The Inabnet Reunion

Zima let himself in through the containment field. He had neither the time nor resources to change out of his blood-stained uniform, so he wore his comm badge over his regulation dove grey undershirt, and carried extra supplies with him.
"Lieutenant Inabnet, I see you've gotten yourself into a bit of a mess." he said with an emotionless smile.

Adlai had been a Lieutenant Inabnet once before he resigned his commission and quite literally made himself a family, and so it was that both he and his daughter glanced up at the use of the name. They were standing side by side now, preparing samples in pleasant silence, so they smiled a little sheepishly at each other before the human man went back to his work and let T'Pren go see to the doctor. Muroc sat at the table nearby, organizing what the medics were bringing over according to species and then age, sex, and various other characteristics that might be useful.

"Doctor," she greeted Zima as she stepped away from the little temporary lab. Her uniform was burned and filthy, but she looked positively invigorated with a particularly healthy green glow. "How are my ensigns?"

"Two of them are stable," Zíma assured her. "I am at your disposal here. My specialty is in injury support, but I do have access to an extensive database of disease records, if that would be of help."

T'Pren smiled appreciatively at Zima and turned to survey the work going on, putting herself at their side in the process. "Thank you, Doctor." When he mentioned his disease records, though, her eyes lit up. "That will be extremely useful. Unfortunately, at the moment we're in the initial stages of getting things set up, so it's mostly gathering samples and putting them through analysis." Her eyes narrowed at the equipment as she decided the place where the robot's particular skill sets would be most helpful.

"For now, if you don't mind, could you help my father with arranging the samples? Then, I think, once the results start to come in as we feed them through the system, it would save us a lot of time if you could start correlating that with the database. Unless you have any better ideas."

Zíma nodded, evidently satisfied with that idea. He sat beside the man and looked over his work. "I am Zíma 8," he said, introducing himself. "I'd be very grateful if you'd catch me up on this disease."

Apparently a lot had changed in the Federation in the last fifteen years, but if Muroc was at all surprised to see a sentient mannequin sit down at the little makeshift table with him -- he was very, very surprised -- his face did not register it. He and Zima were, in fact, fairly well-suited to each other in terms of expressionlessness, although the weary Vulcan man had great warmth in his eyes.

"I am Muroc," he returned, the tiniest hint of uncertainty in his words. T'Pren had paused behind her father's back to introduce them, though, and laid a hand lightly on his shoulder.

"Father, Zima is the ship's doctor. He's going to help you sort the samples for a while."

Muroc looked up at his daughter and placed his hand delicately on hers. Their eyes met and something silent was exchanged. T'Pren went back to her human father's side to work with a little smile on her face, but Muroc turned back to Zima with gravity. Or more gravity than before, anyway.

"You are the doctor?" he asked, lifting his brows. "Has my daughter been evaluated since she returned from her mission?"

"I have not been given the time, either by her or by the captain, to do an evaluation. But by her appearance, I can surmise that she is stable enough to work." Zíma said, analysing the sampled before him even as he carried on conversation. "Then, I am more comfortable observing physical ailments. I confess I am somewhat perplexed by emotional ones."

Muroc pressed his lips together so subtly the muscles barely moved, looking behind him at the young lieutenant, who, despite the ruin that was her uniform, didn't seem to be showing signs of serious or even moderate pain. He thought about insisting that the robot doctor go see to T'Pren's health, just in case, but decided better of it. After all, if this being was the ship's doctor, he must be Starfleet approved, right? He could practically hear Adlai's hypothetical response in his head ("Don't tell the doctor how to do his job, Muroc.").

The Vulcan checked over Zima's work to make sure he seemed to be getting the hang of the system, and, satisfied with their understanding, continued his own sorting. But not without studying the synthetic's strangely statuesque face. "Do you know T'Pren well? Does she seem to have an emotional ailment?" He glanced back at her again and then concentrated on Zima and the work.

"I think the lieutenant considers me to be a friend. But I do not think she would come to me for help on these matters. As I said, I barely understand them." Zíma replied.

There was a pause then, filled with Muroc's struggle to decide just how much he could press this doctor about his newly reclaimed daughter. He wanted to know absolutely everything about her that he could, but had to keep reminding himself that there would be time. So instead, he wondered, "Do you not experience emotion?"

It was then that the human male working with T'Pren at the lab setup came to the table to peruse the organized samples and decide which ones he was going to take...but first, he stood with his hands on his hips and looked Zima over with obvious fascination and curiosity and maybe even a little discomfort.

Muroc gestured at the robot. "Adlai, this is Zima 8, the ship's doctor and T'Pren's friend." That last part seemed to be especially important. "Doctor, this is T'Pren's father, Adlai Inabnet."

Now when Adlai unabashedly appraised Zima it was with a much warmer, more appreciative gaze. He was seeing Zima less as an object of wonder or technology to be tested and much more as a being. He offered out his calloused hand in a firm shake that included putting his other hand over Zima's should it be accepted. "Well, any friend of Pren's is a friend of ours. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Hello Mr. Inabnet," Zíma said coolly, looking from one man to the other. "And you are also her father?" the android's yellow eyes sped over his form, analyzing and comparing to the information he had on the lieutenant. "So you are. That's clever."

The human man laughed in surprise at the robot's reaction, while Muroc simply lifted his brows in amusement. "Clever?" echoed Adlai, glancing down at his husband, "I don't know that I've ever had someone say that about it before, but I'll take it."

His scientific curiosity was piqued and he dropped down onto a cargo crate with his legs splayed, leaning forward to look Zima over more closely. "When you said 'so you are', what were you doing? Were you checking a database?"

"I was analysing your physical cues and matching them to the lieutenant's," Zíma explained. "An out of date scanner could do that, don't be too impressed." He smiled.

Adlai was, apparently, delighted by Zima's response. He grinned broadly at the doctor like he'd just seen the most amazing magic trick. "All right, I won't be. I'll be impressed by your sense of humor. Will that do?"

"Adlai," Muroc murmured gently, the barest modicum of admonishment in his voice.

"Oh, don't be such a Vulcan," Adlai replied cheerfully. He leaned toward Zima with an air of conspiracy. "We've been out of touch with the galaxy for fifteen years. You're our first sentient synthetic."

Muroc leveled a look at his husband, his cheeks oh-so-slightly green, and stood. "I am going to assist T'Pren." Adlai glanced up at his taller partner and gave a puppy-like, lopsided smile, "Want me to sort?"

"By all means," replied Muroc dryly. He gave Zima a parting glance, "You must excuse my husband's rudeness. He is human. He cannot help himself." The Vulcan slid two fingers across the human's hand in a kiss as he walked away.

Zíma observed their interaction with some interest. It was the first time he'd seen two organic beings seem to communicate so successfully while speaking different cultural languages.
"Do not worry, rudeness is not something I can exactly detect," Zíma said.

Zima's words only broadened the grin Adlai was already wearing. "Excellent. You are fascinating." But when Muroc was further away, he glanced around to check for eavesdroppers and lowered his voice. "We have to have this conversation quietly because Vulcans have excellent hearing," he explained seriously. His smile had faded to worry. "I don't want Pren to hear what I'm about to tell you. Have you talked to the medics yet about what we're dealing with?"

"No," Zíma said, mirroring the quiet tone. "I have only just begun observing it myself."

Adlai suddenly looked much older and his scruffy, dirty, sun-lined face was creased with guilt and responsibility. "I don't know much. I know that it is highly contagious. The symptoms, as far as we could catalogue them from the others..." He swallowed. "It starts with body lesions and fever within the first forty-eight hours of exposure. Then over the next week or so...the brain begins to swell, leading to hallucinations. Then eventually coma. And, finally," he carefully avoided looking back at his husband as he whispered, "death."

He scrubbed his hands over his face in a way that Zima had no doubt seen Pren do before when she was under a lot of emotional strain (so, like, always). "That much, she can know. But she absolutely cannot know about Muroc's fever. I would like you to find a way to check on him periodically without Pren noticing. Do you think you can make that happen?"

"Easily," Zíma slipped his hand into his case and retrieved a small acrylic container with another set of eyes. He popped one of his own out by simply wedging his fingers into the socket and pulling until the magnets released. He then replaced it with the other, slightly more brownish eye. "I will monitor his heat signature visually. It would draw much attention to physically touch a Vulcan. And you may think I was flirting. That was a joke."

Ooh, eyeball! Adlai's jaw dropped open with total boyish joy. "That..." he said excitedly, momentarily forgetting about the seriousness of the situation. "...was one of the most disturbing and most wonderful things I think I have ever seen."

His appreciation for Zima's methods was eclipsed by the joke. Adlai, like his daughter, apparently found the robot very funny. "If all your parts are detachable," he teased, "you can flirt all you like." He frowned suddenly, looking behind him at his little family, and then wondered, "I probably shouldn't say inappropriate things to my daughter's colleagues, should I?"

"If you're referring to genitals, I do not have any attached at the moment," Zíma explained. With his eyes now working in sync, he went back to examining and sorting samples.

Adlai's eyes went wide at that and what was supposed to be a sharp intake of breath turned into a cough. This also allowed him to put his fist over his mouth to hide his particularly wicked grin. Because he was definitely imagining that somewhere on the ship there must be a robot dildo packed away, just waiting for this being to screw it on.

"Can you, uh," he paused to cough again, "can you handle the sorting? I'm gonna go, um..." And that's when he started laughing so hard that he had to walk away and collect himself.

Muroc was not being particularly helpful to his daughter at the make-shift lab, although he certainly wasn't hindering her. As she prepared samples for analysis and sent them through the proper machines, he stood very close to her, much taller than his daughter but with the same avian-delicate build, watching her profile like he was trying to memorize her every little freckle. Which he was. "You have not been getting enough sunlight," he declared gently, brushing the pad of his thumb along her jawline. Tension melted out of the lieutenant's body at the touch and her eyelids fluttered, but she continued to work, perfectly content to let her father study her.

"I live in space," she pointed out with a smile, glancing sideways at the Vulcan as she fed DNA into the computer.

"You have always lived in space," he countered. "But you are much paler now than you were when last I saw you."

The young woman's cheeks tinted green, uncomfortable for reasons beyond Muroc's understanding, and then decided instead to smile at him once more. "Well, you're here now. You can make sure I get out more."

Muroc hesitated so briefly his daughter didn't even catch it. She was busy with her samples, so all she saw was his wan smile. "You are grown now, T'Pren. I am sure you do not need your fathers taking care of you."

That finally got the halfbreed to stop what she was doing, putting everything down on the console to free her hands so that she could turn and face Muroc entirely, their two faces inches apart and their expressions earnest, worried mirrors of each other. "I have always needed my fathers," she whispered, her chin dimpling slightly with the effort of holding in her tears. "I have never stopped needing you. I will always need you." Muroc's lips twitched with emotion and he leaned his forehead against his daughter's. Just below their shoulders, they touched each of their fingertips together in the way that only Vulcan parents and their children do, a gesture full of meaning and ceremony.

Adlai was coming to speak to them when he saw, and though he spent a moment staring at it with his own surge of feeling, he spun back around to gather up the next group of samples from the table where Zima sat. He smiled sheepishly at the robot. "Thought I'd give them a moment," he explained.

The android looked from the human to the pair, acknowledging them without comment, before returning to the samples.

As Adlai cherrypicked from the sorted samples, he glanced over his shoulder to check on his husband and daughter, who had eventually returned to their work, both of them smiling a little stupidly despite their Vulcan blood. The human's lips twisted upward as well as he brought over a tray with the supplies he'd gathered and settled it nearby. He stepped up behind his family and slipped his arm around Muroc's waist with a hand cupping the back of T'Pren's neck. And then they got down to business, forming a perfect little assembly line. Zima did the sorting, Muroc and Adlai did the prepping, and T'Pren handled the actual equipment. It took hours of concentration, but with two Vulcans and a robot, it was only Adlai who occasionally had to take a break and rub his hands over his face.

He was doing just that when, nearly done feeding the samples through the scanners and computers, Muroc glanced back at him with sympathy. "Perhaps it is time for more tea," he suggested.

"I need something a little stronger, I think," Adlai admitted, and suddenly there was a glint in his eyes. "Coffee," he told the replicator enthusiastically. "Strong. Black. Coffee." It materialized in front of him and he scooped it up, blowing on it impatiently. "Oh, coffee," he told the cup with a happy sigh, breathing in the aroma, "how I've missed you. Did you miss me, coffee? Hm? What's that?" He pretended the cup was telling him something, holding it near his ear. "No, coffee, I love you more." He plopped on a crate near Pren and Muroc and finally took a tentative sip to test the temperature. His eyes closed practically orgasmically and he leaned his head against the lab station. "Oh, fuck, that is so good."

Muroc all but rolled his eyes, but Pren watched Adlai with fascination and delight, taking in every hammy second of it and grinning helplessly at his antics. When he opened his eyes and found her staring at him, he gave her a crooked smile. "Sorry, Prennie, meant to say 'gosh'."