Quantum's Quarters. Quantum orates something dull that he and his father did where he met Tasaki and Cochrane. And saw first-hand what a raging alkie Cochrane is. Porthos sits on the bed and watches his master pace. He barks to remind Quantum that it's way past his dinnertime. Quantum orders the computer to pause, and meanly tells Porthos that he'll feed him in a minute. Not liking where this is going -- the human bastard. Quantum continues with his preface dictating -- obviously having major constipation issues -- and rubs his head. He stops and tells the computer to delete everything he said. Porthos barks again. "Quiet!" Quantum snaps. Porthos jumps off the bed, onto his own pillow bed, and lays his head down sadly. Quantum just stares angrily at his dog and doesn't do anything. Oh, you big furrowing ass! I swear, Bermaga are reading my recaps and are so angry with how many shreds I rip them into that they are purposely doing things calculated to piss me off and make me despise Quantum even more. Granted, I shout at my cats when they knock every book of the shelf at three in the morning or when they leap right on my dinners at the wrong time of the month, but I always feel immediately sorry. And plus, Porthos wasn't doing anything but asking Quantum not to starve him to death. Mark my words, one of these days, I'm getting out the sh'pod, grabbing Porthos, taking control of the galley, and forcing Quantum to eat cheese, cheese, and nothing but cheese for the rest of his life. Then I'll take over Sickbay and make Quantum do a full course of botox injections and on my way out, I'll steal all of Malcolm's Bonne Bells and unmake his bed.
As the Obsessive Compulsiviosis works its repeated hand-washing magic around the ship, T'Pol stays in her room and does her homework like a good little Vulcan. Her doorbell chimes and she answers, "Come in!" a little sharply for one who will tell us later that her Vulcan physio immunized her to the Obsessive Compulsiviosis. Trip walks in and technobabbles stuff that she asked for. "What's the emergency?" he asks. T'Pol tells him the trinary system around the Black Hole is emitting "some unusual radiation," and she's attempting to identify it. Trip can't believe she "dragged" him up to her quarters for radiation, and doesn't think it qualifies as "urgent." Especially not when he was calculating how much pressure to apply to Quantum's butt. Via the chair. T'Pol clarifies that she said it was "important," not "urgent." "Ah, I git it," Trip figures. "Yer paying me back -- makin' me jump through hoops because Ah wuz makin' too much noyz." T'Pol turns to look at him curiously. Trip puts down the case he carried up to T'Pol's and tells her he moved the Captain's chair to Engineering so that her sensitive ears can be on the Bridge again. T'Pol prefers to work in her cabin, and Trip shrugs and starts to leave. T'Pol calls him back, saying that she'll need his assistance with the thing he brought up to her. "Weren't you listenin' to me? I don't have time to cater to yer whims. You wanna gitcher name immortalized in the Vulcun database -- git someone else to help yew dew it," Trip lashes. T'Pol asks him if he's quite all right. Trip decides to answer her by going on a rant about how important Quantum is to the ship, and therefore, if his heinie isn't happy, he can't command properly. So, can we blame all his bad decisions and acting on how uncomfortable his chair was?