::ignores him and lifts plate from replicator tray, almost just walking away...at least, until his statement really sinks in::
::twists, lifting free hand to point a finger::
...what, now you're trying to guilt trip me?
It was a statement of fact.
::looks at own plate brimming with omelettes::
Smells just like your mother's, at least. Well, slightly singed.
::looks back up, surprised to see her already halfway across the room::
Now, hold on a minute!
::pretends not to hear, breezing past crew with a warning smile and heading back through mess doors...will eat in sickbay...even the Doctor is more polite and knows to leave feeding organics alone::
::picks up pace...she's determined, but has her mother's short legs::
::wisely keeps that to self::
It was bad enough when I could just see you sulking in the background. Now you have to do it to my face too?
...are you giving me the silent treatment?
::stops in middle of corridor, waiting half second it takes him to catch up::
::modulates tone to 'children and especially needy patients' level::
No. I'm not giving you the silent treatment. I just don't have anything to say to you, so I thought it might be wise to conserve my clearly limited number of breaths.
Oh, well, that makes it all better.
::picks up feet again, trailing her to lift::
You know, I bet you could do worse than have a father who cares whether you live or die.
Not if you kill me with stress.
::folds arms, trying for patience::
Look. I appreciate the concern, I do. I get it. I'm sorry you have to deal with this. You're only human.
...I didn't mean it like that.
::sighs, looking up to catch his eye::
If I'm going to die, I'd just like to die in peace. We made Mother's last year a misery with our arguing, not even counting the uncertainties of her treatment. The end wasn't worth the effort for any of us.
And if I'm not going to die of old age any time soon, which by the way seems far more likely, I'd appreciate it if you would stop trying to convince me that I am, thereby greatly increasing the risk that I might succumb prematurely thanks to heart failure.
::just barely processes the lead-up with a twinge of lingering guilt, before focusing on the most relevant part of the diatribe::
You're not going to keel over on me any time soon?
::almost opens arms for a full bear hug, before deciding it's too soon to test her patience...besides, maintenance gets iffy over food on the carpeting::
::shares an eye roll with Celes as she passes...they're so predictable::
Not of old age, maybe, but there are other possibilities.
::shoves padd in general direction of his chest::
Vorik says to tell you that if he doesn't get the people he asked for to help with shield modifications, the only particles making it to the Alpha Quadrant probably wouldn't even turn up on Romulan sensors.
::takes padd anyhow, scanning it::
Tell Vorik I'll be there in twenty with his help.
::lifts brow at unusually sour look of acknowledgment, turning back to linnis_paris
Forget worrying about the baby,I think Harry is rubbing off on her
::recognizes his attempt to maintain peace by changing the topic...and gives him that much::
Not everyone is thrilled over this 'going home' concept being worked toward, you know.
...for that matter, I thought you were against it.
I was and I am, but it doesn't look like Chakotay is going to bend, so I guess I...and everyone...will deal.
And I don't suppose my doubts are the same as Naomi's. I can do everything in my power
or someone else's to make Seven safe.
::looks around, really taking things in for the first time in...well, a hell of a while::
Wild is losing the only home she's ever known.
And you all call me crazy for not letting myself form attachments to things. Losing people is hard enough.
::still, takes a look of own::
She's been a good ship, but it's time.
::isn't about to start another war debating it::
::glances from plate in one hand to padd in other, debating which to tackle first::
::hell, the Vulcan has time::
::tips head back to the mess::
You don't really want to eat with Doc taking notes, do you?
Well, at least there's only one of him.
::suppresses another small sigh...being a Paris seems to mean living in a constant state of humiliation for one reason or the other::
::finally relents and follows him back::
Just like Mother's cooking, hmm?
Should I tell Seven your taste buds are already cheating on her?