he twirled the stem slowly between his fingers. "My little boy," he sighed, plucking the blossom from the stem and popping the delicate confection into his mouth. He liked the sound of that.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

Once he'd finished his lunch and returned to his quarters Malcolm tried again to write to his family. Although he'd given up on writing to his parents after almost a dozen failed starts—the difficulty of the task had really come as no surprise to him—the letter to Maddie had come together with surprising ease and was now safely tucked away in his desk drawer waiting to be sent. He could try again on his parents' letter in a day or so and send them together.

Now, sauntering down the corridor with the padds from the Armoury in one hand and the plate of violets and crisps balanced on the other, he headed back to Sickbay with a spring in his step. Not only was he feeling rather pleased with himself for getting at least one of the letters done but telling his sister about the lad had made him impatient to be with the boy again. As he drew near the door, though, his pace slowed. Something felt…off; a feeling of drunken giddiness crept slowly over him, and he realized after a few seconds that something was making D'von deliriously happy. Stopping for a moment he took a few deep breaths to clear his head before going the last few feet. Tightening his grip on the padds and using his knuckle to trigger the door, Malcolm stepped over the threshold.

If not for the waves of pure bliss washing over him he probably would have been repulsed: still clad in Hoshi's flowery camisole, D'von was sprawled on the bed, the dressing gone from his hoof and the doctor's osmotic eel firmly stuck to the bottom of the appendage. Reed's mind briefly wandered to the question of why it was called an eel when it looked so very much like a starfish, then he stepped forward and silently stared glassy-eyed at the creature on D'von's foot. Hoof. Whatever. The bigger puzzle remained—how could having an eel (or starfish, or whatever) plastered to him be making the lad so happy?

{Hai, Maoookiiim!} D'von slurred giddily, slowly lifting his leg into the air. {Looook! I ams givin' da eel haaappies! Ams fun…wanda try?}

No, that's all right—you keep on just as you are. I'll wait right over here. Mystery solved: happy eels made for happy little Lehrite boys, it seemed. He spoke in a slow, lightheaded voice as he watched Phlox carefully pushed the boy's leg back down. "Hellooo, doctor. Everything's going well here, I see."

Approaching the lieutenant, Phlox studied him with curiosity. "Yeees…but are you all right?"

"Oh fine…fiiine…" he replied in a faraway voice. "It's just that…the eel…you've got a veeery happy eel there, you know. Really enjoys his work. Her work. Its work." His eyes were barely focused as he stared at Phlox. "I guess I just wasn't expecting to find out what it feels like to be a happy eel." Absently dropping the padds onto the exam table and handing the platter to the Denobulan, Malcolm plunked down into the nearby chair and turned his attention back to the boy on the bed. "The eel is happy, and D'von's happy to be making the eel so happy, and…wow. I could feel it out in the corridor, you know." His eyes drifted back to the doctor, his tone still dreamy. "I do believe that the tot's literally drunk on happiness."

"I suspect you are, too," Phlox observed, setting the platter on the exam table next to the padds.

"I was, I think," Malcolm agreed with far less concern than the doctor. "It's fading a bit now. I was expecting to feel D'von when I got back here, but I wasn't expecting the eel. Going to have to stop letting myself get…ambushed like that, though I'm not quite sure how."

"Nor am I…but we'll figure out something. You just stay there, and I'll be back shortly to remove those monitors."

"Riiight…I'll wait here," Reed nodded his consent, watching with great interest as the doctor returned to the boy's bed, tenderly removed the eel and studied D'von's hoof. Malcolm expected the boy to object to the eel's removal but D'von seemed to hardly notice as the creature was peeled away and put back in its tank.

{Bai, eeeel,} D'von drawled happily. {Faaank yew for doin' hewps for my hooof. Ams glad I could gives yew haaappies.} He was barely aware of Phlox manipulating his hoof and leg.

Studying the wound again the doctor nodded his approval. "I think we can leave the dressing off for a bit," he announced. "It will be better to let the air to it for a while. It might hurt a bit if you bump it, but otherwise it should be fine. And remember, I don't want you trying to walk on it just yet."

{Hokay…I 'members,} the tot assured him with a crisp nod, already showing signs of 'sobering up'. {No more priddy banage, huh?} he asked with disappointment.

His head rapidly clearing Malcolm stood and stepped over to the bed, unable to bear being away another moment. "The doctor thinks it best to leave off the bandage for now…but you've still got the one on your horn," he offered as consolation. "That one's going to have to stay on a while longer."

{Hokay.} D'von raised his arms and Malcolm scooped him up in a firm hug. After planting a kiss on the man's cheek, D'von cocked his head. {Whycome yew gots blinky lights on yore head?}

"They're monitors that Phlox asked me to wear for a while, but he's going to take them off in just a bit." Settling on the bed with D'von on his lap, Malcolm gave the boy another squeeze. "So…did you have a good time with Phlox?"

{Oh, yes…wunnerful time. Did skool stuff wiv Ahnklah Fox, an' Ahnklah Jeff bringded snacks for us so did visits wiv him, den had liddle naps, den wokes up an' Ahnklah Fox hewped makes me priddy wiv da hairbrush, an' I did some hewps, an' den met da eel, den yew cameded back. Yew did fun stuff, too?}

"Yes, I suppose I did," Reed admitted gamely. "I took a shower and did a little reading, then had a nap, too, and did some exercises…went to the Mess Hall for lunch, and had some of the same snacks that you had. As a matter of fact, Chef made more and asked me to bring them along." He looked around, momentarily forgetting what he'd done with them.

Phlox stepped up, retrieving the tray and setting it on the bed next to D'von. Lifting the cover he smiled at the boy. "Here you are. Now, while you're having a snack I'm going to borrow Mr. Reed for a bit so I can remove the monitors he's wearing."

{Gunda take off da blinky lights?} the tot asked as he munched a violet.

"Yes," Malcolm smiled as he stood, "the doctor is going to take off the blinky lights."

{Dat's too bad…ams priddy. Looks like yew gots horn buds. Priddy blinky horn buds.}

Gingerly feeling the nubs with his fingertips Malcolm mulled over the boy's comment and found himself liking the idea of having horn buds. "You know, I hadn't realized that. I'm glad you like them...but they still have to come off."

{Dat's hokay…yew ams priddy wivout dem, too.}

The lieutenant's smile broadened at the compliment and he gave D'von a loving kiss on the forehead. "Thank you. I think you're pretty, too." Snatching a violet from the platter he lovingly tapped the lad on the nose with it and stepped away from the bed. "You stay there and enjoy your snack. I'll be back soon so save me some of those, okay?"

{Hokay,} the tot giggled as he popped a burdock chip into his mouth.

Phlox guided Reed to the exam table and set about removing the monitors. "I hope you didn't find these too cumbersome."

"No, not at all. And D'von thinks they're pretty—he says they look like horn buds. But I have to admit I was more than a little self-conscious about wearing them in public."

"That's not at all unusual," the Denobulan assured him before looking over Malcolm's shoulder at the opening doors of Sickbay. "Hello, Subcommander," he cheerily greeted T'Pol. "How may I help you?"

Malcolm felt D'von's demeanor change instantly, the boy mentally flinching at the sight of the Vulcan. He looked over his shoulder to cast a quick reassuring look at the tot—who was nervously fingering his pouch—then turned his attention to their visitor. "Hello, Subcommander."

"Lieutenant," she acknowledged his greeting with a nod as she approached the men, padd in hand. "Doctor, to answer your question, I do not require your assistance. I have been considering the lieutenant's situation and believe I have a viable suggestion."

Sensing D'von's growing unease, Malcolm squelched his annoyance—his situation?—and mustered a polite smile that he hoped looked sincere.

"What did you have in mind, Subcommander?"

"There are various meditation techniques that might help diminish any adverse effects that you may be experiencing."

The flurry of nervous apprehension from D'von washed away Malcolm's initial irritation. The tot was cringing both inside and out, his anxiety and desire to escape the woman's notice threatening to fill Reed's mind to the brim. D'von, it's all right. Subcommander T'Pol isn't going to hurt you. She was in the blue room with us and bandaged your hoof, remember? The boy calmed a tiny bit, making it easier for Reed to think.

"To be quite honest I have had a few brief instances of disorientation," Malcolm admitted while studiously ignoring the silent, incredulous look Phlox was shooting at him, "but I think I've got things under control for the time being." He didn't want to seem rude, though. "Would it be safe to assume that these would be Vulcan meditation techniques?

That sent one of T'Pol's eyebrows skyward. "Some are, yes. But I have also been researching several methods common on Earth and believe that some form of meditation, regardless of planet of origin, could prove helpful."

Damn—he hadn't meant to insult her but realized that his poorly articulated misgivings had doubtless come across as at least a little racist, which was certainly not his intention. He clicked into damage-control mode. "It's not the planet of origin that concerns me…it's just that I was under the impression that Vulcan meditation is rather involved when compared to Human techniques. Would I even be able to learn to do it properly?"

"I thought the advanced forms might prove too demanding so I excluded those from my research. Besides, I believe that the simpler forms would be more effective for your purposes. You have shown yourself to be a highly-disciplined individual so I am fairly sure that you would have little difficulty learning 'to do it properly' if you chose to do so."

"You know," Phlox encouraged, "it's well worth considering, Lieutenant. After all, you already have some familiarity with tai chi, which entails mental discipline."

"I'm not dismissing the idea out of hand...and I do appreciate your efforts, Subcommander. Have you put together any information on these techniques?"

"Of course," she stated flatly, handing the padd to the lieutenant. "I thought it would be helpful for you to familiarize yourself with basic information about the various options. I must confess, though, that I am unfamiliar with the term 'tai chi'."

Malcolm expertly stifled a smile—it wasn't every day that a Human could teach a Vulcan anything. "I don't think it's technically considered to be a form of meditation. It's a Chinese martial art, but there is a meditative aspect to it. There are several books and articles in the ship's library, if you're interested."

"That could prove useful. I should return to my duties now, but I can look up the information and compare it to the data I've already gathered."

"Before you go, Subcommander, could I get your help with one other thing?" Reed asked.

"If I am able. What do you require?"

"Well...it's D'von. He's still quite nervous around you, and I'm hoping that if you had a little talk with him it might help ease his anxiety."

Now it was the Vulcan's turn to cringe, if only inwardly. "There is no reason for him to be 'nervous'."

"Well, we both know that, but he's not entirely convinced. He's not as uneasy as he was in Decon, but for whatever reason he's still a bit unsettled around you." He could see that she was dubious. "It's a tad distracting having him getting tense and apprehensive whenever he's around you."

"I would imagine so. Very well, Lieutenant, I will...have a talk with him." She looked over at the boy and made eye contact.

With a panicked squeak D'von snatched the blanket from the foot of the bed and threw it over his head.

T'Pol turned back to Reed, one eyebrow rocketing upward. "Perhaps it would be best if you accompanied me."

Following T'Pol to the lad's bedside, Malcolm worked to still the tumult entering his mind and decided that meditation definitely deserved further consideration. Stopping next to the bed he softly cleared his throat.

D'von didn't budge—even knowing that his Taj was standing in front of him couldn't prompt the youngster to come out of hiding. {Maokim,} he whispered urgently into Reed's mind, {Lehrites not posta be wiv Vul-cams...dey dunnint like us. Dey hate us.}

He turned to T'Pol and Phlox. "He's not too keen on coming out—says that Lehrites aren't supposed to be around Vulcans. He's convinced that Vulcans hate Lehrites."

"He is mistaken," T'Pol stated in her usual cool tone, but Malcolm thought he detected just a hint of surprise in her eyes.

{Nuh-uuh. Not staken. Learnded in skool. Made Vul-cams unhappy long time ago, an' now dey hate us so we hafsa stay 'way from dem. Not posta makes peeple unhappy.}

"Well if Subcommander T'Pol hated you you'd be able to feel it, right? Does it feel like she hates you?"

D'von gasped. {Not posta lissen wivout permission, Maokim—ams bad fing!}

"But you've listened to other people's feelings before...why is this different?"

{If feelins are loud cannint stop from hearin',} the boy explained. {But reachin' in for dem wivout permission ams bad. Ams roood to lissen if peeple dunnint wants yew to.}

"Ah...I should have remembered." It had been one of the first things Phlox had mentioned in that primer about Lehrites. He turned to T'Pol. "Would it be all right for him to, um, listen to you? Well, to your feelings, to be more specific. I can't think of a better way to convince him that you don't hate him but he says it would be rude to do so without permission."

"I do not believe it would be...prudent for him to do so."

As she answered a millisecond of fear slammed into him like a physical blow. Blinking to clear the sensation from his mind he looked at the doctor. "Phlox...could you give us a little privacy please?"

Though puzzled the Denobulan nodded. "Of course. Call if you need anything."

Once Phlox had gone Reed drew the privacy curtain then fixed a nonjudgmental, appraising eye on his superior. "I'm sure you don't hate the lad," he said gently, "and I'm fairly certain you don't hate his species. But," he continued even more quietly, "you are at least a little...uneasy around him, aren't you?" Seeing the surprise flicker in her eyes he explained, keeping his voice low. "I felt it from you, Subcommander. Only for an instant, but I felt your...trepidation. He doesn't go delving into people's minds to find out what they're feeling, but he's quite right—if the emotions are loud one can't help but hear them. Vulcans control and suppress them but they certainly aren't devoid of emotions, though they often all but deny that they have them. Is that what disturbs you, Subcommander? That he can sense that you have feelings? If that's the problem, you have my word that anything he—or I—may inadvertently 'hear' from you will be held in the strictest confidence. I have no desire to intrude on your privacy or cause you any discomfort, and I assure you that the last thing D'Von wants to do is offend you or invade your privacy."

She stared at him, momentarily unable to think of a reply, then settled on a question. "Who told him that Vulcans hate his people?"

"It's apparently part of his school curriculum. He's been taught that a long time ago his people made Vulcans unhappy, so now Lehrites have to stay away from Vulcans because Vulcans hate them. Though I'm not entirely sure, I think it might be the only thing he's been taught about your people."

T'Pol silently studied the blanket-draped boy a long moment before stepping up to him and carefully lifting away the covering. "D'von...please look at me," she urged in an effort to get the child to lift his head and open his tightly-closed eyes. Another throat-clearing from Malcolm helped convince the boy, and he nervously met her gaze. "Your teachers were misinformed. While it is true that our first meeting with Lehrites was somewhat off-putting, Vulcans do not hate Lehrites. After reviewing information that Dr. Phlox provided I must admit that I have been taught things about your people that would seem to be inaccurate as well. Perhaps you can teach me more about Lehrites and in return I can teach you about Vulcans."

For the first time D'von made unabashed eye contact with her. {Yew wanda learn from me? Dunnint know mush stuff...only been in skool liddle bits.}

"He's concerned that he hasn't had enough schooling to be able to teach you anything."

"While formal schooling is an important method of learning," she told the boy, "one's life experiences are also valuable learning opportunities. I am certain you have acquired useful knowledge that you can share with me, and I can do the same for you. We can learn from each other and dispel any misconceptions we have about one another. It would be a mutually beneficial arrangement."

The boy intently studied her, the last of his unease having slowly leached away. Now he seemed awestruck as he regarded her. {Wow,} he finally commented, {she uses lotsa big words, huh? Muss be veryvery smart.}

Yes, she is, Malcolm silently replied.

{Would be awflee nice to learn 'bout Vul-cams,} D'von considered the offer with great sincerity and solemnity. {Only learnded in skool 'bout stayin' way from dem. An' howta says hai wiv hans,} he added brightly, {but learnded dat by axdent once when I used da compooder.} He fidgeted nervously. {Did hokay, dinnint I? If dinnint do right, can do besser, I promise,} D'von offered eagerly.

I'm sure you did a fine job, Malcolm assured him before turning to the subcommander. "He would very much like to learn about your people. He's a bit worried that he might not have gotten the hand salute just right, though—he's never done it before, and says he only learned about it by accident. He's offered to learn to do it better if he needs to."

"You did it very well," she assured the boy. "I must return to my duties now but I will contact Mr. Reed later to schedule another visit with you. Would that be agreeable, Lieutenant?"

"Absolutely, Subcommander. And thank you again for your help."

"Of course. According to the doctor's report on Lehrites, they require positive emotions to remain healthy. Allowing our guest to repeatedly feel apprehensive would no doubt be detrimental to his health and would likely slow his recovery. Besides, after further consideration I believe that Dr. Phlox was correct—five days was an inadequate length of time for my people to come to an informed decision regarding Lehrites. It is only logical to seize the opportunity to learn as much about them as possible." With a respectful nod she headed for the exit, but was intercepted by the doctor as he happily came out of his office with a padd.

"Ah, Subcommander, I was hoping to have a brief word with you. Gentlemen, I'll be back momentarily," he assured Malcolm and D'von as he accompanied T'Pol out the door.

Settling onto the bed next to D'von, Malcolm grabbed some burdock chips/crisps and popped a few into his mouth then looked at his young charge. "Well my good sir, what shall we do with ourselves now?"

D'von chose a violet and studied it briefly before looking up at his Taj. {Howz'bout...} he drawled with fun-loving mischief glimmering in his eyes, {we dooo...mung!} he squeaked happily as he tapped the tip of Malcolm's nose with the sugary flower.

"That...sounds...splendid!" Malcolm agreed, scooping the boy onto his lap and hugging the giggling, snuggling tot close.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

Once his shift ended Tucker hastened to his quarters to review all the messages he'd gotten. After getting an organized list together he wrote a private message to Phlox (couldn't risk Malcolm or D'von overhearing the comm, after all) letting him know what was afoot, asking if he'd care to participate, and asking if they could come to Sickbay in about an hour. The doctor wrote back to him almost as soon as the message had gone out giving the green light—though suggesting a later arrival time and insisting on a limited number of people—and eagerly accepting the commander's invitation. He also gave Trip an update on D'von and Malcolm; the two were currently having a visit with T'Pol, who had come to offer her assistance to the pair.

Rereading the part about the subcommander, Trip shook his head in puzzlement. Given T'Pol's attitude in Decon, Trip was having difficulty envisioning her offering to help the tot let alone paying him a social call. Then again, she'd been the one to find and return his belongings in that hellhole they'd found him in, plus she had pitched in when the boy's foot needed to be bandaged in Decon despite the fact that his odor had been almost overpowering to her. Now she was off socializing with the little guy. He was sure that if pressed she would claim that her actions were entirely logical but still, she hadn't been obligated to do any of it. If he lived twice as long as an average Vulcan it still wouldn't be long enough for him to figure her out.

Checking the time, he sent another message to Phlox agreeing to come after D'von and Malcolm had dinner then sent a message to everyone on the list:

"Plan cleared by Phlox but attendance limited—he'll contact me when the guys are finished with supper and ready for company. All interested parties rendezvous at Captain's Mess in one hour for final preparations. Please don't forget to bring necessary supplies! If any of you can't make the meeting contact me with a progress report so I know where we stand. If anyone else wants to participate now's the time to speak up."

After a quick shower Trip hurriedly put on a fresh uniform and checked in with the Quartermaster then grabbed the padd with the list, his camera, and a small rectangular gift-wrapped box from his desk drawer before heading to the Captain's Mess. When he got there he was stunned to see T'Pol standing at the door. Damn—had Jon forgotten they were going to be using his dining room and invited the subcommander to dinner?

"Hello, Commander. I was in Sickbay earlier and Dr. Phlox informed me that you were organizing a…project…involving D'von. We discussed it in the corridor outside Sickbay," she told him, seeing concern and disappointment on his face, "so neither D'von nor Mr. Reed were made aware of your plans. The doctor described it as, quote, 'another of their charming Earth customs.' After hearing the details of this custom I was intrigued by the concept and, if there are no objections, I may wish to participate."

Hooo-leee crap. He sure hadn't seen that coming. "Yeah, sure!" he accepted eagerly. "The more the merrier—c'mon in!" Trip triggered the door then stepped back to let her precede him into the empty room.

"Perhaps you should explain this custom in more detail so that I know what would be expected of me," she suggested as she entered. "I am also curious about how a wagon figures into the ritual, and where exactly you would propose to get one."

Somehow he kept a straight face. "Sure thing—happy to explain it. I came early to wait for the Quartermaster to bring something by for me but the others won't start showin' up for a little while yet, so we've got plenty of time for a run-through. It's not complicated, but I think it would prob'ly be more accurate to call it a combination of customs. Here, have a seat," he offered, pulling out a chair from the table, "an' I'll go over it with ya." Once she was settled he sat next to her, stifling all but the vaguest hint of a smile. "First of all, about the wagon..."

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

Phlox observed his charges from a distance and smiled. He knew Mr. Reed often held the majority of his feelings in check, and it was refreshing to see the lieutenant being so demonstrative and outgoing. Not wanting to be overly intrusive the doctor turned his attention back to his reports and scan results.

The results from Reed's monitors were at the top of his priority list: the only 'abnormalities' seemed to be during the lieutenant's tai chi session—which wasn't in his expert opinion an abnormality at all given the level of concentration Mr. Reed had been devoting to the activity—and at the very end of the recording when Malcolm had returned to Sickbay. He shook his head at the memory of the lieutenant telling T'Pol that he'd experienced 'a few brief instances of disorientation'. Lt. Reed was, he had decided long ago, totally incorrigible when it came to admitting any serious difficulty or problem, and this just served to reinforce that conclusion. Phlox was convinced that if the man had gotten a limb gnawed off by a Klingon targ he would insist that it was an inconsequential injury.

He looked over his shoulder at the pair again and again he smiled as the man and child continued cuddling, seemingly oblivious to his presence. Remembering Commander Tucker's plan for the pair he began pondering what his own contribution could be but found himself momentarily at a loss. His first idea seemed a bit too insubstantial…it might be better to have something that could be held or used, something that could be physically enjoyed. But what did he have that would fit the criteria? Ah yes, he decided, that would be perfect! Now all he had to do was excuse himself long enough to make a quick trip to his quarters then the Captain's Mess. Setting aside his reports and picking up the padd Chef had left showing pictures and descriptions of half a dozen Lehrite-safe meal options, he approached the pair. "I'm terribly sorry to interrupt," he told them as he approached the bed, "but I need to go to my quarters for a bit and I thought as long as I'm heading out I'd stop by the Galley and place your dinner order. Do you have any ideas about what you'd like?" He handed the padd to Malcolm with another of his Cheshire Cat grins. "Chef was kind enough to leave a menu for D'von...you of course are not as restricted in your choices."

{All looks so goood,} the boy observed, licking his lips. {Maybe summa dis, an' dis, an' summa dat, an' dis,} he told Malcolm, pointing to the different pictures. {An' a liddle bit of dis, an' dis too. Mmm...an' dat. An' maybe summa dat. An' dat too, please. An' a teeny bit of dis one.}

Reed chuckled. "I'm not sure it would be a good idea for you to eat quite that much in one sitting—so far he wants everything," he explained to the doctor. "But he's certainly right about one thing—it all looks delicious. Why don't you pick one thing," he suggested to the boy, "I'll pick something else, and we can share with each other?"

D'von looked at him with a touch of disappointment. {Gotsa pick jus one fing from all dis yummy stuff? Dat's gunda be too hard, Maokim!}

"Well it shouldn't be that hard to pick something," he teased. "And besides, if we share with each other you will have more than one thing. But perhaps you are right about just one item being too restrictive. There are a couple soups on here, so maybe we should each pick one entree and a soup, plus a dessert. That way we'll each get to sample six things."

{Dat sounds mush besser dan jus one fing—hokay! What yew gunda have?}

"Well, I rather like the look of the spaghetti squash with tomato and basil...and I think I'll have the lentil soup with it. And...goodness, Chef made pineapple sorbet! I can't very well pass that up," he told the boy, pointing to the selections as he chose so D'von would know which ones they were. "Your turn, dear."

D'von's face scrunched in concentration. {Mmm...dis soop looks yummies,} he finally answered, tapping his finger on a picture of corn soup. {What ams dis foods?} he asked as he pointed to another picture.

"Let's have a look." Scrolling through the ingredients Malcolm grinned. "Oh, I think you'll enjoy that one. It's called 'Harvest-stuffed Acorn Squash,' and it has all sorts of wonderful things in it—brown rice, celery, cranberries, apricots, nuts...I'm sure you'll love it."

{Looks very yummies…hokay, I pick dat. Dis one ams bee-zert?} he asked, pointing to another picture.

"Yes, that's a dessert…'tunnel of fudge cheesecake'. My, Chef really did go all out, didn't he?"

{What ams fudge?}

"Well, sometimes it's a type of candy, but in this case fudge is a thick chocolate sauce."

The boy's face lit with delight as he looked excitedly at his Taj and latched onto Malcolm's sleeve. {Gotsa haves dat! Chawk-lick ams yummiest fing EVER! Please can haves chawk-lick-tummel-fudge-cheese-fing beezert? Pleeasepleeasepleeeeease?}

Laughing aloud, Malcolm nodded. "Very well. Harvest-stuffed acorn squash, corn soup, and tunnel of fudge cheesecake for you."

{YAAAAAAY!} D'von clapped exuberantly as he bounced on the bed.

Reed looked up at the grinning doctor as he handed back the padd. "He's very enthusiastic about the chocolate cheesecake. That won't be too much for him, will it? Sharing with me, I mean. Plus he's been snacking on crisps and violets—I don't want him to get a bellyache from overeating."

"I'm sure he'll be fine. As I understand it, Lehrites rarely eat to the point of feeling uncomfortably full. More than likely he'll eat part of his dinner and save the rest to nibble on over the course of the evening. If you're worried he'll overdo it I'll be sure Chef knows the two of you are sharing one another's meals so he can size the portions accordingly." Malcolm nodded his consent and Phlox continued. "Excellent. I'll let Chef know what you've selected on my way to my quarters then be back here as quickly as possible. If you have any problems before I get back be sure to call, hmm?"

"Don't worry, we will. And there's no need to rush back. I'm sure we'll be fine on our own."

"Oh, I'm sure you will, too. Your dinners should be here in an hour or so. And Commander Tucker contacted me a while ago asking to come for another visit after you've had dinner. I told him I'd contact him when you were ready for him to come—I hope that's all right?"

"Certainly. You might want to remind him to bring his camera," Malcolm suggested. "D'von really enjoyed having his picture taken."

"I'll be sure to mention it to him," Phlox promised as he headed for the door. "Have fun...and do try to stay out of trouble, hmm?"

Malcolm chuckled as the Denobulan left. "We'll do our best," he called after him. Once they were alone he stood and turned his attention back to his young charge. "As I recall, I promised to go over the ship's schematics and answer your questions. Would you like to do that now?"

{Dat sounz splen-did!}

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

"Is it normal for him to sleep this much?" Malcolm whispered to the doctor as he looked at the slumbering tot on his lap and carefully shifted position in the chair. "He just had a nap a little while ago."

"Yes, it's normal. Remember he is a growing boy, plus his body has been expending extra energy healing his injuries." Phlox smiled at the lieutenant. "And I believe I mentioned in my report that Lehrites tend to nap after meals."

"You said they rest," the lieutenant corrected jovially, "but you didn't mention anything about them falling asleep at the drop of a hat. And you also said he'd burp a lot and chew his cud, but so far I haven't seen or heard any indica—" D'von simultaneously shifted on his lap and released a muted but respectable belch, and Malcolm stifled a chuckle. "Never mind."

"I was a bit concerned about that as well," Phlox admitted quietly, "until I took into account that until recently he hasn't had anything for his digestive system to process. If it helps ease your mind, he released several impressive belches while you were away. In fact one of them occurred after he'd eaten several fistfuls of Chef's burdock chips, which thoroughly delighted Chef. As far as the re-chewing of food, his first full meal didn't really have anything that would require additional mastication, so there was no reason for him to 'chew his cud'. However, I believe the acorn squash will likely change that."

Looking at the leftovers on the table in front of Malcolm and his charge, both men chuckled. While the squadron of stewards that had appeared with the small square table, table linens, chairs, and meal had been a surprise, the larger surprise had come after Reed had finished eating one of the stuffed squash halves and pushed the empty shell aside. D'von had shot the lieutenant a quizzical look then had mentally asked Malcolm why he hadn't finished his squash. When the man explained to the youth that the shell was inedible the boy had motioned to be given the shell, took a nibble from it, and informed his Taj that there was absolutely nothing wrong with it before merrily munching away on it while lovingly accusing him of passing up the best part of the squash.

True to Phlox's prediction the tot hadn't eaten everything and had carefully placed the leftovers—remnants of squash shells included—off to one side of the table "for layder". Even part of the cheesecake had been saved, which had surprised Malcolm given the boy's enthusiasm for the dish. In anticipation of potential leftovers Chef had also sent along a small stasis chest for them to put the food in; while D'von slept Phlox set about placing the plates in the chest and slid it under one of the empty biobeds so it would be close by when needed.

"When is Commander Tucker coming by?" Malcolm asked softly.

"I told him I'd contact him when you were ready for visitors...D'von's last nap only lasted twenty minutes or so, so I thought we could just wait for him to wake up before contacting the commander, hmm?"

"That would be perfect, thank you." Looking back at the sleeping boy, Reed's heart swelled with adoration. "He really is beautiful, isn't he?"

"Mmm...that he is."

Malcolm hesitated, unsure if he wanted to ask and doubly unsure whether he wanted to know the answer. "Phlox," he reluctantly began, "do you think...I mean...if we don't find his family...what do you think would be the best course of action? I mean, should we find some other Lehrites to hand him off to, or do you think...would it be possible...should he stay with me?"

The doctor stared at him, nonplussed. "I...I'm not entirely certain," he finally stammered. "Are you saying that you want to adopt him?

"I want to do what's best for him," Malcolm countered softly. "If we can't find his family, would it be better to just find some other, random batch of Lehrites for him to live with? Or would it be better for him to stay with me? Would he be able to fully adapt to living with Humans?"

"Lehrites are a resilient, highly adaptable people...in that regard they're not unlike your own species. And though I'm not aware of any documented cases of interspecies adoptions, that doesn't mean it's out of the question. Obviously there would be challenges and obstacles to overcome for both of you—D'von would be constantly awash in the emotions of those around him, with only you to provide an outlet for him. And you would have to find a way to endure the impact of those emotions being channeled into your mind. If he were with other Lehrites he would be Joined with all of them and would be more easily able to integrate into their herd. I can't honestly say which option would be best for him because I don't know. What I do know is that he adores you, and I believe removing him from your guardianship at this time would be highly traumatic." He carefully studied the expression of relief that washed over the lieutenant's features. "You've given this quite a bit of thought, haven't you?"

Reed shook his head. "Not exactly, but while I was in my quarters the situation began to really sink in, and I started thinking about what options there would be if we don't find his family: if he stayed with me, how would my family react? How would I care for him? What would we do? Things like that. Don't misunderstand, I'd love to have him stay with me, but...I don't want to do anything that will be detrimental to him. If we can't find his relatives and it would be better for him to be with his own kind I'd have to let him go with them regardless of my feelings. But the idea of pawning him off on the first Lehrites we find just feels...wrong. He knows me, trusts me, depends on me. I'm his Taj...even though I'm not entirely sure what that entails, it means everything to him. How can I just hand him over to total strangers, even if those strangers are other Lehrites?"

"How would they react? Your family, I mean."

"It doesn't matter," he answered with a frown. "If they accept him, that's fabulous, and if they don't...it's their loss. We're a package deal." Seeing the puzzled look on the doctor's face he elaborated. "If they want me in their lives they'd have to accept him, too." He paused before allowing a smile to fracture his dour expression. "I'm certain my sister would love being an aunt...not too sure how my parents would feel about becoming grandparents so abruptly, though."

Phlox chuckled. "I'm sure they would adapt." D'von gave a slow, moaning stretch as he woke, cutting short any further discussion.

The lieutenant looked down into the boy's eyes. "Ready for a visit from Ahnklah Trip?" D'von nodded enthusiastically and Malcolm looked back to Phlox. "Looks like it's time to call the commander." As the doctor grinned broadly and walked away Malcolm looked down at his charge. "Is it my imagination," he murmured, "or does Phlox seem a little too happy?"

{Cannint be too happy, 'cuz happy ams good fing.}

"Well...I suppose that may be true...but I still have a sneaking suspicion that the doctor is up to something."

D'von puzzled it over a bit before answering with absolute certainty. {Ahnklah Fox ams frens wiv us...wunnint be uppa bad sumfing...so if he ams uppa sumfing it muss be good sumfing.}

Deciding that the tot's reasoning was sound, Malcolm relaxed. "I'm sure you're quite right. Besides, I'm probably just imagining it—after all, what could he possibly be up to?"

{Nufin',} the boy pronounced merrily before growing thoughtful. {Gunda do more pitchers?}

"I'm sure Commander Tucker will take lots of pictures."

{Den should makes more priddy for Ahnklah Tip, right?} D'von suggested, combing his fingers through the hair on his forehead and straightening the camisole.

"Well, you're very pretty already, but a little touchup is probably a good idea," Malcolm said. Though he didn't mention it, he noticed that he was the only one who didn't get referred to as 'ahnklah'. "You said before that Phlox used a hairbrush on you. Do you remember where it is?"

{Mmmm...} the boy thought a moment. {Oh, ams over dare.} He pointed to the far counter. While Malcolm fetched the brush D'von studied his hooves and gave a tiny frown. {Hafsa do sumfing wiv dem, too. Ams messy.} Malcolm watched in amused fascination as D'von took the pouch from around his neck, opened the flap, and began carefully searching the contents. {Ams here sumware,} he mentally murmured. Plucking out the sprig of mint he'd saved from breakfast he studied it before popping it into his mouth. {Wanda haves sparkly breff for visits, too.} Chewing fervently he resumed the hunt, with success coming a moment later. {Dare yew ams!} Pulling a wooden box from the pouch and setting it on the bed, he closed the pouch and draped the strap over his head.

"What is that?" Malcolm asked as he drew closer and set the hairbrush on the bed. The box was only slightly larger than the small, ancient recipe box Grandmother Reed had kept her most prized recipe cards in. While hers had been battered metal with faded, nondescript paint the shade of which he couldn't even recall, D'von's looked to be handcrafted wood polished to a lustrous sheen with intricate inlaid geometric patterns. He watched in rapt fascination as the lad pressed one of the inlays on the box. With a barely audible click the container unlatched in the center and slowly blossomed open.

Perching his left hoof on the edge of the bed D'von selected a tool from the box and began vigorously scrubbing at his hoof. {Ams for makin' hoofs priddy. Gunda be all shiny-priddy an' freshen-up for more pitchers.} He stopped buffing to survey his progress, all business as he appraised the hoof. {Not shiny-priddy yet...but dunnint fink needs trims.}

"Would you like some help with that?"

{Yew know howta do hoofs?} He was thoroughly amazed. {Dinnint fink yew would, 'cuz yew haves toe-finners.}

"Well, I admit I've never shined hooves before, but I've polished more than a few boots in my life." Looking at the tool in the boy's hand he recognized it as a shorter, wider version of a fingernail buffer. "And I suspect it's not too much different from Humans buffing their nails. I'm willing to try, if you want me to. If I do it wrong or cause you any discomfort I'll stop and you can take over, okay?"

{Hokay. Hewps would be awflee nice.} Handing off the buffer he let Malcolm maneuver his leg.

At first the man stood in front of him and planted the hoof on his thigh but, deciding that the position would be inadequate, he settled on resting the leg on his left forearm, gripping just above the hoof with his left hand and giving a few experimental passes with the buffer. Satisfied that he hadn't caused any discomfort he went at the task with slightly more gusto until the side he was working on shone. Switching hands, Malcolm began working on the other side of the hoof. "How's that?" he asked when he'd finished, rather pleased with the final result.

{Ams wunnerfuls!} D'von gushed as he studied the shiny black hoof. {Yew ams veryvery good hoof-polisher...muss haves shinyest-priddyest boots on da whole ship!} He put his right leg up and looked expectantly at his Taj. {Ready for udder one?} Malcolm hesitated, worried about hurting the still-healing foot. D'von smiled knowingly. {Ams hokay, Maokim,} he assured the adult. {Eel makes mush bessers...dunnint hurts endymore, 'cept Ahnklah Fox says prob'ly hurts if I bump it. Doin' shiny-priddy wunnint hurts, I finks.}

"You're sure?"

{Yahuh. Yew ams my Taj—yew wunnint hurts me. An' if makin' hoof shiny-priddy does hurts, I be brave, I promise.}

Steeling himself, Malcolm made a few delicate passes. Sensing no discomfort from D'von he worked at the task less timidly until the hoof gleamed.

D'von grinned at him. {Toadya wunnint hurts.}

"Yes, you did," Reed smiled, handing back the buffer and watching as D'von tucked it back in the box, gently closed the case and returned it to his pouch. "Well, now that your hooves are done, let's see about the rest of you." Retrieving the hairbrush he studied his charge. "Would you like me to brush your hair?" He felt a moment's indecision from the boy as D'von vacillated between wanting to be pampered further and not wanting to seem an infant.

{Fank yew, Maokim…but can do hair own selfs,} he declined politely. {Ams big boi naow, not baybee. Awmos' all growed up.}

"Ah," Reed nodded, smiling as he handed over the brush, "I see. If I may ask, how old are you?"

{Ams awmos' four. Birfday ams 'lebent of Jahdik, an' dat's gunda be soon,} he stated matter-of-factly as he ran the brush through his hair.

"Almost four? My, you are a big boy, aren't you?" Reed's smile broadened as the boy finished brushing his hair and shifted to his beard, lifting his chin and running the brush expertly through his facial hair.

{Yahuh. Do hewps wiv da ship when am-int in skool…make beds, clean floors, wash lawn-dree, get food ready, take care of da baybees, do errands, do engine stuff…lotsa hewps.} Finished, he handed the brush back to Malcolm.

"Engine stuff? What sort of engine stuff?" He asked as he settled onto the bed next to the tot, certain that he'd misunderstood.

{Hewp do fixes. Gotsa keep da engines happy, yew know. If engines am-int happy, nobuddy ams happy.}

"When you say 'do fixes', surely you don't mean you can actually repair a ship's engine?"

D'von fixed a mirthful gaze on his Taj. {Whynot? Hafsa learn dat stuff sumtime, right?} He paused a moment before breaking into a huge fit of giggles. {Cannint fix hole engine, sill-eee…mosly jus' get tools for growed-ups, bring foods sumtimes, go get stuff, sing…fings like dat. Can fix couple teeny-tiny itty-bitty fings, but not hole engine. I am-int DAT growed-up yet, Maokim!}

There it was again: even Chef had been 'Ahnklah' but he was just plain 'Maokim'. "Sing? You sing to the engineers while they're working on the engines?"

{Sumtimes…sumtimes jus' sing to engines…or play moo-zik. Dey like dat.} He studied Reed intently. {Sumfing ams…wrong?}

"No…nothing's wrong. Why do you ask?"

{Jus' feels like sumfing ams wrong. Hear won'drins from yew. Dinnint lissen on purpose—was kinda loud for liddle bits.}

"Oh…well…since you mentioned it…it's not that there's anything wrong, mind you, but I am a little curious about something. You call everyone else 'Ahnklah' except me. Why is that?"

D'von blinked in surprise. {Well…yew ams Taj. Dinnint finks yew was Ahnklah, too. Yew wanda be Ahnklah?} he asked with a barely-stifled giggle.

"Why don't you just call me whatever you like, okay?"

{But yew wanda be Ahnklah, dontcha?}

"Well…yes," Malcolm confessed, "I suppose I do."

{Hokay,} the tot chirped happily, then cocked his head and smiled. {Ahnklah Tip ams here,} he informed Malcolm an instant before the doors opened. {Ams veryvery happy 'bout sumfing.}

Even without his connection with D'von Malcolm would have known that Trip was in exceedingly good spirits; the engineer was positively aglow as he strode into Sickbay.

"Hey there, you two," Tucker beamed. "Didja have a good supper?"

"It was a wonderful meal, wasn't it?" Malcolm gave D'von a squeeze.

{Yahuh,} the boy nodded happily. {Ahnklah Jeff sended lots uv yummy foods. Yew haves good supper too?}

"He wants to know if you had a good supper, too," Malcolm conveyed, sparing a glance as Phlox returned from his office. The Denobulan, too, had a broad grin on his face that all but screamed 'I-know-something-that-you-don't-know'.

Trip nodded. "Yeah…kinda. I had some stuff to take care of so I just grabbed a sandwich, but I'll get something more later."

{Mmm…sammiches ams yummy.} D'von rubbed his stomach for emphasis. {Likes marm-laid bestest.} Head suddenly quirking to one side as though he'd heard an unexpected sound, his face took on a quizzical expression. {Whycome udder peeples dinnint come in wiv Ahnklah Tip?}

"What other people?" Reed asked before looking back at the engineer. "He asked me why the other people didn't come in with you…any idea what he's talking about?"

{Ams udder people outside,} D'von insisted. {Can hear lotsa loud happies out dere…}

Malcolm could feel it now, lapping at the very edge of his mind. "Commandah?" he insisted with good humor, fending off a rush of giddiness.

Trip grinned festively. "Can't pull anything over on you guys, can we?" he chuckled as he went to the door and opened it. "Okay…they're on to us…c'mon in." He stepped aside as Hoshi, Liz, and Travis entered; Hoshi was carefully carrying a bouquet of colorful roses in a vase and Liz was toting a small suitcase. Bringing up the rear, Captain Archer entered pushing a large utility cart filled with gift bags and colorfully-wrapped boxes. Once Jon had parked the cart Hoshi settled the vase in amongst the presents and Liz put the suitcase on the floor next to the cart.

The perplexed little boy studied the gifts then the people bearing them. {Dunnint unnerstans what dey ams doin', Ahnklah Maokim.}

I'm not entirely certain what they're up to, either, Reed confessed to the tot before politely addressing the others. "I'm afraid we're both rather at a loss…could someone please tell us what this is all about?"

"Well," Trip stepped forward, "I guess I started the whole thing. I got talkin' to Hess this morning about how maybe it'd be nice to do somethin' special for D'von, kind of a 'welcome aboard' party or somethin'. But she thought havin' a big bash might be a little overwhelming for him since he hasn't really gotten a chance to meet too many of us yet so she suggested a get-well gift basket kind of thing. So I figured maybe we could combine the two an' give him a small 'welcome aboard, get well soon' party. An' let me tell you somethin'…if you ever need the entire crew to know something in record time just mention it to Hess, 'cuz by lunchtime dang near ev'rybody on board was…well…on board.

"Phlox agreed that we should keep attendance to a minimum so we kept it down to folks he'd met already, plus Travis 'cuz it turns out he's had dealings with Lehrites before, on his daddy's ship. But just about ev'rybody either sent cards or presents. There's even a little somethin' from the subcomander, but she decided not to come since she'd just been here a little while ago."

Malcolm was stunned. "I…I don't know what to say." He looked at D'von. "They've brought gifts for you from the rest of the crew."

The mystified tot's head canted sideways. {But…dinnint do endyfing for dem. Whycome dey sended prezents?}

"Well," Reed tried to explain, "it's their way of welcoming you to the ship and letting you know that they care about you and want you to get better soon." He turned his attention to Ensign Mayweather. "Travis, how much do you know about his people?"

"Not a lot," the ensign confessed. "But I was able to give Phlox some information for his report. I was maybe seven or eight when we met up with one of their big ships—they called it a pleasure cruiser—and I don't think we'd ever encountered such a friendly species. They were extremely eager to learn about us and meet all our needs. They're really talkative and sociable, but the women were kinda…well, flirty. So were the men, come to think of it," he recalled with a lopsided grin before turning his attention to D'von. Pressing his palms together, fingers pointing toward the Lehrite, he held his hands in front of his heart and gave a slight bow, opening his hands toward the boy as if offering something to him before straightening up. "Hope I did that right," he murmured. It's supposed to symbolize opening your hearts to each other…I think.

D'von gleefully returned the gesture. {Did perfeck,} he assured the ensign with a nod. But surveying the people and gifts again, he grew somber and Malcolm could feel sorrowful desperation rapidly building in the lad. {But…so many fings…all da peeples doin' so mush for me…dunnint know how gunda pay for ev'ryfing, Maokim. Dunnint haves nuff monies for all dis.}

"But they're gifts, luv," he tried to convince the agitated lad. "You don't have to pay for them." With a sigh he looked at the others. "He thinks he has to pay for the presents."

Stunned, Trip exchanged dismayed looks with the others then approached the bed. "Gosh no, little fella…Malcolm's right—you don't hafta pay for 'em. We just wanted to do somethin' nice for ya, to make ya feel better." This was not the reaction any of them had been trying for.

Malcolm flinched at the boy's growing unease and confusion and the mounting concern of the others edging its way into his mind. "He still doesn't quite understand."

"I may be able to help," Phlox intervened, placing a comforting hand on D'von's shoulder. "I've dealt with a number of different species, my boy, and I know how perplexing it can be to understand their ways. It can be challenging sometimes, but with a little thought I'm sure we can work it out. Now your people, for example…Lehrites entertain other people mostly to make those people happy, isn't that right?"

D'von nodded. {Yahuh. Ams good ta make happies for peeple.}

"He says it's good to make people happy," Malcolm relayed.

The doctor forged ahead. "And even though Lehrites do get paid for rendering their services, their main reason for making others happy is because it makes them happy, correct?" The boy nodded again, prompting Phlox to grin broadly. "Well, not unlike your own people, sometimes Humans do things to make others happy simply because making others happy makes them happy. Now, I'm sure you'd very much like to make them happy, too, correct?" Once more D'von nodded, and the Denobulan continued. "Giving them happiness could be seen as a way of paying them back, and if you accept their gifts it would make them very happy. I would suggest that you accept, use, and enjoy the gifts. Perhaps you'll even find a way to use what your new friends have given you to make them even happier, hmm?"

Brow furrowing, the tot considered the physician's explanation. {Sooo,} he sought Malcolm's input, the clouds of doubt slowly dispersing, {dey give gifs to make happies for me, an' ams hokay to keep wivout payin' 'cuz dat's wat makes happies for dem, an' makin' happies ams da same as payin' for da gifs? An' can maybe use gifs to make more happies?} Countenance brightening hopefully, he met the gaze of his Taj.

That's right, Reed silently assured D'von. That's why they were so happy when they were waiting in the corridor—they were eager to make you happy. They don't want money or payment from you, dear, they just want to welcome you and to let you know they care about you. He looked appreciatively at the doctor, grateful to feel the tension fleeing the room. "He's got it now, Phlox…thank you."

"You're welcome," the doctor beamed. "Happy to help. Now, I don't know about our young friend here, but I'm very curious to learn a little more about these customs of yours, Commander Tucker. Your message to me mentioned 'rolling out the welcome wagon'?"

"Yeah, that's what we called it back home," Trip acknowledged with a chuckle. "When somebody new would move in nearby, the neighbors would get stuff together and take to the new folks to welcome them to the neighborhood. An' of course, if somebody took ill or got hurt, folks would put together gift baskets to take to them or they'd help out with chores, errands, and stuff like that, 'til they were back on their feet again. So after talkin' it over with Hess, it seemed like a good idea to combine the two for the little guy. None of us ever imagined it would upset him."

{An' dis stuff ams all for me?} D'von asked with an appraising eye on the gift-laden cart.

Malcolm chuckled. "Yes, that stuff is all for you. Trust me," he told the others, "he's not upset anymore."

"Well, sir," Hoshi gently corrected, "as far as all of the presents being for D'von, that's not entirely accurate." She took a moment to enjoy the confused expression on Reed's face before continuing. "There are a couple things for you, too. It didn't seem right to leave you out." She retrieved a padd from the cart and handed it to the lieutenant with a grin. "For example, this is a list of volunteers for babysitting duties, along with their qualifications."

Reading over the list left him numbed with shock. "Oh...my...goodness. This must be almost a third of the crew!" He looked up at them, stunned and touched beyond words.

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Trip beamed. "Don't be surprised if names get added to the list along the way, though."

"Oh my," Malcolm repeated, reading through the list again. "I...I don't know what to say. This is...marvelous." Seeing that everyone present had their names on the list—Captain Archer included—he looked at them all again. "Thank you all so much." Feeling a twinge of annoyance from D'von, he faced the boy. "Is something wrong?"

D'von folded his arms across his chest, looking genuinely peeved. {Am-int baybee. Toad yew, ams big boy, awmos' all growed up. Dunnint needs baybee-sitters if am-int baybee.}

"Ahh...I see. I suppose you're right—if you're not a baby you don't need babysitters. But," he explained with a twinkle in his eye, "even if you are a big boy and almost all grown up, you're also still a child plus you're in a new place, so there may well be times when some form of child care services will be needed, don't you think?" Seeing that his argument wasn't convincing the boy he continued, holding the padd out for D'von to look at. "Besides, here are all these people eager to spend time with you. It wouldn't do to just dismiss their offer now, would it?"

Taking the padd, D'von studied the readout thoughtfully before breaking into a slow grin. {Mmmm...dey play games wiv me too, right?} Malcolm nodded with a chuckle. {Hokay. Yew ams right—dunnint wanda be roood, an' if gives happies den hokay.}

"Yes, I'm certain it would make them very happy to play games with you and keep you company from time to time," he confirmed, eyes sparkling like sapphires, "and their having offered makes me happy, too. Do you know what else would make me happy?"

{Nuh-uh,} D'von grinned back at him.

Reed leaned forward ever so slightly and whispered, "If you'd open some of your presents now."

The tot eyed the cart again and rubbed his hands together eagerly. {Where starts doin' happies?} he asked with a humorous glimmer in his eyes.

While Jon and Trip gathered chairs for the adults, arranging them in a semicircle around the side of the bed, Malcolm perched next to D'von on the edge of the bed and Travis moved the cart closer to the boy.

"Oh," Malcolm realized, "I should mark down who sent what. We'll need to send thank-you notes."

Trip nodded toward the padd still in the lieutenant's hand. "Already taken care of. They're all on there, in a separate file. No peeking," he warned with a smirk as he sat down.

Malcolm's fingers froze over the screen—he'd just been ready to open the file—and after a second he nodded agreement. Wouldn't do to spoil the surprise. He looked down at his charge. "Which one do you want to start with?" He felt the boy's eager attention on the roses but after considering a bit D'von's attention shifted to the suitcase.

{Ams hokay ta do big one first?}

"That would be fine," the lieutenant replied before turning his attention to Cutler. "He'd like to start with the suitcase, if that's all right."

"Of course." Liz Cutler got up and placed the suitcase on the foot of the bed and released the catches before stepping back. When D'von gave her a questioning look she nodded eagerly, smiling as he slowly raised the lid and stared awestruck at the contents. "A few of us got together and rounded up some clothes for you," she explained. "We had to kind of guess at your size, so if anything doesn't fit just let me know and I'll see about alterations, okay?"

D'von slowly nodded as he lovingly pulled a small woman's skirt from the suitcase, holding the black silky garment aloft a moment to study it then draping it over his lap. {Ams wunnderful!} he beamed at her as he gently smoothed the fabric over his lap.

Malcolm looked over the tot's shoulder at the rest of the clothing then at Cutler. "He loves the, um, kilt. I'll have him try things on later to check the size...thank you so much. We'll need to know who else contributed so we can thank them properly."

Liz nodded toward the padd Hoshi had given him. "They're all right there. We got an approximate idea of his size from Phlox, got together a few things that were close to the right size, and had an impromptu sewing bee down at the Quartermaster's. I never knew how talented Crewman Zabel was with a sewing machine—he could be a professional tailor. There were a few pictures of Lehrites in the Database and after Zabel saw them he put together a couple outfits that look quite similar to what they wear." She chuckled as she watched the boy burrowing through the rest of the clothes.

{Ams lotsa good stuff ta wear in here but nufin' dat will fit yew, Maokim—oopssorry, mean Ahnklah Maokim,} he corrected himself with a giggle. {Did dey forget clothes for yew?}

"No, they didn't forget," he answered. "They know I've already got clothes to wear." He watched approvingly as the tot carefully tucked the garments back in the case and closed the latches; Malcolm placed it on the floor for him. "Which would you like next?" he asked, motioning to the gifts and suspecting which his charge would prefer. "The flowers, perhaps?" At the boy's nod he got the vase and carefully held it in front of his charge as D'von first sniffed the blooms then cautiously tugged a red one out of the bouquet.

They watched as D'von studied the rose and then very meticulously plucked seven petals from it. {Here go,} he urged as he held the petals out for Malcolm to take, {one for each.} Once he's set the vase back Malcolm dutifully handed out the petals, keeping one for himself, then watched as the lad plucked an eighth petal and began chewing it. {Mmm...ams yummy snack. An' lotsa bite-amins. Endybuddy wants more? Ams hokay ta do secunz if yew wanda.}

Reed didn't even try to stifle his amusement—what else would an herbivore do with a bouquet?—as he turned to the others. "Eat up, everyone. He says it's a yummy snack and we should feel free to have seconds. Lots of vitamins, you know." Without a second thought he popped his own petal into his mouth and chewed merrily away. (Who knew that developing a taste for Great-Grandmother Reed's rose petal jam would ever come in handy?) Phlox obliged at once; after a slight hesitation Archer followed suit then the others gamely joined in. Though it looked for a moment as if Trip might balk he finally gave a 'what the heck, why not' shrug and downed the botanical snack. Phlox, D'von, and Malcolm were the only ones to take seconds, though.

The adults chuckled and chatted back and forth and Trip took numerous pictures as D'von enthusiastically made his way through the presents: the Astrometrics Department had put together a padd filled with solar system maps, information about Earth, and star charts, Hydroponics had sent not only the roses but had downloaded several books about Earth's plants onto a padd, and Hoshi had put together a similar padd filled with information about animals. From Captain Archer there was a raised-relief globe of Earth; Trip, with a good deal of help from the Quartermaster, had brought paper, crayons, colored pencils, and a small collection of paints for the boy. The gift from T'Pol had earned special attention from D'Von, who had handled the box of herbal teas and small containers of honey—one sage, one buckwheat—with extreme reverence.

Several departments had pooled their resources to put together a gift basket of fruit, nuts, and a variety of other snacks plus a few games and toys. A padd (addressed to Malcolm) contained a compilation of children's stories plus a collection of soothing classical music; the message on the card indicated that several crewmembers had collaborated with Hoshi on the project to give him something to help with D'von's bedtime.

Lieutenant Hess had gotten together with a couple other crewmembers from Engineering to gather a collection of toiletries for their guest: soaps and shampoo, toothbrush and paste, and several towels and washcloths. In addition to organizing the clothing project Liz brought a collection of nature sounds—everything from ocean sounds and whale songs to crickets and rainstorms. Several other crewmembers had sent along recordings of various musical styles; Travis contributed not only classical guitar but also recordings from different cultures he'd encountered while on the Horizon, Phlox had put in recordings of Denobulan folk songs (which Hoshi was already eager to borrow), and Crewman Steve Zabel a substantial collection of medieval instrumental music and...something else.

Malcolm read the description again. The complete collection of recordings and videos of...who? The picture of the band almost made his jaw drop. "What in the world is 'Fierce Blue Ascot'? And what in God's name is wrong with this man's hair? It is a man, isn't it?"

Trip laughed. "I had to look 'em up, too. Some kinda music from back in the 1980s called 'electronica', I think. Or was it 'technopop'? Anyhow, it's kinda catchy. And yeah, it's a guy—Ian Westbury. Does kinda look like he grabbed a live power circuit, huh? Who knew Zabel had such eclectic taste in music?"

"Indeed," Malcolm agreed, still reading the discography. It might do to have a little chat with Steven. "'Fierce Blue Ascot Live from Royal Albert Hall'?" he squeaked, incredulous. "They made that up, right? Please tell me they made that up."

{I likes his hair—ams big an' poofy,} D'von observed, gently tugging the padd from Malcolm's hands and studying the picture. {Yep. Nice, big, poofy hair. An' long. Makes lotsa happies for da laydees, betcha.}

Reed did a doubletake. "Aren't you a bit young to be thinking about that?" He turned to the others, realizing they were waiting for an explanation. "He, um...he seems to think that this fellow's hair would be...attractive to women."

Hoshi chuckled. "We were actually discussing that earlier—Zabel played one of the vids for us while we were wrapping presents. Most of us decided he was kinda cute, but we were divided on whether the hair was a plus or minus. Someone thought he looked a little like you." Travis breathed a silent prayer of thanks that Hoshi neglected to mention who had made that comment.

"Whoever thought that needs to schedule an eye exam with the doctor," Malcolm huffed. "We look nothing alike."

{Mmmm...yew maybe looks liddle iddy-biddy bits like him. Eyes looks kinda same.} He looked at his Taj. {Yew ever haves long, poofy hair?}

"I should say not," Malcolm insisted, humor in his voice. "No long, poofy hair for me, thank you very much." He found himself chuckling along with the others.

{Too bad...yew would look priddy wiv poofy hair. An' horns.} He smiled at Malcolm. {But ams veryvery priddy already, so guess yew dunnint needs poofy hair an' horns ta make happies for da laydees, huh? Horns an' hair might be more dan da laydees can han-ell, prob'ly. Dey might faint from da priddies.} Shifting his attention from Malcolm he looked back toward the cart, which held two more unopened gifts. {Dere ams liddle skinny box—dinnint see dat one afore. Can do dat one nex?}

"Absolutely you may do that one next," Reed eagerly agreed, entertained by the boy's observations but grateful for the change in subject. He picked up the small rectangular box, hefting it in the palm of his hand to try to guess the contents before reading the tag and handing it to the boy. "That one is from Trip, too."

The engineer looked on expectantly as D'von studied the box. "If you need help learnin' how ta use it, just lemme know an' I'll teach ya." He gave Malcolm a quizzical look. "Whaddid he say?" he asked innocently. "You looked kinda flushed there for a second."

Reed considered withholding the truth for only a fraction of a second before deciding he didn't want to try to explain 'little white lies' to the lad. "He thought that this Westbury chap bore a slight resemblance to me then wanted to know if I'd ever had hair like that. Seemed to think I'd be attractive to the ladies with long hair, and with horns, but he's decided I look fine just as I am."

"Uh-huh," Trip drawled, unconvinced. He gave it a moment before asking with a smirk, "What else did he say?"

Straightening slightly, Malcolm threw his usual self-consciousness to the wind. Smirking smugly right back at the engineer he answered, head held high. "He said since I'm already so attractive, if I had horns and long hair I would likely make women swoon." The mirth and camaraderie he felt from the others filled him with pleasure. It was easy to see why Lehrites valued making others happy—god, it felt marvelous! Turning his attention back to the box in D'von's hands, he gasped when the boy revealed what was inside. "Trip...your harmonica?" Though the instrument wasn't on his list of favorites he knew how much it meant to the commander.

"Actually, it's my spare," Trip replied, pulling his own from his breast pocket. "Never leave home without it." He smiled as he watched D'von study the instrument, then blew softly into his own.

The boy stared mesmerized as the man played a few scales and chords before looking reverently at the instrument in his own hands. Malcolm held the box as D'von slowly raised the harmonica to his lips and tentatively blew into it. He gave a start at the sound that he'd produced then looked questioningly at Trip.

"That's pretty much how it sounded first time I blew into one," Trip assured him. "We'll get together sometime an' I'll give ya a few lessons, okay?"

D'von smiled and nodded enthusiastically before tooting on the instrument a few more times, then returned his gift to its box and began sniffing the air. {Round meddle box ams lass one...smells very good.}

Reading the tag before handing off the gift tin Malcolm grinned. "It's from Chef—that's probably why it smells good. He wrote a note on the tag saying that refills are available upon request."

{Hmm...} D'von puzzled as he sniffed at the edge of the tin. {Dunnint smell chips like Ahnklah Jeff sended afore...smell...} He paused as he carefully pried the lid off. {KOOOKIES!} Tossing the lid onto the bed he stuck his face into the tin and sniffed deeply, drinking in the scent. Raising his head he smiled at the adults around him. {Hoomins likes koookies too?}

"Yes, Humans like cookies too," his Taj replied as he looked in the tin. "They look like oatmeal raisin."

{Den can use dis gif to make more happies right away, like da roses!} the tot announced happily as he held out the tin for Malcolm to hand around.

"Aren't you going to have one?" Malcolm asked.

{Frenz firs, den self.}

"Ahh...very good." He handed off the tin to Travis. "He says friends go first." Once the tin had made its way around Malcolm took a cookie then returned the container to D'von. The boy took one, carefully placed the tin on the bed then rapidly licked the back of the cookie several times before beginning to nibble daintily at the treat. "Well my good man," Reed told him as he settled back on the bed next to him, "it looks like that's the end of the presents."

"Mmm," Phlox interrupted, "not quite. When Commander Tucker first contacted me about this gathering I wanted to contribute something but my first idea seemed a bit...intangible, so I went for the folk recordings. However, I'd still like to offer my original gift. Lieutenant," he addressed Malcolm with a satisfied grin, "I am officially discharging you from Sickbay. Tonight you get to sleep in your own bed."

The smile that spread across Reed's face quickly faded. "I very much appreciate that, Doctor, but I think it would be best if I stayed with D'von."

"Of course the two of you should stay together," Phlox replied, his grin growing to epic proportions. "That is why I'm discharging D'von, too. You are both free to leave, though D'von will need to come in first thing in the morning for another follow-up and to have his earring put back in its rightful place. I'm recommending that you wait another day or two before resuming all of your duties so that you'll be able to spend the necessary time helping D'von acclimate. Plus, I expect you to contact me if there are any problems, no matter how trivial they may seem. Agreed?"

"I...I...of course," Reed stammered, stunned and pleased by the offer. "Absolutely. We'll be back bright and early, light duty, call with any problems."

D'von had been following the conversation with great interest. {Gunda go to kwar-ders wiv yew, Ahnklah Maokim?} he chirped happily as he slipped onto Reed's lap.

"Yes." The lieutenant wrapped his arms around his charge. "Dr. Phlox says we can leave Sickbay and spend the night in my quarters, and tomorrow morning he'll tend to your ear so you can wear your earring again. Isn't that a grand present?"

{Yahuh,} the lad agreed heartily, {ams wunnerful...but not bestest prezent.}

"Really?" That surprised Malcolm. Nothing could be better than being discharged from Sickbay—not even cookies or a harmonica. "Well, if getting out of Sickbay isn't the best present, which one is?"

{Yew finded me an' bringded me here, an' Joinded wiv me an' ams Taj. Ams part uv yore herd now. All dat ams bestest prezent.} Mentally bathed in adoration and gratitude, Malcolm couldn't quite breathe past the lump in his throat.

"Malcolm?" Archer broke the long silence. "Everything okay?" Malcolm nodded and took a deep breath. "Are you sure?" the captain pressed.

"Yes…yes sir. It's just…I wasn't expecting the answer I got."

When Reed again fell silent the rest of the adults exchanged curious glances. Trip, looking about to burst, addressed his friend. "Sooo…if the best present wasn't the cookies or Fierce Blue Ascot, what was it?"

Snapping out of it, Malcolm smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. He, um…he said that the best present was our rescuing him, my Joining with him and becoming his Taj, and his becoming part of our herd." As the warmth from the others flowed through his mind a tiny endearing, nasal voice broke the stillness.

"Fank yew Ahnklah Maokim." The surprised adults looked at him as D'von tipped his head to look up at Reed. "I luv yew." The tot then turned his attention to the others, smiling and giving each a polite nod as he faintly addressed them. "Ahnklah Tip…Ahnklah Fox…Ahnklah Oh-shee…Ahnklah Cutter…Ahnklah Tavis…Ahnklah Capann-ahcha…fank yew." He swallowed with some discomfort.

"D'von?" Malcolm asked worriedly. "You haven't hurt your throat, have you?"

"Only hurts…liddle bits. Gunda be…hokay. Ahnklah Fox sed." He fairly beamed at them all. "Where ams Ahnklah Paul? Hafsa…fank her, too. She giveded yummy tea…an' honeys."

Captain Archer returned the boy's smile. "She's working right now, but I'll be seeing her in a little while so I'll tell her for you."

As Phlox approached and scanned his throat D'von nodded his approval. "Dat would be…awflee nice." He beamed at the Denobulan. "Ams hokay to talk…liddle bits, right? "

Phlox smiled. "A little bit, yes, but if it becomes too uncomfortable then it would be best to stay quiet for a while, hmm?"

"Hokay." He looked at Malcolm then back at the doctor. "Can ax question, please, Ahnklah Fox? Wen Ahnklah Maokim an' I…gunda go to kwarders?"

"Whenever you're ready." The Denobulan replied cheerfully.

"Fink ams ready naow, hokay?" D'von turned back to his Taj, snuggling on Reed's lap. "Yew ams ready for kwarders, right?"

Beaming at the boy, Malcolm nodded. "Indeed I am."