Caretaker - L. A. Graf [14]
He realized he'd stumbled to a stop in the ship's open hatchway when Paris bumped into him from behind. Keeping his face averted to hide another blush, Kim hurried into the open corridor and waved his companion to follow.
Paris stepped through the portal as though no special emotions moved him, his duffel still balanced on one shoulder. Kim watched the older man glance left and right with the same politeness with which a high-school friend would peruse a classmate's home, and realized that the thrill of hearing his own footsteps on the deck was not the universal phenomenon he'd convinced himself it was. It was just him, Harry Kim, being silly about the romance of what was really just another job.
"This must feel pretty routine to you by now," he said aloud, trying for a tone of mature nonchalance, "coming on board a new ship. ..."
A strange, crooked grin accompanied Paris's short laugh, and the older man shook his head. "Not exactly."
That odd response reassured Kim somehow. "I guess your first posting is the one you never forget. When I came aboard this morning, I couldn't help it... I got goose bumps. ..."
"Yeah." The peculiar distance left Paris's eyes, and he smiled at Kim with the warmth of memories shared by only a few of Starfleet's best.
"I remember feeling like that."
And it suddenly didn't seem so dumb that Kim felt that way now."Have you checked in yet?" When Paris only shook his head, Kim smiled and waved him to follow. "Come on--I'll take you to sickbay."
"Sickbay?" Paris stopped long enough to swing his duffel across to the other shoulder, then hurried after Kim to keep up. "Why don't we check in up on the bridge?"
"Uh, I'm not sure, exactly." In fact, it hadn't even occurred to him to ask. "I haven't been up to the bridge yet," he admitted with a little discomfort. "But Dr. Fitzgerald's always down in sickbay, it seems, and he's the most senior officer next to the captain and First Officer Cavit."
Paris dipped a wry nod of acceptance."Then sickbay it is." He gestured forward with one hand. "Lay on, Macduff."
They made most of the trip in silence. Kim meant to instigate conversation at least two or three times during the twenty-minute walk, he really did. But, somehow, his Academy-trained mind couldn't manage to compose any sufficiently intelligent opener between the station dock and the sickbay, so they passed the time in what Kim felt was an intolerable silence while Paris whistled to himself and peeked inside every open cabin they passed. Even once they reached the sickbay entrance, all Kim could think to do was indicate the double doors and announce, "Well... here it is," as though stating the obvious had been his major course of study since joining Starfleet.
At least Paris only answered with a grin and a nod before stepping inside.
The infirmary was tiny although well equipped, hardly busy yet with most of the crew only just getting settled in their quarters and the station's docking clamps still firmly engaged. Dr. Fitzgerald was busying himself with an array of incomprehensible computer panels against one wall, just as he had been since the first time Kim walked in here, several hours ago. Something about the doctor's blunt, florid features had struck Kim as unfriendly even then; watching him gesture impatiently at his calm Vulcan assistant now didn't do anything to improve the young ensign's initial impression.
"Run a level-three diagnostic," Fitzgerald was saying irritably, as though the Vulcan were the stupidest creature he'd ever had to endure.
"Just to be sure--" He turned to call something after her as she moved away, and his eyes caught on Kim and Paris in the doorway, as though he was more than just a little scandalized by their interruption. "Can I help you?"
Kim felt familiar embarrassment push itself surfaceward,