Title: The Messy Room
Author:Jane (Snowball)
Beta: Taryn Eve
E-Mail: snowballjane@yahoo.co.uk
Rating: G
Category: M
Summary: Travis in bed (an EWB writing exercise)
Note: Set immediately after Two Days and Two Nights
His leg itched. They'd told him it would. Liz had said it was a natural part of the healing process. The bone and skin tissue may have been knitted back together by the wonders of medicine, but there was still some healing to do. Meanwhile he was supposed to just lie on his bunk and stay out of mischief. And his leg itched like hell.
From his upper bunk he surveyed the small room he shared with Ensign Tom Cooper. It was probably the only room on Enterprise with curtains at the window. His mother had made them from a cheerful stripy fabric with magnets at the top to fix them to starship walls. Travis had insisted on hanging them, despite Tom's good-natured teasing - "But it's always dark outside". Now both had got into the habit of drawing them before going to sleep. Given that they worked different shifts and were rarely asleep at the same time, the curtains had turned out to be a useful way of communicating the need for quiet. Travis smiled pensively, contemplating the not quite straight stitching and thinking about his mom's various disastrous forays into sewing.
The curtains added a peculiarly feminine touch to a room that was otherwise, without doubt, the realm of young men. There were heaps of clothes strewn on the floor. Long-empty juice cartons, waiting to be taken for resequencing, nestled side-by-side with dirty socks turned halfway inside out. PADDs containing important reports were buried under PADDs offering the latest thriller novels or games to while away the hours between duty shifts. Travis was blissfully unaware that the room had its own special odour. It was the unique smell of young men's rooms, a blend of hormones and socks. Now there was the extra whiff of the climbing gear that lay, damp with sweat, dumped in the corner of the floor.
His leg itched. It felt as though a colony of fire ants had moved in just under his skin. Damn that sleeping doctor. Still, Travis thought, the sight of the hibernating doctor collapsed on his bio-bed had been hilarious.
Travis reached down, and tentatively scratched his leg. Man, that felt good. He scratched vigorously until his leg was aglow with fingernail marks. Then he pulled on some sweatpants and tried to ignore the itch. It was impossible. He considered clambering down to the floor to retrieve one of the games. Then made a conscious decision to wallow in self-pity for a few more minutes. After all, he didn't often get the chance.
He rolled onto his other side to face the grey wall next to his bunk. One of Commander Tucker's photographs of the bridge crew pulling silly faces was stuck to the wall with sticky sealant. Next to it, was stuck another photograph of another bridge crew - this time not wearing uniforms, posing seriously. The Horizon. Travis wondered what they might be up to at the moment, how long it might be before he saw them again. If he had died from the allergic reaction, how long would it have taken for the news to reach them.
Right. Enough now. Something to read would help to pass the time without making him feel this sudden pang of homesickness. He swung his legs around and jumped down. Owwwww! His leg gave way underneath him as he felt the shock ring through the still sensitive bone. Luckily, this time his fall was broken by the sock mountain rather than the Risan cliffs.
As Travis lay sprawled in the mess, the door slid back and Tom strolled into the room.
"Having trouble climbing into your bunk? Did the handholds shift?" chuckled Travis's roommate as he helped him back onto his feet.
Travis groaned and sat down heavily on Tom's lower bunk. He supposed he deserved the ribbing since he had boasted about his climbing abilities before the trip to Risa. Tom, an athletic-looking security officer with a penchant for martial arts and terrible jokes was never, ever going to let this go.
"C'mon," said Tom, offering Travis his arm in Victorian gentleman style. "Chef's having the day off and they've brought Risan take-out up. I'll help you to the mess hall."
"Ok. From one mess to another," quipped Travis as he got back to his feet and took his tall roommate's arm.
"Oh no. First the curtains, now he's getting house-proud. You'll be suggesting a visit to the laundry next," fired back Tom. The pair hobbled off, still bickering, in the direction of the food.
The End.
His leg itched. They'd told him it would. Liz had said it was a natural part of the healing process. The bone and skin tissue may have been knitted back together by the wonders of medicine, but there was still some healing to do. Meanwhile he was supposed to just lie on his bunk and stay out of mischief. And his leg itched like hell.
From his upper bunk he surveyed the small room he shared with Ensign Tom Cooper. It was probably the only room on Enterprise with curtains at the window. His mother had made them from a cheerful stripy fabric with magnets at the top to fix them to starship walls. Travis had insisted on hanging them, despite Tom's good-natured teasing - "But it's always dark outside". Now both had got into the habit of drawing them before going to sleep. Given that they worked different shifts and were rarely asleep at the same time, the curtains had turned out to be a useful way of communicating the need for quiet. Travis smiled pensively, contemplating the not quite straight stitching and thinking about his mom's various disastrous forays into sewing.
The curtains added a peculiarly feminine touch to a room that was otherwise, without doubt, the realm of young men. There were heaps of clothes strewn on the floor. Long-empty juice cartons, waiting to be taken for resequencing, nestled side-by-side with dirty socks turned halfway inside out. PADDs containing important reports were buried under PADDs offering the latest thriller novels or games to while away the hours between duty shifts. Travis was blissfully unaware that the room had its own special odour. It was the unique smell of young men's rooms, a blend of hormones and socks. Now there was the extra whiff of the climbing gear that lay, damp with sweat, dumped in the corner of the floor.
His leg itched. It felt as though a colony of fire ants had moved in just under his skin. Damn that sleeping doctor. Still, Travis thought, the sight of the hibernating doctor collapsed on his bio-bed had been hilarious.
Travis reached down, and tentatively scratched his leg. Man, that felt good. He scratched vigorously until his leg was aglow with fingernail marks. Then he pulled on some sweatpants and tried to ignore the itch. It was impossible. He considered clambering down to the floor to retrieve one of the games. Then made a conscious decision to wallow in self-pity for a few more minutes. After all, he didn't often get the chance.
He rolled onto his other side to face the grey wall next to his bunk. One of Commander Tucker's photographs of the bridge crew pulling silly faces was stuck to the wall with sticky sealant. Next to it, was stuck another photograph of another bridge crew - this time not wearing uniforms, posing seriously. The Horizon. Travis wondered what they might be up to at the moment, how long it might be before he saw them again. If he had died from the allergic reaction, how long would it have taken for the news to reach them.
Right. Enough now. Something to read would help to pass the time without making him feel this sudden pang of homesickness. He swung his legs around and jumped down. Owwwww! His leg gave way underneath him as he felt the shock ring through the still sensitive bone. Luckily, this time his fall was broken by the sock mountain rather than the Risan cliffs.
As Travis lay sprawled in the mess, the door slid back and Tom strolled into the room.
"Having trouble climbing into your bunk? Did the handholds shift?" chuckled Travis's roommate as he helped him back onto his feet.
Travis groaned and sat down heavily on Tom's lower bunk. He supposed he deserved the ribbing since he had boasted about his climbing abilities before the trip to Risa. Tom, an athletic-looking security officer with a penchant for martial arts and terrible jokes was never, ever going to let this go.
"C'mon," said Tom, offering Travis his arm in Victorian gentleman style. "Chef's having the day off and they've brought Risan take-out up. I'll help you to the mess hall."
"Ok. From one mess to another," quipped Travis as he got back to his feet and took his tall roommate's arm.
"Oh no. First the curtains, now he's getting house-proud. You'll be suggesting a visit to the laundry next," fired back Tom. The pair hobbled off, still bickering, in the direction of the food.
The End.