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Disclaimer time once again!   Seventy-fifth verse same as 
the first . .everybody *sing*:

I don't own these characters, (chorus) Paramount does!
I don't own this venue, (chorus) Paramount does!
I am making no money off of this, (chorus) Paramount does 
not either!

This story will eventually involve love and sex and affection 
between two men, aka: slash.  If that is *not* your cup of 
tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??) 
Feedback is *very* much appreciated, and always
answered.  Flames will be passed around to friends and 
chuckled over.  :)

Twenty-third story in the Stage Direction series.  Sequel to 
'Ssst', 'Growl', 'Chuckle', 'Sob', 'Grin', 'Sigh', 'Smile', 'Yawn', 
'Whisper', 'Groan', 'Hover', 'Waffle', 'Comfort', 'Fidget', 
'Grimace', 'Sizzle', 'Glare', 'Shrug', 'Doze', 'Snort', 'Whack', 
and 'Stretch'.

'Snicker' by Amirin <groh@iquest.net>


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Two hours of scanning, testing, poking, and prodding have 
forced the Doc to come to a startling conclusion.  That I'm 
actually fine. Ha!

<glare>  "You don't need to look so smug, Lieutenant."

<grin>  "Yeah, I do, Doc."

<exasperated sigh>  "Very well.  You may leave, I'm all 
through.  For now."

I slide off the biobed and Neelix is right there.  Again.  Just 
as he's been for the last couple of hours. It was sort of 
funny, really, how he'd glare at the Doc every time I flinched 
or groaned or whatever.  Made me laugh out loud a few 
times, to his delight.  I've never met anyone so pleased with 
himself at making me laugh.  It *was* pretty hilarious.  And it 
felt wonderful.

"Tom, how are you doing?"

Gods, even now, he's still worried about me. I'm starting to 
get used to this . . .

"I'm okay, Neelix.  Really.  Just a little tired."

<concerned frown> "How 'bout I walk you back to your 
quarters and we put you to bed, hmmm?" 

Damn, he's amazing.

<sigh>  "Neelix, I've spent the last two hours flat on my 
back; that's the last thing I want. Besides, doesn't the mess 
hall need cleaning up?  Dinner's got to be about over, by 
now."

"Now, Tom, you don't need to do that . . ."

"Come on.  Please?  Let me help *you*, for a change, okay? 
I'm starting to feel guilty about always being on this end of it. 
Why don't we let Ensign Smith off the hook this evening so 
she can go enjoy a social life and we can go clean up. 
Hmm?  Whaddaya say?"

<smile>  "All right, then.  But, if you get tired, I want you to 
tell me. I don't want the Doctor blaming *me* if you overdo 
things.  Got that?"

<chuckled>  "Got it."  <stretch>  "I need to change clothes. 
I'll meet you in the galley in a few, okay?"

"Okay.  I'll see you there."

We part ways at the next junction and I head to the 'lift.

It was sort of strange how reluctant the Doc was to admit 
that I was nearly back to normal, again.  No pain, but some 
things still aren't quite functioning up to par.  The nerves in 
my fingers and toes don't process pain like they should, yet, 
so no going back on duty anytime soon.  I can handle it. 
Thanks to Neelix, for providing me with distractions above 
and beyond the call of duty.

<grin>

A quick change of clothes and I'm off to help Neelix clean 
up.  I can't believe how much I'm looking forward to this.  

<snort> 

I can hear faint voices up ahead, coming from the mess hall. 
Maybe Neelix beat me here, after all . . .


"One good thing about Neelix making himself scarce is the 
welcome replacement in the galley."

<snicker>

"You can say that, again.  It's enough to make me hope that 
Paris takes a *long* time to recover.  Ensign Smith is a hell 
of a lot easier on the eyes than the Talaxian, that's for 
damned sure."


. . . And they were gone down the corridor, before I could get 
to them.  Damn them.  Thank the gods Neelix wasn't around 
to hear that.  Shit, how could anyone be so cruel?

"Computer, current location of Neelix."

"Neelix is in the mess hall."

Oh, fuck. If they were leaving, then he *had* to have 
overheard them.

"*Assholes*!"


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