30x300 by -yannik-
DAY SIXTEEN
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„You're not gonna eat that, Paris?" Pierce asked, and Tom could swear there was a hint of concern in her voice. But he was too dumb now, to enjoy that.
He looked up, stared at her, comprehending the question, the emotion expressed, and the answer to it.
"No" was this answer. He was not going to eat that.
"Are you on a hunger strike?" she asked, and Tom eyed her again. Hunger what? What the hell did she want? He wasn't hungry! "Paris, answer me!" she waited a short while. "I don't want to inform the Doctor about this. But maybe I should?"
Tom shrugged. Whatever.
"You've gotta eat!" she threw the tray back on the bunk, and left.
She would have slammed that forcefield if it was slammable! Tom's laughter startled even himself. As if it was somebody else laughing. Oh, the situation was funny – imagine slamming the forcefield! – but still, it was weird to laugh.
Apparently Pierce thought the same.
"What's funny?"
"I just… imagined something."
She glanced him over, and pointed the platter again.
Food.
Tom took one spoonful, then the next one, and another. The chow swelled in his mouth. He wasn't able to force it down, no matter how hard he tried. He had to do something! With Pierce watching him like a dog, it was so hard to cheat. He dealt with the stew after what seemed like hours, but it relieved the guard from her report obligations.
He then took the padd and tried to remember what he wanted to talk about. And why it was so important to talk about it. The ocean, the diving. Behavior unbecoming an officer. He had to explain his reasons. If there were any.
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t.b.c.