::relaxes hands on cool polymer of computer terminal, pulling eyes away from blank screen to look around dimly lit quarters for the tenth time in as many minutes ( Read more... )

::closes out Ensign Larson's file, adding reminder of next scheduled session to planner ( Read more... )

::jingles data chips in pocket, pausing beyond sensors and giving sickbay doors a long, hard look::

::with a grimace, rolls head, hoping to somehow shake the headed-for-the-scaffold heaviness in chest too::

::reminds self to chew hologram out for taking his own sweet time and letting nerves fester, squaring shoulders and stepping on in::

Doc? You ( Read more... )

 ::trails out of own quarters with a grumble, grabbing a handful of candy out of dish on entrance table before doors can shut...Naomi's romantic little touches are worth something, at least::

::shoves mints into mouth in a quick gulp when realization suddenly strikes, reaching up to steady flailing cargo::

::readjusts chubby little legs over ( Read more... )

::hums slightly modified version of The Blue Danube whilst sorting padds, basking in favorite time of work day::

::too early for even the most hyperactive hypochondriacs, Lieutenant Kim still safely cocooned in bed and in no immediate danger of temporary expiration...the other half of that residential unit equally distracted ( Read more... )

::pours another half a cup from self-brewed canteen of coffee, reluctantly giving up position near expanse of windows and view it offered ( Read more... )

::stops just beyond door sensors, lifting bouquet in hand to critically examine again...it looks nice, Sam approved, but you never know with some women::

::drops arm, feeling more than a little idiotic for hesitating to enter own quarters...especially after amused looks given by two passing crewmen::

::draws to full height, taking a soothing breath ( Read more... )

Titan has been out of drydock and officially under my (ever so reluctant though it be) command for nearly a month now ( Read more... )

::spears a celery stalk, swishing it around in something Chell seems to think resembles dressing::

::wonders who got the bright idea to let the Bolian and Talaxian switch off security and mess shifts...then wonders when Neelix's cooking became worth preferring::

::sighs::

Should have risked wasting replicator rations.::debates doing it yet, ( Read more... )

::yanks on uniform jacket, giving wrinkles a half-hearted once over::

With everything else Starfleet comes up with, you'd think care free fabric would be simple enough...but no, no...

::jumps when firm, slightly cool fingers run over back, apparently focused on the out of reach spots::

Thanks, Seven.

::twists, greeted by a plate of...something...stuck ( Read more... )