||[Oct. 30th, 2009|04:53 pm]
::closes out Ensign Larson's file, adding reminder of next scheduled session to planner::
::leans back in seat to kick feet up on desk, moving eyes from wrist chronometer to door, with a silent plea dropped between...somehow, slow space brings out the need for therapy in everyone::
::of course, half of those 'therapy' sessions primarily consist of sitting and listening patiently to complaints about Command's hurry up and wait tendency::
::looks out porthole to right of desk...well, yes, it would be nice to go somewhere::
::suppresses self-depressing sigh, pulling feet back to floor when terminal chimes to announce incoming call::
::and another, when origin becomes obvious::
Counselor Troi. How can I help you today, Tom?
::balls a fist out of habit, debating whether he deserves a throttling or a hug::
::unclenches it quickly...distance considered, neither is optional, no use wasting the energy::
::presses a hand to temple instead, forcing self to hold the look of challenge, if only to study and remember differences...the few pictures leaked by the Admiral aren't enough::
What was easier than expected?
::bites back what could prove to be a faintly hysterical laugh, struggling to maintain tone of amiable derision::
From what the Admiral has been slipping into his official letters, I thought you were off in the wilds of the Romulan empire, being almost as big a disappointment as me.
Glad you made it home. Now what the hell are you doing buddying up with Troi?
::settles back in the counselor's comfy chair with an internal heave...this will be fun, clearly some things never change::
I was, I did, and I'm not. I just happen to work next door.
::wracks brain...Troi's location is quasi-classified, Command somehow has a hand in disguising the from here to there details of even Pathfinder's communications, but little details are hard to miss::
::that's no terrestrial office she works from::
On a starship? You hate space!
Anybody with a decent sense of self-preservation would. Unfortunately, modern life doesn't cater to the intelligent.
::absently picks up stylus, twirling it::
Besides, if I remember rightly, you're pretty claustrophobic yourself, yet you've lived on that ship for seventeen years.
Don't remind me. To think I used to dread the possibility of staring at ye old cell wall every day for the rest of my life. At least it had graffiti.
::grins a little despite self, and at her untouched honesty::
All right, Molly mine, let's call a draw.
We're both sell-outs.
::feels one side of mouth tilt despite self::
Whatever makes you feel better.
::sobers quickly, leaning forward to stare again::
I said some pretty unfair things the last time we spoke. I'm sorry.
::shifts in shared discomfort...neither handing out or receiving apologies are a Paris forte::
To be perfectly honest, I don't remember what you said.
I just remember the sadness on your face. I'm sorry for putting it there.
::blinks forcefully, drawing self up and putting on firmest expression::
It's been a long time. There's no point in back-tracking, and I know it's not something you would call just to do.
You were looking for me. Why...really?