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?
Sickbay. May-Frontal-Lobe worries that he's been in Sickbay all night and is about to go on duty. He starts to get off the table, but Phlox grabs his shoulder and forces him back, saying he hasn't been discharged yet. "I need to perform a cerebral micro-section," Phlox insists. May-Occipital-Lobe freaks a bit and insists on leaving: "If I don't finish those upgrades, I could get a reprimand. It'll be in my permanent record!" Phlox tells him he should be worried over more than that, and points at May-Cornea's scan: "Your cortical scan shows elevated levels of serotonin and several other neurotransmitters." Now he's just making things up. They argue a bit more, and May-Hey-That-Last-One-Wasn't-A-Part-Of-The-Brain worries about being court-martialed. "And what if you're carrying a protocystian spore and you infect the rest of the crew, hmm?" Phlox asks, warming up to the potential carnage. "Or what if you suddenly suffer a seizure at the helm because you've contracted Andronesian Encephalitis?" They have mosquitoes flying around the ship? And standing water? Phlox yells and shakes his finger at May-Amygdala that there's something wrong with him and he's going to get to the bottom of it. May-Cerebellum takes a deep breath and bugs out his eyes for his Big Scene. "Not today!" he shouts back at Phlox, causing the doctor to lean away from his halitosis. "Not during my shift! Unless you're ready to tie me to a bio-bed, I'm going back to my helm!" May-Cerebral-Cortex storms to the door while Phlox looks stunned but still shifty. "At least let me give you an analgesic for the headache, hmm?" Phlox whimpers. His "hmm" was like a teenager's voice cracking -- it was really funny. May "Gullible's Travels" Weather comes back and tells him that's all he ever wanted in the first place; he sits on the examining table and waits for the nice, normal, and not at all threatening Phlox to give him exactly what he deserves. Phlox hypos him, and May "I Just Bought The Brooklyn Bridge" Weather rolls his eyes around and says, "What did you...?" before collapsing. Phlox puts him back on the table and straps him in for good measure. Kinky.