Benton spent the next two days in sickbay recuperating from his month-long ordeal. The combination knife-wound, emergency surgery, and stasis had taken its toll on him. He felt thin and spent, like a specter that would be dispersed on the wind at the slightest breeze.
Now and then, Doctor Maruu would come over to his bed and check on him. She'd wave her tricorder over his head, check the readouts on the panel above Benton's bed and ask him how he was feeling. Benton would stir a bit and reply listlessly that he was feeling fine and to ask when he could go back on duty. Doctor Maruu would always reply "soon", and then leave with a vaguely worried expression on her face.
Over the course of the two days, Francesca came to visit Benton before and after her shift. She was always so happy so see him. She would sit on the edge of his bed and tell him all the gossip she had heard that day. Benton politely listened to all her stories, but Francesca could tell Benton wasn't paying much attention. She'd ask how he was feeling, and Benton would smile and reassure her that he was feeling perfectly fine. She'd say, "See ya later, Benton," and leave, but deep in her heart she knew something was wrong.
Once, she tried bringing Spot with her to visit, thinking the sight of his life-long friend would cheer Benton up. Spot hopped up and down with excitement in her hand as she walked over to Benton's biobed. He trilled loudly in greeting and rolled out of Francesca's hand as she held him over the bed. Benton turned his head on his pillow to look at what all the commotion was about just in time to have Spot bump into his nose. Spot had inquired after Benton's health, and Benton had assured Spot that he was all right. In the end, Spot left again with Francesca, convinced that his friend was in trouble.
Laying in bed with nothing to do but think, Benton thought. The news Doctor Maruu had given him two days ago had hit him pretty hard. She had explained that because of the genetic drift in his new cloned body parts, Benton would never be able to undergo the procedure to transform him into his natural Kelvan form.
He wasn't even quite sure why this fact would upset him so much. He had never really had any intention to ever undergo the procedure. He was perfectly happy with his humanoid body, and in fact, there was only a tiny handful of Kelvans in this galaxy who had converted back to the old shape. They were considered renegades, throwbacks to a past that was forever behind them. They were violent enemies of all humanoids and were shunned even by other Kelvans.
So why should he become so depressed? He tried to focus his mental capacity on the problem. But while his outer shape was entirely Human; permanently now, he reminded himself again; his mentality was still largely Kelvan, unused to considering emotions and psychological dilemmas in any detail.
Maybe it was the fact that a major link to his heritage had been severed. Even though he had never intended to, now it was actually impossible for Benton to ever return to his roots. It made him feel less than whole, incomplete, less than a man, and it depressed him. How could he do his job in this condition? How could he face his friends? What must they think of him now, knowing that he was flawed?
Meanwhile, Francesca had taken Spot back to Benton's cabin. She got in the way she usually did, by picking Benton's lock. She set Spot down on the bed and sat down next to him.
"We have to do something to help Benton, Spot," she said.
Spot chirped.
"But what?"
Spot shrugged.
Francesca leaned back on the Benton's bed. Her eyes wandered around the Spartan cabin. As she looked about, she was once again struck by how un-homey Benton's living area was. An idea slowly began forming in her brain.
At the end of the day, Doctor Maruu finally released Benton from her care with orders to return his quarters and rest.
Benton made his way slowly through the Virgo's corridors toward his quarters on the lower decks. He was still plagued by feelings of inadequacy. He had even begun contemplating resigning his commission. He could stay on the Virgo as a civilian until the ship returned to Federation space, or even find a nice planet to settle here in the Gamma Quadrant, far away from everything and everyone he had ever known.
As he turned a corner, he smelled smoke. He broke into a jog towards the source, and found that the smoke was coming from his own cabin! He hurriedly palmed the contact that opened his door and was hit in the face by a billow of smoke. From somewhere inside he heard a woman's voice saying, "Oh rats! Where's the ventilator control? Oh, here it is.". There was a click, and immediately the smoke began to clear as the ship's ventilation system sucked it up.
"Francesca?" said Benton as he stepped into his cabin. "What are you...? How did you get...?" Benton was once again amazed at Francesca's ability to automatically render him confused and inarticulate.
At the mention of her name, Francesca looked up from what she was doing and noticed Benton standing in the doorway. She smiled nervously and said, "Honey, you're home!" She rushed over to Benton and led him by the arm the rest of the way into his cabin. Benton was too dazed to resist.
He took a closer look around. His cabin had changed, things had been added. There was a flower vase on the desk. There were doilies everywhere. His bed had a new cover, with frilly edges. There were fuzzy pillows adorning the chairs and lying on the bed. A small table had been set up with two place settings and a candle in the middle.
Spot was skwunched down on his very own doily next to his food dish, looking very unhappy about the whole situation. Benton sympathized with him. Spot chirped irritably. It's not my fault. I couldn't stop her!
Francesca herself was dressed in off-duty civilian clothes. Benton momentarily wondered if her outfit wasn't uncomfortable, it seemed a little tight on her.
But his attention was quickly shifted to what Francesca was doing. She apparently had set up a portable cooking unit in his room. The smoke had come from there, when she had forgotten to adjust the room's ventilation to accommodate an open flame.
Francesca led Benton over to the small table and sat him down on one of the chairs. She lit the candle in the center of the table. "Dinner will be ready in a second," she said as she walked back over to her cooker. "I hope you like lasagna."
Benton nodded, although he didn't know what 'lasagna' was.
Francesca was saying, "I hope you don't mind me doing this, Benton. After all, we're friends, and friends do things for each other, help each other out, and you looked like... Well, lately you looked like you could use a little help." Benton nodded helplessly, but Francesca was still going on, seemingly almost to herself now. "I mean, we shouldn't treat each other like strangers. Like some people do when they're married, they treat each other like strangers, that's just not right. Not that we're married of course," she smiled and flashed Benton a look. Benton shook his head. "I mean, not that we couldn't be married," she continued. "But I'd never treat you like a stranger, Benton."
"Dinner's served." She brought the dish she'd been working on over to the table and set it in the center. She dished out a portion and piled it on Benton's plate.
"Thank you, Francesca," said Benton, resigning himself to go along with whatever she had in mind, at least for a while.
She took the seat opposite his, and sat looking at Benton as if waiting for something. After a few seconds, she said, "Well? Dig in."
Benton took up his fork and, after but a moment's hesitation, helped himself to a mouthful. He dutifully chewed and swallowed. He was pleasantly surprised, the 'lasagna' was quite good.
"Well? Do you like my cooking?" asked Francesca with a look of nervous expectation.
"Yes," he replied.
A look of relief washed over Francesca's face. "Oh good. I was so worried you wouldn't like it."
Then she had another thought. "You're not just saying you like my cooking are you, Benton? I mean, I know you never tell lies, but you're also always very polite. Are you just being polite, Benton?"
"No, of course not!" said Benton. He smiled and took another bite to demonstrate his sincerity.
"Good." Francesca picked up the wine bottle that had been on the table and asked Benton, "You wouldn't happen to have a bottle opener around here, would you?" Before Benton could reply, she said, "Oh, never mind. It's a twist-off." She poured a glass for herself and Benton.
"So, how was your day, dear?"
Benton didn't like the sudden alarming turn the conversation was taking. Francesca's perception of reality seemed to veering wildly off course. Much as he liked her, he had to set things back into perspective before something bad happened. She was an intelligent woman, slightly off-center at times, but she'd see the reasoning behind what he'd have to tell her and understand.
"Francesca?" he began.
"Yes, Benton?"
"I've been thinking about what you said before about people treating each other like they were strangers. Even married people treating each other that way..."
"Yes, Benton?"
"...that doesn't mean strangers should treat each other like they were married."
"I love it when you're logical," said Francesca with dreamy eyes.
"You're pretty much going to like anything I say, aren't you?"
Then it hit Benton. In Francesca's eyes, he was still the same Benton he'd always been. She cared for him all the same regardless of the fact that he was genetically not quite Kelvan any more. He was no less a man to her. And somehow, knowing that, his own perception of his condition changed. He knew she was right, and suddenly he felt good again. In her own goofy, bumbling way, Francesca had succeeded in giving back to Benton what he had lost, his self-confidence and self-worth.
Everything would be all right.