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Disclaimer time once again!   Sixty-ninth 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 sex 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.  :)

Seventeenth story in the Stage Direction series.  Sequel to 
'Ssst', 'Growl', 'Chuckle', 'Sob', 'Grin', 'Sigh', 'Smile', 'Yawn', 
'Whisper', 'Groan', 'Hover', 'Waffle', 'Comfort', 'Fidget', and 
'Grimace'.

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


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I could kick myself for not realizing how tired Tom was.  I 
should've.  I was supposed to be keeping an eye on him and 
I failed. I failed *him*.  Miserably.  Oh, I should've known.

He's back in Sickbay again and it's all my fault.  I know it is, 
despite his protestations to the contrary.  I feel just awful 
about it.  How could I have been so blind?  *How*?

"Neelix, please.  Stop it.  It's *not* your fault. Really."

<glance away>

"Neelix, the Lieutenant is correct.  You are not responsible 
for the fact that he hasn't eaten in the last . . ." <scowl> ". . . 
twenty-six hours."

<petulant>  "I wasn't hungry."

<scolding>  "It doesn't matter. You may not feel hungry for 
the next few *days*, Lieutenant.  Do you really expect me to 
believe you don't intend to eat until *then*?"

<sigh>  "I'll set an alarm or something, all right?"

<holographic frown> "Actually, no, it's . . ."

<firmly> "I'll see to it that he eats on schedule, Doctor.  If I 
have to spoon-feed him myself, I'll see to it."  

<surprised look>  "Neelix, really, you don't have to.  I'll come 
up with something . . ."

<fierce glare>  "*Hush*!"

<stunned silence>

<pleased, superior holographic grin>  "That would be quite 
satisfactory, Neelix.  Thank you.  If you'll just make sure that 
. . ."

"May I take him back to his quarters, now, Doctor?"

<startled blink as patient is hauled off biobed>  "Um, yes, 
certainly.  Of course.  Yes.  That would be fine . . ."  <holler 
at closing door>  "*Eat* something!"

<brisk walk down corridor>

<quietly>  "You're angry."

<sharply>  "No.  I am *not* angry.  My spots get hot when 
I'm angry."

<hesitant smile>  <softly>  "I'll keep that in mind." 

<deep breath>  <sigh>  <quietly>  "You scared me. Badly. 
I'm not ashamed to admit it.  *You* *scared* *me*."

<whispered>  "Neelix . . . I'm sorry.  I am."  <sigh>  "I get 
distracted by things.  And without the physical hunger as a 
reminder, I . . . just forgot to eat anything."

<decisively>  "It isn't going to happen again.  I will *not* 
allow it."

<placating>  "Okay, Neelix.  Whatever you say . . ."  <stops 
at glare>

"Don't humor me, Tom.  I . . . *strongly dislike* being 
humored.  It's quite insulting, if you want to know the truth."

<sigh>  <slight smile>  "You're right.  It is.  And I won't do it 
again.  Promise.  All right?"

<sideways glance>  <snort>  <grin>  "All right."

"Um, Neelix?  Who's minding the kitchen?"

<glare>  "I commed Chakotay while you were unconscious. 
He said he'd take care of it."

<incredulous look>  "*Personally*?  Damn, I'd pay good 
rations to see that."

<snort>  "Well, I doubt if he meant *personally*."

<shared chuckle>

<smirk>  "Ah, the many and varied joys of delegation."

"There's something to be said for doing it yourself, though. 
A certain kind of . . . satisfaction."

<slow nod>  "Trrrrue."  <clear throat>  "Sooo, I take it to 
mean that you aren't going to be delegating your newfound 
'caregiver' status away, then, huh?" 

<mock-insulted glare>  "I most certainly am *not*.  This is 
something I intend to see to *personally*."

<pleased smile>  "*Personally*?"

<decisive nod>  <warm grin>  "*Personally*."


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