Harry's low-down mean crotchety plain awful day
"Oh god . . .do that again. . .yes. . .ohhhhh. . . GOD!. . .yes. . .I love you. . .I love you. . .I lo--"
"This is your good morning wake-up call. Hallo Harry, the time is 06.00 hours, stardate **.*. Voyager has now covered 3.2 lightyears since leaving the Alpha Quadrant, and is proceeding in a westerly direc--"
"Shut up! Shutup shutup shutup!" Harry shrieked.
Blessed silence.
"Harry, time to get up. You only have 48 minutes for clarinet practice."
"Arrgh!"
"Please restate the question."
Harry rolled over, trying to relax himself, calm down a little. <It's okay, it was only a wet dream.> He glanced down his body, lightly covered by a resolutely clean sheet. <Okay, so not wet as such.> He reached down, grasping himself gently. <Oh yes. That's better.> He sighed and dropped his head back.
Crack.
"Arrrgh!"
Muttering darkly and rubbing the back of his head - and cautiously checking he had not in fact bitten through his tongue, contrary to the way it was throbbing in cheerful counterpoint to the back of his skull, he made his way to the shower.
"Water. Hot water. And maybe I can do something about this," he murmured, running a gentle hand over his flaccid penis. Trying not to think about the reason he needed to do something about it.
The water was perfect. Eyes closed he turned slowly, leaning back against the wall, imagining himself back to the dream. . ."Now where were we? Oh yes. Oh yes"
"Harry? "
"Oh Tom." Pause as he processed the facts. "Tom, I'm in the shower! Give me five minutes."
"Sure Har. Look, Harry, I just wanted to. . ."
Through the steam Harry could see Tom wander into the bathroom.
"Tom!" he yelped, snatching his hand away from his crotch and grabbing the sponge.
"Hmm?"
"Get out"
"Why? You hiding someone in there Harry?" his best friend teased.
<Arrgh!>
"Can't I have a little privacy?!" Harry said sharply.
There was a moment's hurt silence, then -- "Yeah. Sure Harry, whatever you want -- I. Just wanted to ask you if you meant what you said last night... but never mind," the voice drifted further away. "look, I'll see you in the Mess Hall, ten minutes?"
"Yeah, okay. Tom? Tom!"
But the only reply was the hiss as the door closed.
"Shit fuck damn damn hell blast goddamn damn damn damn damn damn damn. Bother." Harry lurched out of the shower, grabbed a towel, almost slipped in a pool of water <A pool of water? Great, there's a leak in the shower sealant.> straining a muscle in his groin in the process.
"Ow! Damn!"
It got worse.
Tom had gone by the time he finally made it to the Mess, but hadn't yet reached the Bridge when Harry skidded in, garnering raised eyebrows from Tuvok and Chakotay. Then when Tom rolled in his face twisted into a cynical half-grin, obviously assuming Harry had never even bothered going to look for him. Tom very pointedly spent the rest of his watch flirting with Sam Wildman, and chatting to her about the baby's progress.
Harry on the other hand had nothing to do. Everything was working just fine. He could just sit there and listen to Tom Paris winding him up without having to worry about getting interrupted. And then he spotted it. A glitch. No. Not a glitch, a wobble. No. Definitely worse than a system wobble. He pressed a couple of buttons.
The lights went out.
"Oops." It echoed in the sudden dark.
"'Oops' Mr Kim?" Janeway's voice dripped ice.
"Engineering to Bridge. What the hell are you doing up there? I've got engines down here to consider!"
"I believe Ensign Kim was about to explain."
"I. . .ummm. . ."
"Sickbay to Bridge! What is going on? I've got patients down here to consider, and while working by the light of my own holo emitters may be romantic, I would prefer not to glow in the dark if at all possible."
"Thank you doctor. We will let you know. Harry?"
He could feel a blush creeping up his face, down his neck, making a mad dash for his chest, incinerating his ears. . .<It wasn't my fault. They can't see my face and it wasn't my fault,> he reassured himself. Firmly.
"umm. . .The . . .er. . .lighting maintenance subroutines have um. Apparently there's a minor problem with the . . ."
"Spit it out Harry," Chakotay's voice, warmly amused, but not unkind.
"Don't tell me, Har," said Tom, malicious enjoyment in every word. "The bulbs have gone." Harry could have killed him.
"Er. . .we don't use bulbs, but umm essentially. Yes. Apparently," he squinted at his readouts, "someone overrode the replicators for a mug of coffee this morning, and all the plasma normally used to keep the lights on has been re-routed to the replicators."
"Why haven't we noticed this before Ensign?"
Harry thought he detected accusation in the captain's tone. That's his excuse.
"Hey, I'm not the coffee junkie. Sir."
"Mis-ter Kim. Are you implying that I" he recklessly interrupted her.
"Yes sir. Unless you have handed out your command codes and voice authorisation recently."
Harry stood ramrod straight in the dark, listening to the muted gasps around the bridge.
"I see, Mr Kim." she said quietly with undertones that spoke of a short life and a long death. "Perhaps you would like to re-route the power back to the lights?"
<Arrgh. I knew it.> "Yes sir. Permission to be excused from the bridge."
"Why?" you could have frozen oil on the chill in her tone.
"Uh, because the circuitry will have to be manually re-wired in every strip on the ship."
"Excellent. Off you go Mr Kim. Have a nice day."
"Screw you. Captain." He growled at the closed turbolift door. His quarters first. Then Engineering, Sickbay, where the Doctor complained that he had just created a subroutine to compensate for the greenish cast his emitter's gave everything, and could he have the internal matrices reconfigured.
"Go find a pit and fall in on a dozen sharpened spikes, covered in poison and honey and may hologram eating ants take up residence, and devour you, photon by photon."
"Later perhaps then? I have to say that you appear to be suffering from a certain amount of stress Ensign. May I suggest a hot bath and a nice cup of cocoa? All this worrying isn't good for you."
"Grrrrr." Harry just kept walking. At least it was better than being on the Bridge with Tom. Maybe if he kept at it long enough, it would've all blown over and Tom would have forgiven him. It might stop the captain from dismembering him when she discovered he'd deleted the overrides from her replicator too.
Twenty seven hours later he was still at it. It wasn't funny any more. Actually, it hadn't really been funny in the first place, when you really thought about it. He lay on his stomach inside another Jefferies tube. His hands, little burns and scrapes reddening the skin, hurt from holding the welder and circuitry, his shoulders and arms from pulling open recalcitrant hatches. His back ached. His head hurt and his eyes stung, though that might have been more to do with the amount of time he'd had to think about how he was never going to get together with Tom, and he might as well take a hike out of the nearest airlock. Not that they were working at the moment. He hadn't gotten that far yet. But he had to finish the repairs. The captain had told him not to come back till they were all done. At least, he thought she had. Or at least, maybe he'd thought he had to. He blinked and raised his head, trying to focus his eyes, his brain, anything. There'd been that odd conversation with Chakotay about the computers and the reason no one could get it to tell anyone anything.
"It likes me. That'll teach you to be nicer in future," he'd told the Commander shortly, and switched off.
He hadn't bothered explaining that he'd had to alter some of the computer's functions in relation to his comm badge and life sign detection in order to not interfere with the extremely sensitive internal circuitry he would be opening up. God he was hungry. It hadn't hurt that he would be unfindable as a side benefit. Then the Captain had been on at him about something, but frankly, he was too tired to understand what. He had to get the lights done before he could start locating missing members of the crew.
Then Tom had said something, he'd sounded sort of upset about something, and Harry remembered the row they'd had yesterday - or was it the day before, when he'd tried to tell Tom how he felt, and Tom had told him to shut up, and... and a few salty drops slid unnoticed down his face. But he was just so tired, and all he wanted was to hide, and he had kept insisting that he was fine to every one who interrupted his concentration on the rewiring, and he had to finish, finish, fin. . .He lifted his arms out of the wall panelling, pushed it back in place and dropped his head onto his folded arms. A minute later he was asleep.
Vaguely he was aware of more voices calling his name, first from his shirt, and later echoing in the tunnels and hollow places of the ship, but he just grunted and snuggled deeper into the crook of his elbow.
Vaguely he was aware of being suddenly on something cold and soft, that warmed under him. Of being lifted, and undressed. There was a kind, much loved voice, not yelling or being mean any more, just whispering softly, mustn't go away, mustn't hide, so scared, don't do that to me again, oh harry, you scared me so much, so sorry, so sorry love, please don't ever do that to me again, couldn't find you and i thought you, you wouldn't talk to me, and i said such awful things, I didn't mean them we can figure this out, just don't... i'm sorry harry, oh my poor harry. It felt warm and so comforting, and he leaned into the body supporting him, wrapping his arms around his waist. The words stopped for a long moment, and he felt an odd stiffness in the body in his arms, but before he could muster enough awareness to be worried a pair of arms wrapped themselves securely around him.
"Mmmph. Love you." he mumbled into Tom's chest, burrowing deeper. Tom looked down at the shattered ensign curled up on his lap, and smiled with relief, stroking the back of his head affectionately. Perhaps it wouldn't turn out such a bad day after all.
© Temaris 1998
Magnificent Seven stories, Sentinel stories, Star Trek Voyager stories, The Ragbag
Page last updated 21:42 28/03/2006.