Clean-Up on Deck Eight!
Posted on June 25th, 2007 by T'Kirr and Ian Blackthorne

Ian Blackthorne and T’Kirr

His arm around T’Kirr’s shoulders, Ian kept her upright as she staggered through Atlantis’s corridors. Apparently, Andorian Jazz tea had an inebriating effect on Vulcans, which was something he intended to discuss with Jack later. Right now, he had to contemplate the oddity of this situation while getting his science officer home before she threw up all over the place.

“Come on, T’Kirr, just a little farther,” he said, rounding a corner approaching the senior officers’ quarters.

T’Kirr’s brow was furrowed, her eyes narrowed against the dimmer, although clearly still overwhelming for some, gamma-shift lighting of the corridor as she peered ahead of them. “This isn’t the way to Sickbay.”

She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her , he figured, guessing that she’d never been drunk before. “You don’t need to go to Sickbay. You’re just drunk; it’ll wear off in the morning.”

He decided not to tell her about hangovers yet.

“But… I think I’m going to be sick.”

“You probably will be, and there’s nothing Sickbay can do about that. If you throw up, it’s because you need to.”

“Oh.” T’Kirr was holding her stomach with one hand. “I don’t know if I remember how to throw up.” She turned her unfocused gaze to Ian’s face. “It’s been a long time, you know.”

Ian couldn’t help chuckling. “You won’t have to remember how if that time comes. Just try to keep it down until we get to your quarters.”

T’Kirr nodded lethargically as their destination came into view. Ian steadied her in front of the door as it whooshed open obediently at her presence. “Now, are you going to be alright?”

“Um…” she trailed off, staring through the open door, visibly paler than seconds before.

“You don’t look alright. C’mon,” he said as he tried to lead her toward the bathroom. T’Kirr complied, seeming to have little will of her own in this state. That was, however, until she spotted the toilet. Moving ahead of Ian desperately toward it, she quickly crouched down, but being off balance, slipped to the side and missed her mark.

Ian waxed philosophical for a moment about the improbability of this event. He just watched his drunk Vulcan science officer miss throwing up into her toilet. She looked so pitiful, shoulders wilted, having realized her mistake. “A little to the left!” He grabbed T’Kirr by the shoulders and aimed. Unfortunately, she seemed to be suddenly out of ammo. “Stay there, you aren’t done yet.” He had watched entirely too many drunks throw up to be fooled after only one wave.

“I remembered how to throw up,” she said sullenly.

“See, told you that you’d remember. You’ll be alright. After you throw up, you should feel a little better.” Until you throw up again, he didn’t add. “Just rest there for a few minutes. This is what humans mean when we say that we’re worshiping the porcelain god.” Ian rubbed her shoulders a bit to try to take her mind off the impending nausea.

T’Kirr sniffed and swallowed a couple of times, fighting with her stomach. “You seem to have a fair amount of experience in assisting the drunk.”

“Oh, aye, I’ve played both parts in this show a few times,” he said, a tiny bit of his father’s accent slipping into his speech.

She clutched at the rim of the bowl. “Why did the tea make me sick?” Her tone turned almost incredulous, as if she couldn’t quite believe it had happened to her. “Drunk?”

He really had to talk to Jack. Bartenders should know better. “I don’t know, but I don’t think Jack will be serv-”

At that moment, T’Kirr’s stomach continued where it had left off, and this time, she was properly aimed. She stared miserably into the bowl.

“At least you didn’t miss that time.” He stood, took one of her washcloths, and wet it in the shallow sink. Kneeling on the clean side of the toilet, he lifted her chin from the bowl and cleaned off her nose and mouth. “Come on, you’re probably done if you don’t feel like immediately doing that again. Let’s get you some water.”

T’Kirr rose unsteadily, bracing herself against him as he led her out of the bathroom and across the main living area. “I can’t,” she began. When she didn’t continue, Ian glanced over to find she was staring intently at him. She quickly looked away and tried again, “I don’t know how I…” The end of her thought was marked by a deep breath.

He led her over to the couch as she tried to talk and sat her down. “Don’t worry about it.” Walking over to the replicator, Ian brought her a glass of cold water. T’Kirr accepted it, eager to wash out her mouth. She took a gulp of water and paused, a statue holding the glass in the air. When the glass clinked noisily against the end table and she was suddenly leaning over the edge of the couch, Ian knew what was coming.

“Well,” he remarked, looking at the soiled carpet. “At least you have to be done throwing up. There can’t be anything left in your stomach.” As if to prove his point, she dry-heaved, producing said nothing. He went into the bathroom and wet two more washcloths, this time with very hot water, then returned and cleaned her face again with one of them. “Try to get that water down.” T’Kirr nodded and picked up the glass again, sipping carefully this time.

Ian smiled, “That’s better.” He took the other washcloth and pressed it against her forehead, motioning for her to hold it in place. “You sit there, I’ll clean this mess up.”

T’Kirr moaned in protest, holding the cloth to her head, but made no move to get up. “No, you shouldn’t have to. I’ll deal with it.”

“Look at it logically,” he appealed, knowing it would probably work. After all, she wasn’t in a condition to debate him much. “You’re in no condition and it will reek in the morning. It has to be done now.”

Quietly, to herself, she mumbled, “You still shouldn’t have to.”

“T’Kirr, you and I have quite literally been through hell together. What’s a little vomit?”

Her eyes drifted closed briefly as she considered him. “My mental state is compromised. I’m allowed a skewed perspective.”

“Exactly my point.” Noticing that she had let the hot towel slip, Ian pressed it against her forehead once more, and got her another glass of water. “Sit tight, and have all that water down by the time I’m done. Trust me, you’ll thank me for that tomorrow.”

Helpless on the couch, T’Kirr watched Ian work while dutifully sipping at the water and concentrating on breathing evenly. She seemed to grow more relaxed, despite her misgivings at having Ian clean up after her. Finally, she set the empty glass down. “I am supposed to feel drowsy?”

“Yes, that’s good.” He had finished cleaning up and had just returned from washing his hands. “You should be able to sleep soon.”

T’Kirr sighed and leaned back into the cushions, closing her eyes and pressing on them with a hand. “Don’t ever let me drink anything Andorian again.”

“I don’t think I’ll have to be the one to stop you.” Sitting down next to her, Ian put a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll feel better later tomorrow, I promise.”

Hand dropping away with the cooled towel from her forehead, T’Kirr rolled her head to the side and opened her eyes to look at him. “What if the Machen Bren attacked? I’m unable to perform my duty.”

“Oh, you’ll be able to perform your duty in the morning. You may not enjoy it, but you’ll be able.” Smiling, he added, “Many times in my younger days I reported for duty after a night like this.”

She nodded, then quickly stopped as her eyes squeezed shut. After a moment, she looked at him again. “Thank you. For…” she paused, funneling strength into her words, “taking care of me.”

Ian squeezed her shoulder. “That’s what friends do.”

The corners of her mouth twitched as T’Kirr closed her eyes again. As she sank deeper into the pillows, he could see she was drifting off; a few moments later and she was in that deep sleep that’s unique to intoxication. Ian rose and picked her up in his arms, her head falling against his chest, and carried her into the bedroom. Everything was neat and tidy, just as he expected it would be. Laying T’Kirr in her bed, he covered her with the sheets, leaving them loose around her before leaving the room. As he left, he paused to turn and look at her once more. Content that she would be alright, Ian quietly exited her quarters, whispering for the computer to kill what was left of the lights.