::lifts eyes from flexy, lifting them heavenward instead::
::grumbles under breath as the underside of andrewkim
's upper bunk interrupts view of ceiling, if not stars::
I'm taking a wild guess here...
::swings legs over bunk edge, ducking head from under and sitting::
::taps flexy on knee, lifting voice dramatically::
Why, sweetheart, come in.
::ignores heavy undertone of sarcasm, entering and resting free hand on hip::
::stares in mock severity::
I hope that that was a pilot's acuity, because otherwise it indicates that you get even fewer visitors than I thought.
I wasn't aware making buddy buddy was supposed to be high on my list of priorities here.
If it was, I could just forget the damned Ocampan itch and chat up that Ensign from enginneering...
::scratches chin...dammit, she's like poison ivy::
Call it acuity. I smelled an opening insult three doors away.
::moves further inward, dropping platter on padd strewn desk::
You know, she may have been right. This can't be normal.
She wouldn't recognized normal if it knocked her flat on the deck. Don't worry about it. It works for us.
::sniffs again, eyes drifting to desk::
Huh, never knew you were a dinner tray type mother. Out of luck, though. I think your son is off cozying up to his blushing fiancee. He finally got a minor clue.
Reclusive and sulky. She did hit a nerve or two.
::lifts lid from platter, shaking head::
This isn't for Andrew, this is for you. Plain, hot tomato soup. It used to be your favorite birthday dish, and unless I'm mistaken, today is your birthday. I borrowed Chef's kitchen to mark the occasion.
::eyes it even more suspiciously::
Did he at least supervise?
You'll have to forgive me, but I'm remembering an incident involving you, Voyager's kitchen, and the whole of gamma shift on extended sick leave...
::shrugs at her glare::
What? I'll eat it. Just don't come complaining to me if you have to pump my stomach later.
::rolls eyes, dropping lid back down::
A simple thank you would have sufficed. Next year I just won't bother trying to be thoughtful, if it puts you out this much.
::pushes to feet, dropping padd back on bed::
::scratches at wild hair, offering a small, rueful smile::
I don't need presents.
Not necessarily. But you do need sustenance, and I thought a little company on your birthday might not hurt.
I don't think you've been out of here beyond helm shifts for days.
Don't you think you might be taking the whole rejection issue a little too hard?
Not particularly. If you had kept your sanctimonious lecturing to yourself, she might have come around eventually.
::moves to abandoned bunk, plopping down and absently picking up flexy::
::offers an amused stare::
...because you were being even more petulant than you are now and refused to give her a civil word, if words at all.
I'm not being petulant.
And I wasn't being petulant then either. I think my reaction throughout this all has been perfectly rational...she decided to show up and interfere in my life again, she had the commitment issues...but oh, no, she didn't mind knocking a guy up and turning what was left of his sanity out...
::halts diatribe, folding arms::
But that's all in the past. I'm just going to move on...and spend my free time catching up on mind-breakingly dull reports.
I happen to think my reports are far from dull, but if that's what you want...
When you do get tired of not being petulant, the rest of us still exist and wouldn't mind your occasional presence.
::moves to stand, flexy in hand::
::grunts, yanking out desk chair and taking seat::
::pushes platter lid aside, lifting spoon and delving in despite serious misgivings...jesus, the things fathers do::
That isn't a report. I was taking the self-flagellation one step farther and attempting to wax prosaic to the Admiral again. Might as well recycle it, I wasn't getting anywhere.