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"Sick Days" by Pam "Tom, don't do that." "It *itches* B'Elanna" "You're just making it worse, y'know." "So what?" Furious scratching at his ribs followed the last statement. "Have I told you lately that you're incorrigible, Paris?" A pause. "No, I don't think so. But I think these things are going in my ears and into my brain, so its kinda hard to think right now." "Moron." "Listen, I'll pay you to scratch my back. Two weeks worth of replicator rations." "No." "Come on." "You'd put up with two weeks of Neelix's gourmet cooking to have someone scratch your back?" "*Yes*" "I think you're delirious." Tom groaned. "Please?" "I am not gonna scratch your back in the middle of the Messhall, Paris. And how did you pick up the chicken pox, anyway??" "He sighed and scratched at his neck. "Ensign Wildman's baby." B'Elanna quirked an eyebrow. "And what were you doing with Wildman's baby?" Tom flushed scarlet, making the painful-looking red spots on his face and neck almost invisible. "I was watching her..." he mumbled. "Really? Baby-sitting?" Tom shrugged helplessly. "Ensign Wildman needed to check something in Stellar Cartography, and I just happened to be standing there. And besides, I *offered*." "You offered to hold a baby covered with chicken-pox?" "She wasn't covered in chicken-pox when I offered." he retorted. B'Elanna seemed to think this whole thing was hilarious, Paris thought wryly. "What exactly is it you find so funny, Torres?" he asked defensively. She shrugged her shoulders. "Klingons don't get chicken-pox. Ensign Wildman actually trusted you with her baby?" "Cheap shot Torres. Yes, she did. She actually trusted me with her baby. Apparently, she trusts me a lot more than *some people* do." "Sorry Tom." He waved it off. "It's ok." "And I'm sorry I laughed at you." "Are you really or are you just saying that?" he asked warily. She tried to hide a grin. "I am really sorry I laughed at you." "You're smiling." "No I'm not." "Yes you are." "No I'm not!" "Yes you are." "NO I'M NOT!!" "Touché, Torres. Well, you're not smiling now, anyways." "Thanks." "You're welcome." He scratched furiously at his neck. "Big improvement. Now you're bleeding." "Aw, you wanna kiss it all better?" "Pig!" "Don't you know any more words, B'Elanna?" "Not when I'm around you," she retorted. "Oh, my incredible good looks just take your breath away?" "That must be it." "Really?" "Pig." "Cant blame a guy for trying." "You're bleeding on your shirt." "At least its not my uniform. The Captain'd probably throw me in the Brig or something." "Tom, you're accident-prone. You can't tell me you haven't ruined more than one uniform since you came onboard. And shouldn't you be in your Quarters or something, where it wont spread?" "Nope. The Doc checked everyone's medical records. Ensign Wildman's baby and me are the only ones who never had them." "How did you get the chicken-pox in the Delta Quadrant anyway? Only you, Paris, could do that." "B'Elanna, I'm a pilot, not a doctor." "Too bad, I always wanted to marry a doctor." "Though I have been trained as a medic..." "Pig." "You know just what to say to take my breath away." "I think you *are* delirious, Tom." "B'Elanna, you're sweeping me off my feet!" She reached across the table to swat his shoulder. "Ouch!! Don't *do* that!" "Wimp!" "Am not!" "Don't start again, Paris." "Oh look, here comes Ensign Wildman now. She's probably coming to say how sorry she is that I contracted this horrible thing from her baby." "She's probably coming to tell you to stay away from her kid, because the baby got it from *you*." Samantha Wildman spotted the two, and made her way over to their table. "Tom, I'm sooo sorry!" she began. He shrugged, "It's nothing." "Still, it's my fault." She looked down at him, and clucked at Paris like he was a small boy. "Look at you Tom. You should be on bed with some chicken noodle soup." "Tomato?" asked Paris hopefully. "My mother always said chicken noodle," she said firmly. "Okay,
I'll remember that." "Its okay," he said in his way that put people at ease. "No permanent harm done." He flashed her his trademark Paris smile. Sam smiled back. "Good. And Tom, you did a great job with the baby. Thanks" Then she left. After she'd moved away, Tom turned to B'Elanna with the barest hint of a smirk on his face. "Well, it was really nice of her to stop by, wasn't it?" "Don't say another word, Paris." She picked up her tray. " Now, unlike you, I have to get back to work." She stood up and left. Tom sat in miserable silence with his chin resting on his hands. He was reminded of the times he'd been sick as a kid, and had had to stay indoors while his friends played baseball. Bored, bored, bored. He should've at least been allowed on the Bridge. But nooooo, Janeway had said. You're officially on sick leave. Well, fine. Bored, bored, bored. He made his way back to his quarters, ignoring the various looks from his crewmates. *Not like they've never had it before* he thought wearily to himself. "Computer," he requested, "hot, *plain*, chicken noodle soup." THE END
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