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Malcolm drew in a deep, contented breath as the sports masseuse ran their hands across his upper back and shoulders. His muscles were hard knots and he’d been looking forward to this day for weeks, if not months, to finally get a decent sports massage to work them out. Long months aboard Enterprise, just waiting for their return to Earth so he could take some time off and head for the spa in Mexico that he'd mentioned to Hoshi and T'Pol after that long-ago mission on the Klingon ship.
He grimaced a bit at the memory of the smell from that ship, but as he inhaled, the sharp scent of the muscle rub the masseuse was using replaced the remembered stench, and he relaxed again. Ah, nothing like the clean scent of menthol and eucalyptus to remind one of the good muscle ache that came from pushing one's body to the limit.
Of course, these muscle aches weren't solely caused by his martial arts training and his time in the gym. No, he had a lot of tension stored in his back, not to mention pulled muscles from several missions that had necessitated an inordinate amount of rolling, twisting, and other contortions. The tension came from the knowledge that even though he had a team of security experts, it was his responsibility to keep the entire crew safe; a responsibility he didn't take lightly.
Add the actual missions themselves - not all of which had gone smoothly - and Phlox had had his work cut out trying to keep Malcolm's body in peak working order. The Denobulan had done his best, of course, but having a professional dig in their fingers at just the right spot to ease the underlying, built-up knots was sheer bliss - not to mention the enjoyment of being in a relaxing environment instead of the confines of sickbay.
Hmmmm. Malcolm sighed and relaxed even further into the bed, even though the sports masseuse was really putting pressure on his body. Is that an elbow? Yes, it was, on a fairly uncomfortable spot; and yes, the deep pressure ached a bit, especially on particularly painful knots; but knowing that every muscle would feel loose and relaxed after this made the discomfort worth it. Besides, the masseuse's hands were both soft and strong, and they weren't annoying him with idle chatter, so why not give himself over to the sheer pleasure of having someone look after him for a change?
He drifted into a light doze - he'd never fall asleep, even in these relaxing surroundings - until the therapist had finished with his calves and feet, and laid a warm towel the length of his body.
"Rest for a while, Mister Reed," they said in a low voice. "Your next therapist will be by soon for your body wrap."
He could barely bring himself to speak, but managed a nod and a quiet word of thanks before relaxing again and enjoying the quiet, warm environment and the plushness - and comforting width - of the therapy bed on which he was lying. Not at all like the narrow, uncomfortable biobeds in Sickbay, with which he was all too familiar.
Malcolm was now several hours into his time at the spa. He'd started with a light meal and glass of clear spring water, then relaxed with a good book for an hour while his meal settled. Next he'd been left for fifteen minutes in a hot room, to open his pores, followed by a further twenty in a steam room, and was quite pleased that these were over. He didn't appreciate heat at the best of times, let alone sweating in a steam room, with the humidity clogging his nasal passages and lungs. The hot room reminded him too much of the desert; the steam room, of summers and monsoon season in Malaysia, or that humid planet where the Eska had been hunting the wraith.
To be fair, that particular mission had also given him and Hoshi the opportunity to wind up Trip about supposed "bore worms" that were said to lay their eggs inside ears. Even today, the very thought of Trip's face as Hoshi had taken Malcolm's lead and run with it almost made him snort with laughter. It was worth the reminder of the lung-clogging humidity brought back by the steam room. And of course, he'd had the opportunity to show up the captain with his 28 Eagle Scout badges vs Captain Archer's 26. Petty? Probably, but in the privacy of his own mind, he could acknowledge that petty satisfaction was still satisfaction.
After the cloying humidity of the sauna, he'd followed up with a plunge into a small ice bath set up for this purpose. He'd refused to allow his head under water, of course; even so, just keeping his body under the ice for three minutes had been an exercise in willpower, even knowing the benefits of easing several inflamed muscles and joints. Bad enough that it reminded him of several narrow escapes in which he'd faced the prospect of drowning. But no, he would not think of that now, not while he was relaxing.
He'd left the ice bath and been led into this warmer environment for his sports massage; given his daily martial arts and extremely physical lifestyle, it had made more sense than a general deep tissue massage, he reflected. And now he was waiting for the next step in the process.
He heard someone else enter - two people - and walk over to the bed. "Mister Reed?" they said softly. "Are you ready for your mud wrap?"
Malcolm opened his eyes a slit, and looked at the two therapists standing patiently by his bed. "What will this one be for?" he asked, unsurprised that his voice was gravelly and rough. He hadn't used it much since he'd arrived.
"Today we'll focus on relaxing your muscles and easing your joint pain," the taller of the therapists explained. "We'll start with a dry-brushing technique to improve circulation, then cover your skin with a mixture of Dead Sea mud and herbal elements such as lavender, tea tree, and eucalyptus. Will that be suitable?"
He considered it, then nodded. He might only be in his thirties, but by the nature of his job his body took one hell of a beating on a regular basis, and his joints usually took much of the strain. It might be a short-term solution, but it would still be nice to have his joints feel loose and free outside of limbering up for sparring.
"I'd like some water first, though," he requested. "I'm feeling rather dehydrated after the heated rooms, and I believe the mud wrap causes water loss, in any event."
The therapist nodded and stepped away, returning with a clear water bottle full of spring water, with a straw-like implement to allow for ease of drinking without running the risk of choking. Malcolm accepted it gratefully and drank down the liquid in a measured way, not wanting to gulp the cool, refreshing water and possibly cause gastric discomfort later.
Ready, he lay down again, then opened one eye to look at the attendants. "Front or back?" he asked, and they smiled.
"Whichever is most comfortable for you, Mister Reed. The dry brushing can be a little uncomfortable if your skin isn't used to it, but we'll be very careful to be firm but gentle. Then you can rinse off under a cool shower, and return for the application of the healing mud."
Malcolm nodded. "In that case, I'll remain as I am, if it's all the same to you. You can begin with my legs and back."
They nodded, and he closed his eyes again. He felt them approach, one on either side, and then one said, "We'll be laying hands on you now, Mister Reed. Please do not be alarmed."
"Go ahead," he mumbled, pleased that they had had the foresight to warn him. Unexpected touches on a paranoid head of security could have had any number of unpleasant outcomes for the one doing the touching, after all. Malcolm felt a cool hand on each of his calves, and then firm bristles being drawn across his skin.
At first the sensation was a little uncomfortable, given that the bristles were fairly coarse and being applied directly to his skin without the benefit of soaps, oils, or other lubricants. It didn't take long, however, before the rhythmic, gentle circular movements became pleasantly absorbing.
Idly, he wondered if this was what it felt like for horses that were being brushed. He'd spent a pleasant hour brushing one of the horses on that planet where they'd found the subjugated Skagarans with the humans living an Old West lifestyle. The regular strokes, not requiring much more than muscle and a firm touch, had reminded him of riding with Aunt Sherry during his childhood; a welcome break from the stresses of a mission far from Earth, especially after their experiences in the Expanse.
The brushing had reached his shoulders by now, and the therapists paused. "Please turn over, Mister Reed," came the request, and he obliged, his skin feeling a little tender but nothing he couldn't handle. Once again they started at his feet, careful around the sensitive skin of his waist. "Are you ticklish?"
"Not particularly, but it depends on the area and why you're asking," he replied, opening his eyes.
"Among other uses, dry brushing can stimulate lymph nodes. Would you like to be brushed under your armpits and in your groin?"
"No, thank you," Malcolm declined. "Those areas are too sensitive and more likely to be ticklish, which would defeat the purpose of the relaxation, I imagine." Privately, he thought to himself that it would be a cold day in hell before anyone would be allowed near his groin with a bristle brush, but there was no reason to snap the heads off the attendants for merely posing the question.
"Very well; if you would move to the shower area and rinse your skin - the water has been heated to the required temperature - we will prepare the mud wrap in your absence."
He slid off the bed and padded to the nearby shower room, relaxing under the flow of cool but not cold water. Drying himself with a fluffy towel he found hanging against the wall, he returned to the treatment area to find the attendants patiently waiting for him.
"We will begin with your arms and legs before turning you over to finish with your back; this will allow you to relax while the mud hardens. Then we will rub on some oils and scrape the mud from you with strigils, before finishing with an aromatherapy massage."
Malcolm nodded; he quite liked the use of the strigil, the scraper used by ancient Romans to scrape olive oil from their bodies as part of their cleaning routines. Having done it several times before, he enjoyed the sensation of his skin feeling particularly soft and warm after the application of oil, instead of feeling stripped after using standard soaps and cleansers.
The warm mud was applied swiftly, in long, sweeping strokes, with his limbs and joints being wrapped in warm, bandage-like strips of cloth to retain the heat. Fortunately, he had worn neoprene swim shorts, which would be easy enough to clean after all the treatments were completed.
He reflected that the earthy scent of the mud, underlying the herbal smells, was far different from that of a mudslide he'd been fortunate to escape. That had been a terrifying moment, he admitted to himself; the terrain muddy, under soaking rain, with no vegetation to help retain the soil. Fortunately he'd been walking on his own, scouting the area. Not liking the look of the hill in question, he'd stayed near the bottom, so that when the rumble had started and the earth began to move, he'd been able to turn and run like the hounds of hell were after him, the mud licking at his heels before he'd managed to leap a small gorge into which the mudslide had vanished.
Fortunately the mud wrap was expunging that unpleasant memory; it would never be fully gone, of course, but he could relax, secure in the knowledge that no such dangers awaited him in the soothing environment of the spa. Once all the mud had been applied to the relevant areas, particularly over his knees, elbows, wrists, and shoulders, he was once again draped with a warm towel and left to relax for half an hour, drifting in a pleasant haze of lavender, tea tree, and eucalyptus.
Soon enough the attendants returned, making sure that he was aware of their presence before they began unwrapping his body. Warm olive oil was trickled over the mud and massaged in, softening it; and then the scraping began.
Starting with his back, moving down his arms, thighs, and calves, it was enjoyable to feel the mud, oil, and other detritus being removed from his skin in long, firm strokes, the strigil conforming perfectly to the shape of his limbs. It was an unusual way of removing a mud wrap, but entirely agreeable as the muscles and joints warmed by the mud application were scraped clean and left feeling soft and rejuvenated.
In answer to a murmured query about preferred scents, he added cedar, sage, and bergamot to the existing herbal trio, and submitted to a session of light massage, aimed more at relaxation than dealing with any particularly painful muscles, since that was what the more stringent massage had been for.
At last it was time for his final treatments; turning onto his back against another warmed towel, the top half of the bed was raised to bring him to a seated position, while the bed was lowered to allow for ease of access to his face, hands, and feet. Closing his eyes, Malcolm gave in to the pleasure of a combined facial, manicure, and pedicure. There was simply nothing like the tension being massaged out of his face by firm thumbs and gentle fingers, light unscented oil being used as a lubricant to protect his skin, while his hands were subjected to soft but firm rubbing, each finger being carefully stretched to relieve tension before the same firm thumbs and knuckles used on his face were brought to bear to tackle any remaining muscle soreness.
Malcolm's hands had to have a delicate touch, as befitted his weapons; they, and his feet, were also capable of delivering devastatingly punishing blows, and his daily sparring meant they were rarely given much chance to rest. This pleasant massage, solely focused on his face, hands and feet, was a rare treat, and he would let nothing divert his focus from the sheer enjoyment of being pampered and cared for.
All too soon the massages were over, and warm cloths were laid over his eyes, hands, and feet before he was left alone for a final period of relaxation in the warm room. Soft, soothing music was now being piped into his retreat, and he lay back and drifted comfortably to the sound of harps and birdsong.
At last the attendants returned for the final cleaning, before he was to be released for the day, recommending that he refrain from showering or submerging his body in water for at least 24 hours, to allow the oils and mud to soak into his skin.
What a pity he had to put on clothing and return to the outside environment, he reflected. Perhaps he could persuade the captain of just how much the crew would benefit from having a small salon area where masseuses could aid in relaxation in times of great stress. His crewmates would likely enjoy the opportunity, he mused. It was well worth a try, after all.